#there is more where this came from (threat)

[ratatattouille]

arcane season 2 was artistically beautiful and thematically cheap. every interesting and meaningful thing it did with its characters (even in season 2 act 2) was reduced to romanticized bullshit, utterly divorced from its season 1 roots. it's so bad it can be considered pro-status quo propaganda (and i do mean that). good ships aside (and i do mean the caitivi, jayvik, timebomb holy triad), this season squats and shits on every zaunite character in the show. not just their zaunite-ness, but how it literally shaped who they were as characters.

Let's start with Vi:

-Vi and Vander: Vi's loyalty to The Lanes always went beyond Powder. Zaun was her father's, Vander's dream. Zaun was her friends (do you remember how protective she was of Ekko aside from her adopted brothers?) and her family. When she's giving Caitlyn a tour of The Lanes, we see how much she embodies and revels in Zaunite culture (esp in the food scene). She cared for Zaun like Vander taught her to. Her "protective" trait extended to ALL the vulnerable in The Lanes, because Vander taught her that. It wasn't EVER just Powder. Zaun is her HOME. As a child, she wanted to make a name for herself IN ZAUN "one day, this city's gonna respect us." You can make the excuse that Vander's death meant that side of her died, but it clearly didn't because of how she regarded it while showing Caitlyn around. "Family" to Vander, extended to the vulnerable of Zaun, which is how Vi and Powder came to be his "daughters" in the first place. Because Zaun was for THEM. Zaun WAS THEM. Vander and Silco "weren't allowed to fail" at Zaun (i.e. the two daughters). Additionally, Vi and Jinx were supposed to succeed where Vander and Silco hadn't: forgiving each other and uniting so they could realize their dream for a free Zaun. The whole reason Zaun struggles to be free is because of their own internal divisions (the different gangs fighting for scraps). But if they united, they would be able to liberate themselves from Piltover (who is still the enemy). The whole reason the others are prosperous in the alternate timeline Ekko and Hemmerdinger travel to is because Vander and Silco reconcile (not because Vi dies).

-Vi and Caitlyn: Caitlyn was an interesting development for Vi, particularly because Caitlyn mirrored Vander's care for all people. Caitlyn was an enforcer that wanted to truly understand and help people. This challenged Vi's biases and also gave them a common goal. Caitlyn appealed to Vi because she gave Vi renewed hope for peace in The Lanes. That Zaun could be free through co-operation instead of violence. Her whole teaming up with Caitlyn, romance aside, was predicated on Vi brokering for peace between Zaun and Piltover. The first break-up between the two (Season 1's "Oil and Water") centred around Jinx, more or less. Vi believes Silco is a threat to peace between Piltover and Zaun (even though The Lanes aren't known as Zaun to her, I'm just using the names interchangeably). She believes Jinx is acting out due to Silco's influence, as well (and she isn't entirely wrong). Had Caitlyn not been injured on the bridge (and had Jinx not felt betrayed by Vi), Vi was going to leave her in pursuit of Jinx. Vi has never fit into Piltover (and that's also shown in Season 2 act 1-2).

-Vi and Jinx: This show was ALWAYS about a tale of two sisters/cities (cue the record insert of their two faces at the beginning of every episode). When Vi becomes an enforcer, it isn't because she's switched loyalties. She wants peace for Zaun, she just wants to take Silco's (and her own) creation--Jinx--out of the equation so it can work. The only reason she agrees to Caitlyn's plan is because, again, their two goals align: get Jinx. The difference is Vi wants to kill Jinx to get Powder back, while Cait wants to kill Jinx to get her city (mother) back. The show in season 2 TOTALLY LOST THIS FOCUS. Vi's guilt at hunting down her own people with enforcers (and it's already insane that Vi would even agree lmao) is ignored a lot by fandom, especially bc her post-breakup scene where she goes full goth is framed as regret for letting Cait down (rather than the self-disgust she would feel for joining her oppressors). Vi played a part in creating Jinx. Every single step of the way. This is barely acknowledged, and every time it might be, it gets shoved aside for romance with Cait. Cait, who, literally became a dictator and weaponized the air ducts her mother had created to SAVE ZAUNITES. The whole thing is viewed as Vi betraying Cait instead of Vi betraying Jinx/Zaun/her family and Cait betraying Vi ("promise me you won't change") and her mother. Cait was the one who sought to help Zaun (like her mother) but betrayed who she was when she was willing to kill Isha, an innocent child. (ALSO IMPORTANT: Just to further prove my point on how integral the sister's love for each other was, every show started with a record playing. The cover of the disc was Vi and Jinx. They were always the center focus of the story. The song that the record played? Likely "Our Love" by Curtis Harding and Jazmine Sullivan which goes "Our love is a bubblin' fountain, our love, that flows into the sea, our love, deeper than the ocean, our love for eternity." This love deeper-than-the-ocean can apparently crumble in the face of a dictator girlfriend you've known for less than a year lmao).

Where the writers FUMBLE is:

-Vi's and Jinx's relationship becomes secondary not just to the entire plot of the show but to Vi's arc. Zaun and Piltover's conflict was set up to be the epitome of the show, and the fact that it got shelved for a more *ahem* American industrial military complex epic battle between humans and robots is very telling about the writers and showrunners.

-Vi forgives Cait easily and prematurely, trashing Vi's true loyalties as established in earlier seasons/episodes

-Vi herself takes a back seat in most of season 2, and becomes a passive yes-man to Cait

-Vander's re-introduction is almost completely worthless to the plot and narrative (he comes back just to die), and he is used as a cheap way to re-unite the daughters in a way that has no significance to the themes (also, Silco as Jinx's father is completely ignored)

-Cait's deferral to fascism should have been permanent. Idc about the shippers at this point. Vi and Cait should have never come back from Cait shoving the back of her gun into Vi's injured side (let alone the gassing of the ducts). Vi would've never forgiven her, attraction or no. The fact that Cait could become a dictator after losing one parent is proof of their class divides (after all, Vi held onto hope despite losing all her parents to enforcers and Jinx was all she had left of her family). That should have cemented the death of that relationship (and it would have made for more compelling storytelling on class). The only reason it was kept was because it matters more to white Western audiences to have a Romeo x Juliet rendition that assuages their classist sensitivities. Cait becoming a fascist made sense and was true to her character and the world. Vi forgiving her (and then having sex with her in the prison she was thrown into as a child?) destroyed both her character and the narrative. And it's frankly made the ship that much more unpalatable. If Vi had to be destroyed as a character for the ship to work, then the ship wasn't all that good (even though it started off that way). It's honestly left such a bad taste in my mouth. What a fuck you to oppressed groups that whole subplot was. (And it's made worse by the fact that the creator thought that was somehow an empowering and liberating act for Vi, like fuck that).

Let's Talk About Victor:

-Viktor and Heimmerdinger: This is one of the biggest fumbles, IMO. Heimmerdinger and Viktor were the most polar of opposites. Heimmerdinger was not only a privileged, ulta-wealthy Piltoverian, but he had a comparatively endless lifespan while Viktor's own human life-span was cut short due to being a Zaunite, born at the bottom of the barrel and raised on toxic fumes that led to his terminal illness. Viktor's desperation to unlock the Arcane was explicitly about him overcoming his circumstances, his illness, his premature death. It wasn't merely about his internalized ableism, but the unjust way in which he had to suffer. Heimmerdinger could afford patience because he had all the time and resources in the world, but Viktor didn't. Not merely because he was a mortal, but because he was a Zaunite.

-Viktor and Singed: Viktor's arc with hextech is foreshadowed with his childhood interaction with Singed. I understand that in the games, Viktor is a villain-type character and his catchphrase or whatever is "Join the Glorious Evolution." While Viktor is horrified by Singed killing the creature that he eventually uses for shimmer, Viktor later says, "I understand," hinting that he saw the sacrifice (and death) necessary to "heal" the world of its ailments. Both Viktor and Singed grow up in The Lanes, and both have ailments they want to cure (for Viktor it is his lung cancer and for Singed its his daughter's dying). In season 2, Viktor tells Singed that while he understands what healing all those people could cost him, he will not sacrifice their humanity for Singed's cause. Then Jayce blasts him in the chest and that all goes out the window. All this despite Sky being there with him in the astro-nether. Now Viktor's idea of becoming a higher being is just getting rid of emotion (despite the fact that his character was one that was consistently willing to sacrifice himself and die in order to not harm others, and Sky's death only solidified that). Jayce killing him without explanation was all of a sudden all he needed to become a divine dictator, lmao. The same Viktor that looked terminal illness in the face and preferred to spare others instead of himself? The same Viktor who's immediate action after waking up with a new body was to go and use the arcane he wished had been destroyed to help others? Sure.

-Viktor and Jayce: Now, I think Jayce's speech had some merit and could have been framed better with a little more time and thought. The philosophical idea of perfection or a perfect world (one which Piltoverians strive toward) being untenable, maybe even undesirable, is a fascinating concept worth exploring. BUT MAKING IT ABOUT SOME INTERNALIZED ABLEISM FROM VIKTOR IS FUCKING STUPID!!!! I'm sorry, but Piltover being the city of progress until it actually included becoming progressive with Zaun was absolutely one of the things Jayce and Viktor's sub-plot was trying to explore. Viktor WANTED TO LIVE. Viktor wanted his people to STOP SUFFERING. Viktor WAS RIGHT. He wasn't merely eliminating "imperfections" (and of FUCKING COURSE A PILTOVERIAN WOULD SEE IT THAT WAY), he was trying to cure sick and dying people who did nothing to deserve it. He was buying them time that people like Jayce and Heimmerdinger had in spades, but Viktor and Zaunites had stolen from them. Children dying of disease and violence in The Lanes was by Piltoverian design! It was not some predestined cosmic necessity. Viktor WAS RIGHT TO HATE HIS FUCKING TERMINAL ILLNESS ARE THESE GUYS INSANE??! Wtf kind of message is Viktor embracing it as part of himself sending to vulnerable, impoverished and ill people? Is that supposed to be some kind of fucking comfort? Fuck off right to hell! And don't even get me STARTED on Jayce's trip to other-world hell being some kind of "Jayce seeing the world through Viktor's eyes" bs. Yes, it was good that our idealistic Jayce got to see the dark side of the Arcane as Viktor showed Jayce the beauty of the dream he sought for all people, but whatever message on class struggle Jayce is said to have learned or paralleled in his alternate timeline clearly didn't sink into his head because he still gave that dumbass speech to Viktor. And I'm glad if it resonated with any disabled people, but Viktor's struggle with his body was a protest against Piltover, not himself, and I hate that the writers gutted that character development. Viktor's and Jayce's paths "diverged a long time ago" because Jayce had the luxury and time of pursuing his dream while Viktor didn't. Viktor, even up there as a scholar of Piltover, was still getting the Zaunite treatment. Jayce had the time to pursue a better world, while Viktor had to struggle for a little more time. When Viktor becomes part of the arcane, suddenly he has all the time in the world to realize HIS OWN DREAM. Why would wanting a better world for others have to result in "dreamless solitude"? Viktor becoming obsessed with fixing what ailed humanity was warranted, and his extremism was hinted to have been due in part to the effect the arcane had on him, but it still made the themes of arcane a joke. There was so much potential and the writers (and showrunners) just squandered it for some more romantic bullshit.

Where season 2 FUMBLED:

-"Humanity, our very essence, is inescapable. Our emotions, rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, intractably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.” That's a neat quote, but wars don't start simply due to emotions or whatever. This lacks class analysis, and it's annoying that the writers made this the whole theme of season 2 (and retroactively the show) in a story on class divides. Cait did not merely gas the Zaunites because of her mother, but because of her privileged upbringing that made it more acceptable to her to view Zaunites as animals (remember Ekko telling her "you guys hunt us down like animals"). Cait knew the humanity of Zaunites was real. She'd seen it. She just chose to ignore it because she could afford to. While it is interesting that Viktor would come to see being human as a flaw that destroys any hope of achieving peace (conflict theory would like a word with you), it ignored that fascism is not an inherently human trait and detracts from how or why it persists in the first place. It's almost the same as saying men/white people oppress women/poc because the latter were mean to them. It's victim-blaming (and false lmao). The British didn't colonize the Americans because the natives did anything to them. All prejudice is unjustified, that's what makes it prejudice. Again, Cait became a fascist when her mom died, but Vi still drew the line at killing children and even council members despite losing every single one of her family members to Piltover's violence against The Lanes.

-Jayce's speech would have been cute in another story, but it's downright insulting in Arcane's. Yes, yes, Jayce's words would have been the only ones to have broken the real Viktor out of Arcane Viktor's grasp by appealing to this deep childhood wound, but Viktor's desperation was not to belong (because his leg kept him from playing with other children) but TO LIVE (because he was dying of an illness). Jayce's speech isn't bad, just misplaced.

-Viktor did not have to become a fascist-aligned deity in his quest to heal people. It is a typical MCU thing to have a "villain" that's technically right and then destroy their entire character to make their (correct) philosophy untenable by making them do something extreme. Typical pro-status quo propaganda trope. Idc if it was so we could get some game version of him. Viktor was right in bringing progress and his discoveries to The Lanes instead of devoting his efforts to Piltover, the fake city of progress.

-While I am annoyed that the climax of the show hinged on Jayce and Viktor and hextech (a tool to explore the inequalities of Piltover and Zaun) instead of Jinx and Vi, I think it kinda makes sense. Hextech built what Piltover has now become. Jayce, Viktor and hextech kinda represent Piltover (what it could be) and Jinx and Vi represent The Lanes (and the Zaun it could be). Both would have been integral, but the story shouldn't have hinged on hextech, IMO. Hextech should have remained a tool to explore the politics of both cities, but instead it overshadowed everything, cheapening the story's themes, characters and world-building.

-Jayce calling the Zaunites to arms was downright absurd. But not as absurd as Zaunites volunteering.

And Then There's Jinx:

-Jinx and Isha: Isha's only use, as far as I'm concerned, was to be a reconciling force between the sisters. When Cait was willing to shoot her to get to Jinx, that should have stopped Vi right there and brought her back to defending Jinx 100% idc. When Isha sacrificed her life to save Jinx, that should have been Jinx's wake-up call right there and helped her understand why Vi kept leaving her out of missions as a kid. But instead what do we get? Depressed, suicidal Jinx and an astoundingly even more resentful and indifferent Vi. Vi still refuses to acknowledge her own hand in creating Jinx in the first place. Jinx, who has always wanted to be useful to those she loves. Who pursued her own hextech inventions in order to give her siblings a fighting chance when facing down Silco. Who wants to give Zaun a fighting chance as Silco's daughter. To be useful to the goals and dreams of her family. Isha was the perfect opportunity to bring the sisters together, but no. Instead, the kid was some kind of foreshadowing to Jinx's own heroic self-sacrifice for her sister (a message that left both sister's arcs unfinished). Vi had to acknowledge how wrong she was for abandoning Jinx and Zaun (instead of taking responsibility as Vander had taught her). Jinx needed to accept herself and the love others showed toward her (Silco, Vander, Ekko and Vi). Jinx keeps blowing things up because she repeatedly rejects herself (both Powder and Jinx), ignoring the good she's done and tried to do. Isha was a call back to the good Jinx has done and can continue to do for Zaun and others.

-Jinx and Ekko: Timebomb is the only ship that didn't ruin anyone's character, lmao. Because Ekko's and Jinx's relationship is precisely an exploration of how Piltover's violence against Zaun forced these children with entire futures ahead of them (they are both child prodigies) into endless war and hellish heroism. Ekko and Jinx are repeatedly shown to be hesitant and even unwilling to participate in violence against others, especially their own. Ekko does not hate Jinx, though he wants to, and Jinx does not like who she is when she's violent. She is trigger-happy because she already expects Vi and Ekko to want to kill her (projecting her self-loathing on them, but not entirely unreasonably). She doesn't have faith in their love or mercy because she doesn't see any part of herself as redeemable or loveable, which is why she consistently sabotages her life (but not without help from Vi and others). Ekko and Jinx are symbols of progress for Zaun AND Piltover (and Heimmerdinger saw that, especially when Ekko insisted he had to go back to his timeline, even if the one he had landed in was better). Heimmerdinger saw what they could have been in the alternate timeline, all the genius that was squandered in The Lanes. Jinx and Ekko are the ones most willing to put an end to violence and injustice because both of them are nostalgic for their families. Jinx just doesn't have the same faith in her ability to do so as Ekko does, but Ekko manages to convince her for a moment anyways. Ekko recognizes (like Silco, Viktor and Isha) how integral Jinx is to the creation of a new world. She injects colour and life and hope into Zaun and is the only one who can unite all warring factions in Zaun in the first place. Both her and Ekko are rebel leaders, but that is hardly used in Zaun's interests in the end. (ALSO THAT WHOLE CONVERSATION WITH VIKTOR AND JINX. This show would have won with a Viktor and Jinx team-up to unite Zaun--also in parallel to Jayce and Vi's team up. We could have had it all!)

-Jinx and Silco: This, is only second to Vi in the most FUMBLED things about Jinx. Silco was her guide once Vander died and Vi ran away. Silco not only took care of her, but gave her purpose and nurtured her talent (one that Vi and their brothers scorned). Silco accepted Jinx (he did not create her, Vi did) even though he weaponized her (which backfired for him). Silco, like Ekko, was the one who saved Jinx from death and offered Jinx a home. While everyone else patronized Jinx for her own childhood trauma, Silco was gentle, understanding and provided space for that, even when her psychosis killed him. He showed zero resentment toward her. But when Silco dies and Vander returns, Jinx just . . . oopsie, doopsie! Forgets about Silco until one final hallucination she has of him in the jail cell. The only one she has where he talks. And what does he say? She needs to break the cycle. How? Not by eliminating Piltover or gaining Zaun's independence like he'd talked about and dreamed about. Not by accepting herself as Jinx and Powder, the inventor, the fighter, daughter of both Silco and Vander, but by offing herself? Leaving her family to think she's dead? Embracing the lie that she really was the poison in their lives and the reason none of them could be happy? The reason they died? NICE! SWELL! WHAT A SATISFYING CONCLUSION! Even worse, they made her "death" staged. I'm sorry, but do we really believe that this same girl who killed herself multiple times in front of Ekko just 24 hours ago somehow found the will to live and escape into air ducts when she was falling with Vander? She decided to live right when she was about to die? And let's not forget that she was falling to the same song that was playing when she was trying to commit suicide. Why? And why would a heroic death (staged or not) be any form of character growth for Jinx in the first place? When her whole thing is distrusting the love offered to her? Or was she accepting herself by being the one to kill Vander because she knew Vi couldn't? Either way, it's cheap!

Fumbling points summarized:

-Jinx not being radicalized by Isha's death and the sight of her sister hunting her down with enforcers.

-Vander's letter to Silco could have been why she hallucinated Silco talking to her about forgiveness, but breaking the cycle here is about forgiving (unapologetic) Piltoverians instead of herself, which needed to happen to complete her arc.

-Jinx being the reluctant Girl Saviour of Zaun after clinging onto her identity as a jinx so she didn't have to take responsibility for Silco's dream (and by extension death) should have been the point of the show, IMO. As far as Jinx's arc is concerned, she was meant to reject the identity of jinx that Vi gave her and embrace the identity of Jinx that Zaun (and Silco) gave her. Loveable and capable of doing the right thing and saving others. Using hex-tech, something Jayce and Piltover had levelled against her people, against them. And she does this to some extent, but we don't even get a hint as to why Ekko's speech worked (and how he got her to fight alongside him and the Firelights in the first place). We know she does so for Vi, but she so quickly gives up once she and her sister are back on the same team. She allies herself with her sister just to die and then fuck off to another land? BRUH! Like act 3 is SO FRUSTRATING!

-The commitment to saving Piltover instead of destroying it ruined so many arcs, most notoriously Vi's and Jinx's. This should have ended in a war between the two cities, not one where both fought against robo-people and Ambessa.

I could go into how the show fumbled Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Jayce and more, but I think they still fare better than the ones I've talked about here. Caitivi has now (narratively) become distasteful, jayvik a joke, and timebomb unnecessary misery porn with little to no reward for all their efforts.

TLDR: Bad message to send to oppressed people, mentally ill people, and people dying of terminal illnesses, lmao. The Zaunites ALL LOST with this one.

P.S.: It's okay if you think the show is good because it succeeds in many other things, I just think it drops the ball in the places I've mentioned. But if your main criticism of my criticisms is going to be defending your ships, please find another post. Oppression is a serious reality that deserves serious depiction and it's insulting to have such necessary political discussions devolve into dumbass ship wars.

[hauntedfictionland]

❝a storm to remember❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and the heir to the iron throne, you are sent to stormlands as your brother to Winterfell, to create allies when you are met with him. Aemond Targaryen, your childhood enemy.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞��/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence and threats, kissing, childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope, minor injuries and blood.

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: He is my guilty pleasure, man who serves face while doing the shittiest things ever aka killing. This is my first Aemond fic ever, so I hope it's not too bad, and I would love writing advices or tips in my asks or messages, so feel free to send any.

The winds were soothing, although getting heavier as Stormlands grew closer. Your one hand on the rope, and the other touching along your dragon's raspy and rather itchy skin. You sighed, as the thought of having to negotiate with Borris Baratheon, who didn't hold a single regard for your mother or any woman for that matter.

You remember your mother's words; no fighting. No bloodshed. It had made you feel strange, as though there could be a need for it. You bit your lip as the dark castle came into view, with dark clouds forming already. You did not have a good feeling about this. But you couldn't disappoint your mother either, as the heir no less. You had to fight for your birthright, which Aegon took.

A strain coming to your head at the tactics of your dragon, who wanted to fly into circles as you had taught her. She wanted to have fun, not knowing this might be the most crucial occasion of your life. When you tried calling out to her, telling her to get down to some place where you could land, she refused. She was being erratic. With a few attempts at pulling the rope, she finally complied.

“Lykiri, Tessarion.” you say, as your dragon flies lower to the ground, to make a decent landing. You smiled as she grunted, in some annoyance. She always was stubborn, and it took some time to command her.

You wondered how much time it would take Jace to reach Winterfell, a part of you was envious. You wanted to be the one to see the North, yet he was the one who got to truly see it. ‘Borros was harder to convince’, as your mother said, how she needed someone with experience in that area. How it was your job as the eldest. Sometimes you felt it was a burden rather than a privilege, being heir to the iron throne. You don't know if you even deserve it, considering who your father is; your blood father. Laenor will always be your only father to you, the one who taught you how to sit on a dragon, or the great sea snake stories.

Hate, was what you used to feel when those rumours started reaching your ears. Of your parentage. Of your mother's king's guard, ser Harwin Strong. You did whatever you could to get away from those, from him. You didn't like it, he acted much closer to your mother than a mere guard should. And jace and luke being young, didn't see it as a problem. Even looked up to him. But you didn't. You felt so humiliated, that such low born could be your father, you—the heir, you, ser Laenor's true born daughter, as you tried convincing yourself again and again.

You didn't want to be a mutt, a bastard.

Harwin Strong tried connecting with you on many levels, but you denied all of them. You didn't even want to be near him, let alone speak with him. Flaunting your power and acting very rudely whenever he wanted to make conversation. You still remember the sadness in his eyes, as you told your king's guard to take him out of your sight. A filth, you called him. All out of insecurity.

That was the last time you saw him.

And now, all you had was Jacaerys's fond memories of him, nothing more. You wonder if you had cared to hear him out even once, what would he have said?

Shaking off the terrifying thought, you open your locks on the belt on your waist, slowly getting down. The storm had prevailed, with rain pouring down your black and red polish coat. You squint your eyes, trying to see better amidst the heavy rainfall. Tessarion let out a wail of joy, she loved rain. Given her so very nickname, the blue queen. After her blue scales and orange wings. That's when you heard a growl, a heavy one. That could only come out of a large dragon.

Your eyes widened, seeing the sight of that dragon.

Vhagar.

Which could only mean he was here.

“A letter from the queen.” you say, hesitantly as still processing the fact who you were to face very soon. The men guarding the castle nodded, letting you in. It felt like a dark cloud over you, as you entered. The black walls and steel throne, with Lord Borros sitting quite comfortably. You knew he was there, swiftly standing with a smirk, you didn't even want to face him.

“Princess Y/N Velaryon” one of the guards announced, “daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You gulp, “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message.” you make sure to add, “from the queen.” he raises his eyebrows, “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it, king or queen?”

Your skin shivered as you felt Aemond's eyes constantly on you—not once did his gaze move. You remember when there was a time, a good time, in childhood, when Aemond was your closest companion. You both were around the same age, both quiet, wise, and mature. And you both lacked a dragon at the age all Targaryen children have one. You used to always defend him against the teasing of Aegon and your siblings, scolding Jace and Luke whenever they hurt Aemond's feelings. You remember how you pushed a hair out of Aemond's eyes, after the pig prank, kissing his cheek gently, promising him that he won't go without a dragon in his lifetime. How you had seen that for him.

Alas, after the driftmark incident, you didn't know who to defend, your brothers, or his taken eye. All you knew was that after you had moved to dragonstone, all talked bad of him, and with time, you started believing them.

“The house of the dragon doesn't seem to know who rules it.” Lord Borros sneered mockingly, as you clenched your fists. This was not at all how you planned it. “What's your mother's message, girl?”

You handed the envoy to one of his guards wordlessly, as Lord Borros—unable to read, called for his Mastor. Aemond Targaryen, wasn't a person you once remembered, you once loved. In a way your family would never approve. And you fear you still hold those feelings after all this time. You wonder what your mother would say, your brothers? if they knew the ways of your heart.

“Remind me? of my father's oath?” he says, sounding very offended.

At the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond smirking, as if he already won the bid. It infuriated you, as your hands curled up around your sword tightly.

“King Aegon at least came with an offer! my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” he continues, as you close your eyes in contrast to stop Aemond's winning stare on you, “now if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will your brothers marry?”

Before you could answer, he speaks again, “—or which one of my sons will you marry?”

Your mouth gaped, as his voice sounded so excited and thrilled, as if he was already imagining having Targaryen grand children. Especially when they could be potentially heirs to the iron throne. You grimaced, a picture of his sons, same as him, fat, bearded and a wild lust, came into your mind and it disgusted you. Aemond looked surprised, straying away from his smirking face. His lips had fallen down to a glare, fist tightening.

You cleared your throat, “My brothers are not available to marry my lord, they're already betrothed to another.”

He nodded as if uninterested, looking for a different answer. Eager to know about you. His head peaked forward in question, a one you didn't want to answer; whether you'll bore his sons children or not. You were just seventeen, and even if westeros considered that to be a grown woman—you were still a young girl. And believed to be as well.

“As for me” you took a breath, “I will have to discuss it with the queen. She shall consider your offer.”

“Hmm” you heard Aemond's voice, glancing at him just for a second. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not at all how you envisioned. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? now you had to go home with a rejection, while Jace would come with more support of armies.

Everything was a mess.

“So you come with empty hands?” Borros says, angered. You sighed, ready to mount back on your dragon and fly the rest of the way in self pity. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the lord of storm's end is not some dog that she can whistle up in need to set against her foes.”

Your jaw clenches, in disappointment “I shall take your answer to the queen, my lord.”

This was indeed, a failure. You failed to prove as the heir to the iron throne that you were capable. Especially because you are a girl. You needed to show it, to your mother and to everyone else, that you can take on that responsibility as well as any king. All because of him. It was his fault, and he sure looked proud. You hated this, hated his cunning smile, his swift posture, his one purple eye and oh, him. Everything you hoped you could achieve, he destroyed it for you.

He sure hated you; that was evident.

“Wait”

You hear Aemond, as you halt in your steps while turning back to the gates, “My lady strong.”

Your eyes widen, “What did you say?” he knew it, how to get in your skin. The dinner, with insults about your heritage, calling your brothers strong that resulted in a fight. It was exhausting, what did he want now? after all this time.

“You heard me.” he tilts his head, “did you really think, you could fly around the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, which makes him furrow his eyebrows. “Your brother's throne? or rather, Aegon the usurper's?”

“I would mind my tongue if I were you, my lady.”

You bit your lip, his audacity, after all he had done, to remind you of your place. As if he ranked higher than you? A beat passed by, tension thick in the air. Neither of you were looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the move. As if it was a chess board, with the winner taking all. A verbal battle. Aemond finally broke the silence.

“So you're here to usurp my brother's throne then?” he spoke with a calming chill, seeing as your eyes turned into anger, “Traitors.” he mumbled in his breath.

You control every urge to grab his collar and hit him across his face, “I am in haste. Is there something you want from me, prince Aemond?”

His head lies low and a dangerous glint comes in his eyes. You gulped, unknowing where he was about to go with this. He had changed ever since Luke had done it. Taken his eye. Somewhere, you didn't blame him. It was true that none of your brothers ever got punished for what happened, a result of your mother being the obviously favoured child. He was angry, at Luke—at you, that nothing happened. Everything was complicated; but, not unsalvagable. After you returned to king's landing, you tried everything to be nice with Aemond, to be civil, for the least. Alas, he denied all of them.

“Yes, there is something I want.” he looks up, eyes cold, “something that was stolen from me not long ago.”

A hitch escapes your lips, “Aemond—”

“You know..” he cuts you off, stepping a little forward towards your direction, “I always wished for your brother to know, what it feels like, to experience such a pain. To have your eye carved out by Valaryan steel, hmm. Unfortunately, now that he isn't here, I'll have to make him learn some other way. What it feels to have an eye cut out, or rather, a loved one's eye cut out.”

There was just the slightest bit of emotion flash in his eyes, pool of stars, in agony yet so beautiful. Your breathing becomes heavy, as you start to fear for your life. Your hands slowly pulled out your sword.

“I will not fight you.”

You intended to sound harsh, but your voice came out more of a tremble. Aemond and your relationship had gone down the drain, you knew that. Yet, was he really willing and capable of wanting to cripple you? had he started to hold such hatred for you? did he truly forget all the best memories he and you made together. He was acting like you were a stranger to him, that he did not care for your being. Even the mere thought of that sends a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Fight would be little challenge.” his voice is hoarse and cold, “No. I want you to put out your eye.”

A small gasp leaves your mouth when he pulls out his eye patch, a blue emerald stone in the place of his lost eye. He looked so very, beautiful, you thought. Majestic and soft. As even after such an attack on his face, he was born to look gorgeous, no matter what. For a moment you became oblivious to what he was demanding, staring in a trance like state. He was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, tall and long haired, pale skin with features that could start wars between great houses. Your heart fluttered and your throat became dry, unable to form any kind of answer. Aemond did not seem to notice, as he only held a sour and blank look in his eyes.

You only snapped back when he spoke again, “As a payment for mine.”

“No, I will not.” your voice is low, but clearly he heard it since something changed in his expression. He was angry. An emotion he hardly showed ever since the accident.

“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor.”

“You can't be serious ab—”

“Give me your eye!” he shouts all of a sudden and starts to walk towards you with rage, “or I will take it!”

You frantically back away, pulling out your sword on impulse. The guards coming in to shield you, as lord Borros stands up, saying something about wanting to have no such ‘bloodshed’ beneath his roof. You barely hear him over your own beating heart, fear taking over every one of your survival instincts. He orders for you to be escorted back to your dragon, as Aemond watches you exit the doomed castle. The rain has worsened, your clothes, that had been a little dried up, now went back to being wet again. You push your hair out of your eyes, raising a hand to itch your neck. Your hair was long, so it irritated your skin whenever they were soaked with rain or water.

But all you could think about was what had happened inside, his eyes, his face, all his hatred for you. Did he really want to send you harm? or was he faking? your gaze turned to the side, expecting the giant green beast yet, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen. You started to panic, if Aemond had already flown away, it could only mean two possibilities. He went back to king's landing, or he was awaiting to do something much worse. The latter scared you.

You walked towards Tessarion, her dark and orange eyes bored into your figure, wings flapping in excitement. You sigh, slowly getting on top of her and adjusting your straps.

“Sōvēs, Tessarion.”

She hears your command and swiftly takes out into the sky. She was futile and fast, if you were careful enough, you both would be able to make it to dragonstone with no harm done. Besides, rain, was her element of sheer power. You squint your eyes, rubbing water out of them as a few minutes had passed by, the storm nowhere to be stopping anytime soon. All you could hear was the flapping of her wings and the heavy rainfall that held out the dark clouds. It didn't matter anymore of Lord Borros's rejection, he couldn't be any more reliable than he already is. Besides, if you could reach your home safely, without the presence of a one eyed prince, that would be more than victory enough.

However wrong had the universe been out there to prove you.

As you were about to loosen your tight ropes, with a newfound relief—a snarl disrupts you. You looked back to see the giant mouth of the big monster in the name of a dragon, coming up towards you. Instantly you yelped, pulling the ropes sideways to avoid getting eaten. You can hear Aemond's malicious laughs, he was enjoying this. You let out a cry for help, struggling to keep hold of your now panicked dragon, as Vhagar flew around you, mouth wide open.

The rain was making it quite difficult to see, as Aemond chased you down.

Vhagar's giant claws kept trying to cut you and Tessarion, as Aemond began to mumble things in high valaryan, something you could not hear due to your panic and wanting to steer away from him and his beast. You tugged on the leash, pulling her away to the left. You knew Vhagar had a hard time with turning around, and it would buy you some time. His laugh, so cruel and emotionless, he was out to kill you. That was unquestionable. You had to get away from them, instead of processing how your childhood best friend, and the man you loved, could become the reason for your death.

A cannon appeared in your sight, and you quickly flew into the narrow path in between it. Aemond could only follow you from the above, waiting for you to come out.

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Taobi!” You hear him shout, an unexpected emotion and anger in his voice. You owe a debt? No, you didn't. You did not take his eye, or tease and bully him all those years ago. In fact, you were the one who defended him. And he thinks you are the reason for his lost eye?

“For the god's sake stop this Aemond!” you shout, a whimper coming out of you. Tears running down, “please.”

Somehow, at that Aemond's demeanor softened. It looked like he was over playing with you. But your dragon wasn't done with him, instead, Tessarion disobeyed your own commands, flew out the cannon and let out a massive fire at Vhagar's face. Something that didn't do much damage. You cursed, as she shrieked in pain when you harshened the ropes to make her listen. Aemond was going through the same situation, yelling out every command in high valaryan to stop, but his dragon was angered. That's when you were remembered of your grandfather's words, the idea that we control the dragons, is an illusion.

“No Vhagar! No!” was the last thing you heard from him, before his dragon grabbed your coat with its claws, losing the balance off the seat, you screamed as you fell off. The height was above the clouds, and in nowhere will you be to survive.

Until the ocean hit your body, and you blacked out.

Rain droplets on your eyes irritated you, as you could still feel it was raining. Not as hard as before, but still. Slowly blinking, you open your eyes. You found yourself laying on top of some concrete—more over rocks and tiny stones.

A sharp pain hits you, as you realise you were having a hard time getting up.

“Ouch!” you hiss, as blood comes out of your forehead and possibly from your ribcage. With minor cuts and bruises on the tip of your fingers and lips. You were too focused on your injuries, without noticing the very familiar presence by your side. “Don't get up, or it will make whatever injuries you have received worse.”

You gasp as his voice speaks out, swiftly turning and locking your eyes with the very man who was at fault for you being here in the first place. Aemond stood a few feet away, with Vhagar a little further up. An alarm went inside you, what was he doing here? was he here to finish what he started? give you a slow and painful death? and moreover, where was your dragon?

“T—Tessarion?” you manage to whisper, the pain worsening at that. Frantically looking around. Aemond reassured, “That bundle of blue is fine, probably lurking around and searching for you.”

He tries to get closer to you, to which you quickly shift away, wincing in pain at the rocks grazing your bloodied back. “Get the fuck away from me!” you say, as you pull out your sword. Hands shakily holding it.

His eyes weakened, as if a guilt was forming in his throat. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You heard your dragon's roars, she was close somewhere. You bit your lip to suppress the pain, refusing to cry in front of him. The rain didn't leave mercy on you, as it continued to fall. You were soaked, both from the storm and possible blood by scars and fractures. If you didn't get help, you could die in a very slow way, taking around seven to nine days. Perhaps faster by starvation or dehydration—or by his very sword. You didn't know which was worse.

“Y/N..” Aemond breathes out, “I—I didn't intend to cause this.”

That was the first time in years, he spoke your name. Only your name, no titles or formality. It was raw. You didn't answer, not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. At first he was chasing you around like a mad man, and the next minute he was apologizing for almost killing you. You tried getting back up your feet, but winced at the sheer pain that came with it.

“Let me help you or—”

“No!” you immediately shake your head, pointing your sword further towards him.

In no world will you weaken your guard, let him get close to your body only for him to deceive you and strangle you to death. Or cut your throat with that small knife of his. You didn't know why he hadn't done that already? you were blacked out for almost ten minutes, he could have easily killed you with no difficulty. What did he even want? if not to kill you then why did he do all this?

“Y/N, let me help. Falling into the ocean at such speed is the same as falling in concrete ground. If not worse.”

“You tried to kill me! why would I ever trust you?”

He falls silent at that. Unexpectedly so. You bit your lip, struggling to keep up the strong facade with all the pain masking behind it. You didn't know how much longer you would be able to keep your sword pointed at him. Your dragon is far away and no one is here to possibly protect you against Aemond and his giant beast.

“I didn't want to kill you,” he says, his voice faltering from the rain that had now soaked his entire clothes and hair, “Only scare you.”

“Well you did more than that” you bite back, a bitterness in your tone. He scoffs, “Maybe, if your young and wild dragon hadn't leashed fire on mine, this wouldn't have happened.”

A baffled scoff of your own comes out of you, in disbelief, “Oh so this is—this is my fault?”

“Precisely.”

“Fuck you!” you spat, your throat burning up at the yell. Your condition was getting worse by the minute, and Aemond noticed that. He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself before matching up to you. You yelped as he reached over you, pulling your arms in order to get you up, but struggling as you put up a fight. You wince at the pain of getting on your feet, eventually giving up as he held on to you firmly, his hands of your waist.

You sigh, so tired like all the blood and mass from your body was being drained. You feel his eyes on you, worried as his breath was ragged. If you weren't on the brink of death, you might have realised you liked this feeling. But that moment is gone as soon as it came, you push Aemond away, roughly. This is your enemy. Not your protector.

“Y/N—”

“What do you want?!” you interrupted him, shouting amidst the heavy rainfall soaking both your breaths. “You threaten me, almost kill me, and then help me when it was you who put me in this position in the first place. I don't understand why you are here if you don't want to kill me! what other reason is there for you to do what you have done ever since I landed here?”

Aemond becomes silent, any words he could speak refused to come out. He looks at you hard, before taking his eyes off you, his jaw clenched. You were frustrated now, you wanted the answer. You needed it. He can't just ignore you after all this.

“Tell me. Why?” you inquire, again. When he doesn't answer, you furiously walk towards him, pushing his chest as he stumbles back a bit. “Why—”

“Because you didn't do anything!” he finally breaks, his voice was surprisingly inflamed with a touch of vulnerability.

You blink your eyes, taken aback, “what?”

“You...” Aemond breathes, willing himself to say those words he never wanted to say, jaw clenching, “You were my friend. My dearest one. Yet, when your brother took my eye and I was the one condemned for it, you didn't say anything. You just stood there, in pure silence. I—”

He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I thought you would always defend me.”

You were speechless. It was true. What he said. You didn't say anything because you didn't know what happened. You weren't there. And being overwhelmed by all the shouting and bruises on your little brothers faces, you didn't know what to think. But you believed your mother. You couldn't defend yourself, he was saying the truth. You didn't have his back and that's what broke what the two of you shared. You went numb to the pain you had, or the seemingly hatred you had for him. This, this was the Aemond you remember. And you weren't about to let him go.

“I'm sorry.” you say, “I'm sorry, okay?”

But it wasn't enough. You knew it wasn't when his face fell, shaking his head and turning around to walk away from you and this. You weren't about to let that happen. “Aemond!” you called out to him, but he didn't stop. The pain was excruciating, but you needed to make this right. “Aemond!” when he doesn't listen, you take all the best strength you had left and catch up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.

“Aemond I'm sorry!” you yell, wanting him to feel how much guilt you felt, “But I'm in a lot of pain here, okay? it feels like my body is cut by a thousand bolts of lightning, I can't even feel my back and my throat is burning. But still, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I did not understand what was happening—we were both children for god's sake! but even then, if I hurt you, which evidently now that I have I mean we wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't, I'm so sorry.”

You don't know if you made it better or worse looking at the stoic expression on his face. But you had tried. The rain had soaked all his emotions, but even then you could see just the little bit of stars in his pupils you once saw as kids. You cross your arms, feeling the cold embrace you as you shudder in your injuries and pain. He gulped, unknowingly laying his head low to avoid looking in your eyes.

“I apologize, for this. For everything. I lost my temper today. It won't happen again.”

Your eyes soften at his words, as if a wall had risen between you two again. You hated it. You wanted to break it. So you did. In a few fraction of seconds, you didn't realise what you were about to do before you walked closer to him, too close. His breath hitches as your face comes in between his wet hair, his hair touching your cheeks just slightly.

“Y/N—”

He was only able to mumble out these words before your lips were on his. So barely. He inhaled a sharp breath, hands coming up but not knowing where to go. You close your eyes and just for one moment, forget the war, the families, the armies. Just you and him. Before you pull away, Aemond finally found his senses and comes up to cup your cheeks. Kissing you back softly but with an unspoken passion. He was careful not to hurt you.

Your hands find his waist, carefully tugging at the black belts that were wrapped around it. It felt like this was what you both had craved all these years. This. All the fight left out of him the moment you kissed him. Like the sun finally just glanced one look at his star. The one closest to it. You were his sun. And he was your favourite star. You only pull away when the growl of your dragon reaches your ears, Tessarion was here. Just a few rocks away. Your foreheads were touching, and Aemond places a small kiss at your head.

“Get home safe.” he whispers, his thumb tracing down your lips.

You didn't know if you would get a moment like this again. But you were happy. That you finally got to have one taste of heaven. Your heaven. Your Targaryen. Your Aemond.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛!

[whokilledsamara]

Could you please write a mr scarletta x afab reader smut 🙏🏼 high key based on all the art of his umbrella being his member or it brings him pleasure when rubbed. Maybe where reader is riding the curved handle of rubbing it between her legs 🫣 if not thank you for taking your time to even just read this!

UMBRELLA

a Mr. Scarletella x afab!reader fic. {an: ooo when i tell you i think about this NIGHTLY}

warnings || misuse of an umbrella, humping, riding an inanimate object, public {for Mr. Scarletella}, afab reader, smut, indirect sex

he always made sure you had it- his umbrella. it was his entire heart and soul, literally him as a being. he trusted you enough- enough that he would leave you with it at all times. he could feel every touch from it, every time your fingers grazed the mesh. you were his human, and he would do anything to mark you as his. regardless if you gave him your name or not.

honestly, you never realized how much it really affected him. you thought all the times he would flinch as you opened the umbrella was just him being, well, him. the way his face would flush and eyes would widen as your hand held the handle, seemed normal to you. though, the more you thought about it, it all started to make sense. Mr. Scarletella was known to be weird and unsettling, but you didn't mind too much. he scared off any creatures that posed a threat to you, plus he was kinda hot-... in his own, creepy way.

it was late at night, or so you assumed- there really wasn't any way to tell time here.. but as you grew restless, tossing and turning on the makeshift bed you had, an idea came to mind. though it was rather risky,, and rather lewd, you couldn't help it. there was really no action here, and all this built up sexual tension definitely didn't help.

your eyes glare daggers at the umbrella that was perched next to your bed. a long stare at that. your thoughts kept debating whether to take the risk or not, until you finally sighed and grabbed it.

he was busy at the time, doing who knows what, but his actions paused when he felt your hands on him- his umbrella. you're supposed to be sleeping, why are you awake? his eyes narrow but he decides to carry on with whatever he was doing.

you on the other hand, were too busy shimmying off your small red panties, still debating your life choices as you rub your fingers down to your entrance, lubing your whole pussy up before shifting in a sitting position, umbrella underneath you. the stick of it was long, and slightly thick. there was a curve at the end for the handle. sighing softly, you lower your cunt on the stick part of it, rubbing your clit on the long pole. your breath instinctively hitches, a hushed whine leaving your lips. your hips move faster and faster, eyes clenching shut.

his heartbeat speed up, so fast he could hear it. his back hits the wall near him and his face turns red, hand coming up to cover his mouth. eyes still wide and staring off into space, his legs slightly trembling as he stays pressed against rhe wall.

oh.. so thats what you're doing..

meanwhile, your small moans grew heavier, pussy lubing up the pole and making it slide easier. one hand was places on the mesh of the umbrella, while the other was on the side of it, keeping you held up. your cunt was so desperately humping it, seeking as much friction as it could. unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

when he feels the pressure be pulled off, he sighs, having a hard time catching his breath as he processes what just happened. his boner was noticeable even through his raincoat, so prominent that it was impossible to cover. his eyes clench shut and he lets out a shaky breath, attempting to catch himself, his eyes widen with shock and a loud groan suddenly escapes him as he feels you actually slip onto the handle of the umbrella. his fucking cock. he drops to his knees and clenches his stomach, eyes wide and a grin that stretches ear to ear. his teeth sunk into his lip, blood seeping out. shaky breaths and whines spill from him, hair somewhat covering his face as his eyes stare off. you were gonna be the death of him.

your breath hitches and you let out a loud, pleased moan, the handle of the umbrella hitting just the right spot so deep inside of you that you almost came as soon as you started. you couldn't get enough, both your insides and clit were being stimulated from your frantic riding. your hips shuttered, moving at an impossible pace, head thrown back and mewls slipping freely from your lips. you needed it so bad, wanted to cum so desperately that you didn't care how you got it. nor did you care that you were riding a fucking umbrella.

the handle hits a perfect peak. your eyes roll back so far into your skull and you let out one last loud moan, hips sputtering and an orgasm crashing though you. the handle was still deep inside, a bit of drool sliding down your chin. your eyes dart down at the sight- a messy umbrella covered in both your juices and orgasm, but also.. semen?

oh shit.

embarrassment covers your face, realizing your mistake. you hopelessly forgot that his umbrella was practically him as a being, and you just rode it, let alone came on it. you slowly pull it out of you, an unwilling whimper leaving your lips at the feeling.

how could you possibly get out of this one..?

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[nanenna]

This Meeting Could've Been an E-mail

Sleepy King (Nanenna ver.) Masterpost

---

Diana, along with several other members of the JLD, were sitting in a meeting room. John had stood at the head of the table, having just finished outlining the situation for them, and it was grim. She knew if worse came to worse they may have to sacrifice the boy to keep the Ghost King from emerging into their world and wreaking havoc on a scale only Darkseid had managed before, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Would not the boy also smell my father’s blood?” Raven asked.

“Unfortunately. You an’ me are gonna stay back and help plan based on what everyone else reads from the boy.”

Diana nodded along, likely that was also her role.

Bruce, in full Batman gear, came stalking into the room.

“About bloody time,” John said with a huff.

“I would hope you have brought them all up to speed on what you know of Danny while waiting.”

John made an annoyed sound, then moved to sit in a chair near the head of the table. “`Course I did, just waiting on you now.”

Bruce stood in the spot John had just vacated. “Oracle.” The room dimmed and the holo-projector  in the table whirred to life. A picture of a small family standing in front of what appeared to be some sort of business run out of what used to be a family home (something fairly common in America, Diana had learned) took center stage. Obviously it was part of a website, Diana could see the web bar with several tabs across the top of the projection, but it was zoomed into the photo.

“This,” Bruce said, pointing to the teenaged boy in the photo from behind, “is Daniel “Danny” Fenton, the boy used in the ritual last night.”

Everyone leaned in closer to look the boy over. There was nothing remarkable about him, a bit thin perhaps but that could be due to the lankiness that comes with growth spurts.

“He’s from Amity Park, Illinois. The town advertises itself as the most haunted city in America, and from what we’ve gathered they earned it. Most pertinent is that last year they were under attack by the Ghost King.”

Oracle must have clicked to the next tab, the family picture was replaced by an online newspaper article titled “Ghost King Thwarted! Is Phantom a Hero?”

“I’m sorry, what happened?” Zatanna asked incredulously.

“There must be some mistake, there’s no way Pariah Dark got free without a single person feeling it,” Dr. Fate insisted.

Oracle scrolled down the page to show several blurry photos taken of a being that looked nothing like what they’d seen last night, alongside a sketch of the being. “Either this was well researched, or somehow this whole event was cloaked,” Bruce said grimly.

“Considering this wasn’t even the most recent attack on the town and a few of them sound like JL level threats,” Oracle’s modulated voice came from the table’s speakers as she quickly tabbed through a few more news articles before coming back to the one on the Ghost King, “I think it’s more likely something is blocking the whole town from us.” She scrolled down more to show several missing or broken photos. “Especially this Phantom person that keeps showing up in every article about ghosts. Even using the way back machine there’s not a single photo of him anywhere on the internet.”

“If the Ghost King has been out,” Captain Marvel asked, “where did he go? I doubt he’s spent the last year just hanging out in a small town in middle America.”

“According to this news article,” Bruce said, “Phantom, along with help from the whole town, managed to get the Ghost King back into the Sarcophagus and sealed him away again.”

John whistled, “That’s quite the feat, even with help.”

“Are you saying Danny was chosen as Pariah’s anchor because he’s from Amity Park?” Raven asked.

“Not just because he’s from Amity Park, his parents are also self proclaimed paranormal scientists and ghost hunters.”

Oracle tabbed to a few different pages, each one with a different picture of one of Danny’s parents proudly holding ominously glowing green weapons or with vials of glowing green goo. Sometimes one in the background of another.

John squinted at the photos, “Is that pure æther?!”

“How?!” Captain Marvel and Zatanna both asked incredulously.

“They call it ectoplasm,” Bruce stated.

John scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ectoplasm is a word scam artists in the 1800s made up to steal money from grieving widows.”

“Nevertheless that is what they're calling it. Especially of note that the Fentons run their research out of their home.”

“Where their children live?” Diana asked, horrified at the implications.

“How are they still sane?” Captain Marvel asked incredulously.

“We're not sure they are,” Batman said grimly. Oracle tabbed to a street view of the Fenton home, easily identified by the large sign on the side. The strange addition to the home's roof was an… interesting choice.

The other attendees of the meeting were becoming agitated, several of them shifting in place as they got ready to speak.

“Before this goes any further,” Bruce stated firmly, “all this to say the cult that kidnapped Danny Fenton did so with intention. Amity Park certainly needs a full investigation, but it will have to wait until after this crisis with the Ghost King is dealt with.”

“Æther exposure might explain why the kid could handle being Pariah’s anchor.” John sighed then stood up. “Alright, if that’s all the info you got…”

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement.

“The clock’s ticking.” John left the room, the others all following after.

Diana hung back to speak with Bruce. “We’ll find a solution.”

Bruce just hummed to show he heard her. She knew he wasn’t handling the situation well, a child’s life was at stake and he had to hand the situation over to others. There was only so much she could reassure him, so she chose instead to go see the boy for herself.

The JLD members that had attended the meeting were all gathered in a kitchenette discussing logistics. Diana left them to it for the moment and simply went down the hall to the room she knew the boy was sleeping in. The lights in the hallway were already dimmed, thankfully, so she simply quietly opened the door and poked her head inside. Clark was sitting on a chair next to the boy’s bed. His posture was a relaxed sprawl, but his face was furrowed in concentration. He looked up and smiled when he saw Diana.

“How are you?” She asked at barely a whisper, knowing he’d hear her just fine.

“Guilty, now that I know he mistook me for his father.”

“Sadly this is an ask for forgiveness situation.” She gently pat Clark’s arm, trying to console him.

The boy himself looked like any other teenager, dead to the world while tucked safely into bed. She only hoped they would find some solution and tomorrow he would be tucked just as safely into his own bed.

[anarchistmemecollective]

If the Nuremberg laws were applied, then every post-war American president would have been hanged. By violation of the Nuremberg laws I mean the same kind of crimes for which people were hanged in Nuremberg. And Nuremberg means Nuremberg and Tokyo. So first of all you’ve got to think back as to what people were hanged for at Nuremberg and Tokyo. And once you think back, the question doesn’t even require a moment’s waste of time. For example, one general at the Tokyo trials, which were the worst, General Yamashita, was hanged on the grounds that troops in the Philippines, which were technically under his command (though it was so late in the war that he had no contact with them — it was the very end of the war and there were some troops running around the Philippines who he had no contact with), had carried out atrocities, so he was hanged. Well, try that one out and you’ve already wiped out everybody.

But getting closer to the sort of core of the Nuremberg-Tokyo tribunals, in Truman’s case at the Tokyo tribunal, there was one authentic, independent Asian justice, an Indian, who was also the one person in the court who had any background in international law [Radhabinod Pal], and he dissented from the whole judgment, dissented from the whole thing. He wrote a very interesting and important dissent, seven hundred pages — you can find it in the Harvard Law Library, that’s where I found it, maybe somewhere else, and it’s interesting reading. He goes through the trial record and shows, I think pretty convincingly, it was pretty farcical. He ends up by saying something like this: if there is any crime in the Pacific theater that compares with the crimes of the Nazis, for which they’re being hanged at Nuremberg, it was the dropping of the two atom bombs. And he says nothing of that sort can be attributed to the present accused. Well, that’s a plausible argument, I think, if you look at the background. Truman proceeded to organize a major counter-insurgency campaign in Greece which killed off about one hundred and sixty thousand people, sixty thousand refugees, another sixty thousand or so people tortured, political system dismantled, right-wing regime. American corporations came in and took it over. I think that’s a crime under Nuremberg.

Well, what about Eisenhower? You could argue over whether his overthrow of the government of Guatemala was a crime. There was a CIA-backed army, which went in under U.S. threats and bombing and so on to undermine that capitalist democracy. I think that’s a crime. The invasion of Lebanon in 1958, I don’t know, you could argue. A lot of people were killed. The overthrow of the government of Iran is another one — through a CIA-backed coup. But Guatemala suffices for Eisenhower and there’s plenty more.

Kennedy is easy. The invasion of Cuba was outright aggression. Eisenhower planned it, incidentally, so he was involved in a conspiracy to invade another country, which we can add to his score. After the invasion of Cuba, Kennedy launched a huge terrorist campaign against Cuba, which was very serious. No joke. Bombardment of industrial installations with killing of plenty of people, bombing hotels, sinking fishing boats, sabotage. Later, under Nixon, it even went as far as poisoning livestock and so on. Big affair. And then came Vietnam; he invaded Vietnam. He invaded South Vietnam in 1962. He sent the U.S. Air Force to start bombing. Okay. We took care of Kennedy.

Johnson is trivial. The Indochina war alone, forget the invasion of the Dominican Republic, was a major war crime.

Nixon the same. Nixon invaded Cambodia. The Nixon-Kissinger bombing of Cambodia in the early ’70’s was not all that different from the Khmer Rouge atrocities, in scale somewhat less, but not much less. Same was true in Laos. I could go on case after case with them, that’s easy.

Ford was only there for a very short time so he didn’t have time for a lot of crimes, but he managed one major one. He supported the Indonesian invasion of East Timor, which was near genocidal. I mean, it makes Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait look like a tea party. That was supported decisively by the United States, both the diplmatic and the necessary military support came primarily from the United States. This was picked up under Carter.

Carter was the least violent of American presidents but he did things which I think would certainly fall under Nuremberg provisions. As the Indonesian atrocities increased to a level of really near-genocide, the U.S. aid under Carter increased. It reached a peak in 1978 as the atrocities peaked. So we took care of Carter, even forgetting other things.

Reagan. It’s not a question. I mean, the stuff in Central America alone suffices. Support for the Israeli invasion of Lebanon also makes Saddam Hussein look pretty mild in terms of casualties and destruction. That suffices.

Bush. Well, need we talk on? In fact, in the Reagan period there’s even an International Court of Justice decision on what they call the “unlawful use of force” for which Reagan and Bush were condemned. I mean, you could argue about some of these people, but I think you could make a pretty strong case if you look at the Nuremberg decisions, Nuremberg and Tokyo, and you ask what people were condemned for. I think American presidents are well within the range.

Also, bear in mind, people ought to be pretty critical about the Nuremberg principles. I don’t mean to suggest they’re some kind of model of probity or anything. For one thing, they were ex post facto. These were determined to be crimes by the victors after they had won. Now, that already raises questions. In the case of the American presidents, they weren’t ex post facto. Furthermore, you have to ask yourself what was called a “war crime”? How did they decide what was a war crime at Nuremberg and Tokyo? And the answer is pretty simple. and not very pleasant. There was a criterion. Kind of like an operational criterion. If the enemy had done it and couldn’t show that we had done it, then it was a war crime. So like bombing of urban concentrations was not considered a war crime because we had done more of it than the Germans and the Japanese. So that wasn’t a war crime. You want to turn Tokyo into rubble? So much rubble you can’t even drop an atom bomb there because nobody will see anything if you do, which is the real reason they didn’t bomb Tokyo. That’s not a war crime because we did it. Bombing Dresden is not a war crime. We did it. German Admiral Gernetz — when he was brought to trial (he was a submarine commander or something) for sinking merchant vessels or whatever he did — he called as a defense witness American Admiral Nimitz who testified that the U.S. had done pretty much the same thing, so he was off, he didn’t get tried. And in fact if you run through the whole record, it turns out a war crime is any war crime that you can condemn them for but they can’t condemn us for. Well, you know, that raises some questions.

I should say, actually, that this, interestingly, is said pretty openly by the people involved and it’s regarded as a moral position. The chief prosecutor at Nuremberg was Telford Taylor. You know, a decent man. He wrote a book called Nuremberg and Vietnam. And in it he tries to consider whether there are crimes in Vietnam that fall under the Nuremberg principles. Predictably, he says not. But it’s interesting to see how he spells out the Nuremberg principles.

They’re just the way I said. In fact, I’m taking it from him, but he doesn’t regard that as a criticism. He says, well, that’s the way we did it, and should have done it that way. There’s an article on this in The Yale Law Journal [“Review Symposium: War Crimes, the Rule of Force in International Affairs,” The Yale Law Journal, Vol. 80, #7, June 1971] which is reprinted in a book [Chapter 3 of Chomsky’s For Reasons of State (Pantheon, 1973)] if you’re interested.

I think one ought to raise many questions about the Nuremberg tribunal, and especially the Tokyo tribunal. The Tokyo tribunal was in many ways farcical. The people condemned at Tokyo had done things for which plenty of people on the other side could be condemned. Furthermore, just as in the case of Saddam Hussein, many of their worst atrocities the U.S. didn’t care about. Like some of the worst atrocities of the Japanese were in the late ’30s, but the U.S. didn’t especially care about that. What the U.S. cared about was that Japan was moving to close off the China market. That was no good. But not the slaughter of a couple of hundred thousand people or whatever they did in Nanking. That’s not a big deal.

Noam Chomsky, around 1990

Fine. Arrest them too!

I don’t think “hey, those other guys committed heinous war crimes just like us” is the own this guy seems to think it is.

[arcane-ish]

Vi got robbed by the finale

First, a few words on where I'm coming from. I really enjoyed Vi and felt for her in season 1. I'm a Cait/Vi enjoyer and was looking forward to their resolution. I do not have fundamental objections to Vi becoming an enforcer. I don't have a problem with Caitlyn and Vi having sex in the Jinx cell and I actually think it is one of the better scenes of her arc.

IMO she was great, tragic POV heroine and lead in season 1.

Her status changed in season 2, which is reflected in the screntime distribution (ie both Jinx and Caitlyn having more screentime). This does not have to be a bad thing. You can have good arcs and emotionally resonant stories even as a supporting character.

But the more and more I think about the finale and Act 3, the more I think Vi really got treated badly. And the core is really this:

I've joked that I thought about switching my ship allegiance to Mel/Cait after the finale. I'm not actually serious about it. But it got me to think.

And I came up with the following thesis:

1.) Vi is really, really unimportant and useless in the final fight 2.) That matters because they went with an an action finale

On to a long post discussing Vi's role in the finale and Vi's arcs in Act 1 and 2 and her lack of meaningful arc in Act 3.

Within the finale there's really a clear hierarchy of conflicts.

1.) Viktor is the biggest threat and the most emotionally emphasized climax. Jayce is the action and emotional hero of this threat, Ekko is the supporting cool action hero of this threat.

2.) Ambessa is the second most scary threat. She's not a universe threatening as Viktor, but she's still badass and interesting and she gets a cool and very lengthy action scene associated with her. Mel is the emotional core of this conflict. Cait gets the badass action part of this conflict. Mel and Cait also directly coordinate, increasing the badassery.

3.) Warwick by comparison is barely a goon. He feels like an afterthought. Not like a major threat. Vi and Jinx are "assigned" to him. Jinx is the hero of this already fairly unimportant conflict and I would argue she even gets the bigger emotional punch, even though Vi is clearly affected as well.

I find it striking how different Vi's role in the battle feels to Caitlyn. Caitlyn it feels gets two badass action sequences. First in the smoke, really getting to show of her sharp shooting:

While at the same time, Vi gets her shit kicked in by regular Noxian soldiers and is busy... trying to hold a door? Babysitting the shooting of a rocket?

I've been thinking about it. On paper, there isn't that much of a difference between Cait's sharp shooter sequence and Vi's sequence at the tower.

Both show several people dying around them (though Cait acts calm and professional about it while Vi reacts emotionally). Both have bit player characters stepping in to help execute what they are doing (Steb placing the bomb, Jhin tease guy shooting the rocket). Both have missions that kind of fail (Cait's bomb doesn't go off, the rocket shoots the empty egg thing).

But it still feels like Caitlyn just gets way more glory shots. While Vi gets pushed to the floor, gets rescued by Jinx and Ekko riding to her rescue.

Her big glory shot

In theory should be great. She is punching Warwick to rescue Jinx. But it's shot so far away and turns around so fast into Warwick choking her, we don't feel the impact of her punch at all, even though on paper it is Vi using her gauntlets in a really cool innovative way.

If I compare how the Cait/Ambessa fight goes, yes Cait also gets hurt and thrown to the ground.

But Cait's fight just feels way more badass and Cait like a fundamental part of that conflict. Cait and Mel fight like a well coordinated team while Vi, Jinx and Ekko feel a lot more erratic. Cait is the one who initiates the fight in the first place, Cait is the one who makes a badass sacrifice to open up an essential tactical weakness. Yes, Mel gets the last shot and the emotional payoff, but it still feels very much like Caitlyn's fight too.

Yes in theory, Vi and Jinx go back and forth with saving each other, but it's just much faster and erratic, and *busier*, it just never has the same impact to hit. (I would be very interested in seeing a numbers breakdown, how much screentime is spent on the various different fights but also who has longer scenes before the next cut is)

It just feels like this finale is filled with scene after scene after scene with Vi being shellshocked and helpless and not really being super effective enough to compensate for that. Neither her glory moments, not her emotional moments really get the time to breathe the way this moment does with slo-mo and a song.

Compare Vi hurtling herself at Warwick to save Jinx, versus Jinx hurtling herself at Warwick to save Vi.

Okay, so is this just a dick measuring contest over who gets to be the most badass?

No. It's not a crime for Vi not to be the most effective fighter in the finale. But let's take a step back.

Act 1: Vi is a supporting character, but she has a clear role

I have said before I feel a major difference to season 1 is that rather than Vi being the main driving character, the show switched. Cait is the main character of Act 1, Jinx of Act 2.

Vi has lost her spot as main character, but her role in the story is still very clear. She is there as Cait's partner, her heart, her conscience. She witnesses Cait's distress. She tries to reach out to her. When they have an action scene, they work together and coordinate.

Arcane has action roots. Characters express themselves through their action scenes. That's why it's important who gets what action scene.

Also, while Cait's grief and hate and decisions drive the events of Act 1, Vi has her own arc of having hardened towards Jinx (agreeing Cait should take the shot) and then having that challenged by the end and of course getting an emotionally charged poignant moment when Cait dumps her when Vi takes a stand for Isha (= Vi making a choice).

Act 2: Vi is a supporting character, but she has a clear emotional arc

IMO Jinx is the clear lead character of act 2. She has a clear arc with Isha, befriending Isha, rescuing Isha, losing Isha.

Jinx is also the driving force of the Warwick arc. She encounters Warwick first. She is the one Warwick recognizes first. She puts 2+2 together. She seeks out Vi. She initiates their trip to the mines. She gives Vi the important hint about correctly handling Warwick. Warwick jumps into action ("Don't touch my daughter") to save her. His "death" in this arc is linked to Jinx and Isha.

But Vi still has a nice and satisfying enough arc in Act 2 anyway. She starts at rock bottom and grieving, she gets roped in by Jinx, she is initially suspicious of Jinx, she starts to trust Jinx more, her reunion with Warwick is emotional, they all go and try to help him, Jinx and Vi think about their mother.

Vi also goes from grieving Cait, to fixing her own life a little bit, to re-encountering Cait and teaming up with her again.

The big theme of Vi's arc is trust. She has to get over her fears and trust Jinx's advice on Warwick, just like she has to trust Caitlyn about letting Cait tie her up and play fake prisoner.

Act 3: Jinx has an arc about Vi, but Vi has no arc about Jinx

Jinx's in arc in Act 3 is about deciding to leave Vi. Everything in this arc is to prepare us for it.

Vi is not at all in the first episode. Even though the trigger of that episode was according to Amanda Overton what would happen if Vi had died in the original explosion, and the episode is absolutely respectful of Vi, with much grief and praise about it, in the end the portrayal isn't really about how life is impossible for these characters without Vi.

We get told what's going to happen to Jinx and get emotionally prepared for it, even though we don't know it. Sometimes leaping a step forward means leaving a few things behind. We get prepared for the idea that leaving things behind doesn't have to be a bad thing.

In the next episode, again we are getting prepared for what Jinx wants to do through her vision of Silco. She's going to heroically break the cycle of violence. Also, codes and commitments (like Vi's to Jinx) can be the bars we lock outselves in with. Identities (like the Jinx identity) are the cells we want to break out of.

Jinx then makes her decision. She's going to leave Vi. Vi never giving up on her is perceived to be something negative by her. She sets Vi free, telling her to stop caring about Jinx, telling her to be happy with Cait instead.

In the last episode, Ekko talks her out of killing herself. But Jinx still is determined to leave Vi. She says her goodbye to Vi. She assures Vi that it's not a problem because they will always be close anyway.

She then cuts the ties, lets go of Vi's hand and tumbles down with Warwick (and by most people's logic, fakes her own death and leaves the city).

Jinx has made a decision about Vi, which she executes. But Vi has no say in this decision. That's why she has no arc. She doesn't get to make a decision about her future really.

Even sneaking out to try and save Jinx we find out was prepared for by Caitlyn (and of course we find out that Caitlyn is the one who understands what Jinx did while Vi is still outside of this decision). And yes, she chooses to sleep with Caitlyn and she chooses to live with Caitlyn. But do these things really feel like part of her arc or just Vi reacting to circumstances?

IMO Vi wasn't ready to let Jinx go, that's why Jinx had to do it against Vi's will. That's why Vi doesn't make a real decision in Act 3.

Amanda said they wanted to explore who Vi would be if she didn't have anybody she had to protect and that is a valid and cool idea. But how much time with that did we really get?

And yes I genuinely think that if Vi had gotten a better action role within the finale it would have made a real difference in not making her feel so aimless.

Don't get me wrong. I get why they split it like that. The story required for Vi and Jinx to be paired up, so they can execute the conclusion of their sisters story. And unfortunately, compared to the other threats going on in the finale that story didn't really get the attention and gravitas and time and focus it deserved. (also Vi doesn't have a meaningful enough relationship with Ambessa for it to work for her to be in the Ambessa confrontation)

The problem is also that Vi doesn't really have much of a say in the conclusion of the sisters story. And her future is with Caitlyn.

So if they had found a way to sneak in some Vi and Caitlyn also doing action together or even just have Vi react to Caitlyn's duel or have Caitlyn react to Vi being under attack from Warwick, I think it would have felt more satisfying vis a vis the relationship they are going to have.

Alternatively. I love Ekko. I love that he got a badass fighting moment against Viktor. But in the moment where Jayce flies past Vi, for a moment I thought Vi would switch battlefields and Jayce and Vi would team up again, like they've done a couple of times already. If Vi's identity within the final battle was to be a big damn hero, that would also have imo left us more assured about what her identity is moving forward. Rather than the only thing we have is her being fairly weak in battle, being left out of information loops/not being smart enough to recognize them and being Cait's sweet live in girlfriend.

I don't hate Vi. I don't hate CaitVi. And I actually have some hope that maybe there is a chance that CaitVi as a pair will get to show off their stuff in some other form after all. But yeah, that's why imo season 2 and particularly Act 3 really did Vi a disservice.

(I'm not even suggesting things like Vi's decision to fight for Piltover and seeing so many Zaunites die being given gravitas or her reacting to Sevika being on the council, because I think the writers just have no interest in this topic at all)

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Saw you were taking Lucius Verus requests 👀

Perhaps something along the lines of Lucius rescuing reader from trouble. Hurt/comfort? I just know those biceps could hold me all day…

(if you write this can you tag me pls)

Oooooh thanks for requesting!!

(For the sake of this scenario, let’s say Lucius was allowed to walk the streets of Rome. Tw // mild violence)

————

“Fifteen denarii? For this?” You raised your eyebrows at the textile merchant, pointing at the swath of fabric you’d been sampling. “You must take me for a fool."

He frowned, his screwed up face uglier and even less friendly than before. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"For the quality, this is ten at best! And that’s being generous!”

"How dare you!" He spat, causing the stall's guard to take a menacing step forward. "This is genuine Tarentum wool!"

"I own such wool, and it doesn't feel nearly as coarse as this," you scoffed, tossing the fabric back at him. "You are scamming people with fakes."

"You forget yourself, woman," the guard said, his voice gruff.

He raised a large, meaty hand with the intent to strike you across the face and you flinched, trying to cover yourself with your hands. You grit your teeth in anticipation...

But the startling pain never came. You dared to look up as you heard the guard's confused grunt, and you saw that another man had caught his wrist.

"I would really advise against that," the man said, a dangerous edge to his tone.

"And who are you!? This does not concern you!" The merchant said, turning his glare away from you. "She was trying to tarnish my business!"

"Not without good reason, I suspect."

The guard tried to shove him off, but the man swiftly spun away from from his reach and punched him square in the face. You clambered backward as a full on brawl broke out between them, breaking the table where all the different pieces of textile were displayed. Your first instinct was to flee, but as you turned to run, a hand caught your arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?" the merchant sneered, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Look what you have caused!"

He backhanded you harshly, and at your cry, your savior knocked the guard unconscious and whirled around. There was fury in his gaze as he saw you cradling one side of your face with your free hand, and he took up the fallen guard's sword.

"Let go of her," he said slowly, pointing the tip of the sword at the merchant. "Or I'll cut off your hands."

Begrudgingly, the merchant let you go, and your savior nodded at you to get behind him. You hurried towards him without a second thought, instinctively holding onto his tunic. The two men stared at each other for a tense moment, poised to strike.

"I should cut them off anyway, so you may never strike a woman again," he spat, but lowered the sword.

"Get the fuck out of here," the merchant growled, his teeth clenched. "If I ever see either of you around here again, I'll have you killed."

Your savior did not even react to the threat, instead glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

He tossed the sword on the ground and led you away, hovering close behind you to make sure no one else tried anything. Out in the busy street, he stopped you so he could examine your face, frowning. His thumb traced your cheekbone ever so lightly, which was just beginning to turn faintly purple.

You looked at him more closely, as well, pinned in place by the concern in his crystalline blue eyes. He was handsome in an almost divine way, like the personification of the god of war, Mars. He certainly fought like him, too, an undercurrent of violence under the flex of his muscles.

But you were not afraid of him, instead just awed that he had done it all in your defense.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You shook your head. "Just a dull throb now. Won't look so pretty for a while, though..."

"You needn't be concerned about that," he said, his hand retreating.

You swallowed hard, your face heating up at the insinuation. "I--Thank you for saving me, um..."

"Lucius, he said. "Lucius Verus."

"Thank you, Lucius," you said. "Surely I would be worse off if it hadn't been for you. Aren't you afraid he might call the Praetorian guard?"

"He won't. He would have to answer too many other questions that I'm sure he would prefer not to, especially about his business practices..."

You nodded, letting out a breath as you felt a little more relieved. You felt the urge to hug him, but instead you took both of his hands and squeezed them appreciatively.

"May the Gods bless you always, Lucius Verus."

He squeezed your hands back and smiled, inclining his head graciously.

"And you," he said, then glanced around at the busy crowd of the market. "I should like to be your personal guard for the rest of the day, if you'd let me escort you."

Your smile widened. "Well, I would never dream of declining such generous offer."

-----------

[not-rigel]

The color Blue

warnings: SAD, I cried writing this, sevika mourning isha, descriptions of grief

WC: 830

Sevika is sitting in her office, sifting through documents when theres a knock at her door. She grants whoever is there entry. They enter the room carrying a package, it's an expensive looking box and Sevika rolls her eyes at how gaudy it looks. Leave it to Piltover to make their packages fancy for no good reason.

"From the Kirraman estate,"  the delivery person tells her. She hasn't interacted with Caitlyn in months, not since they fought deep in the underground. The arrival of a package puzzles her. But she's had too a long day of failing to agree with the other councilmembers to care too much about anything right now.

Sevika nods to a chair, "Set it over there."

The delivery person sets the box onto the chair then hurriedly leaves the room. Sevika resumes reading over the documents until her eyes hurt and her head aches. She was questioning her strength, how much longer she could handle councilors barring her progress whenever they could. Everytime she felt she was making strides in securing Zaun's future, they'd band against her and dismiss her proposals. She could handle their looks of disgust, she could handle when they mentioned her past with Silco, but she couldn't handle the pressure. She has to do something right by her people or what was the point in being a councilor at all?

Sevika shoves all the papers from her desk, dispirited from all her recent failures. She was so alone and she was falling apart all over again, just like when Silco died. She shoves the emotion down, not allowing herself to feel it until she was ready to unbox it.

Sevika looks over at the package, thinking that she might need the distraction. She leaves her desk, walking over to the chair the box in sat in. She has some trouble getting it open, only having one arm. She can't wear her mechanical arm while up Topside, it's been considered a weapon and banned.

Eventually the package breaks open and what's inside breaks her. Her entire body is uncomfortably hot, like someone replaced all her blood with lightning. Inside the box was Isha's little hat. It was more tattered and torn than it was the last time she saw it. Gods, what did her little baby go through? Tucked next to her hat, was a letter. 

Sevika plucks the letter from the box, unfolding the paper to read the contents.

"I went back to where it happened. Not that I could change anything but just to remember. I ended up finding this and I couldn't just leave it there. I'm sorry I couldnt save her. I heard what she is to you so maybe you need this more than I do.

-Vi"

The note begins to blur then Sevika realizes she is crying. Her tears continue to obscure her vision and wet the letter, smudging the words. She tries to wipe them away with her wrist but new tears replace them immediately.

She can't do this right now, can't have these emotions. She can't breathe. Each word on the paper, each feeling she shoved below her chest came back without permission to choke her. They wrapped their fingers around her throat and wouldn't let go, no matter how much she scratched at then. She needs to fight this off, needs to survive the threat trying to kill her.

Sevika throws her body around, throws anything she can grab. There's no point in it, just run and push and shove until the grief releases its chokehold. But it's not letting go. She can't hear the bookshelf crashing onto the floor, just sees her hand shoving item after item. This usually worked, why wasn't it working this time?

The grief weakens her and she sinks into the floor, not able to stop the tears. It's the worst pain she's felt. But as soon as she lays on the floor, grabbing Isha's hat from where she left it and holds it to her chest, the grief stops choking her. Instead it hugs her back. Isha was too sweet, too beautiful.

Sevika reminisced the moments they had together. Where Isha would fall asleep in her arms, head resting on her shoulder. When Sevika would tease Isha for practically being Jinx's shadow. How Isha mimicked Sevika, making a little cardboard arm to fit over her own and they'd playfight.

Sevika is so proud of Isha but so angry that she was so familiar with violence. Sevika tried all she could to keep her away from it. But that little girl couldnt stay away. Or maybe violence couldnt stay away from her. Maybe violence chased Isha until peace took her.

Sevika forgets time as she remembers Isha for the first time, thinking of every beautiful thing that little girl was. Isha was the color blue. Isha was little rabbit ears. Isha was a head nuzzling into her shoulder. Isha was the reason Sevika fought. Isha is the reason Sevika fights.

[albinoxherbalist]

Rose frowned more with each second it took him to answer. It was not a hard question, yet he struggled to string a sentence together. It was so frustrating. Why were they both lying at her? She let out sigh. She sank onto a chair from the dinette and let out a sigh. "I know it's not my turn, but why...are you lying?" she asked, almost sounding defeated, crossing her arms.

"This isn't your first lie too. Yesterday you lied where you came from. I know you did. I didn't think much of it at first, thought you may do it to protect yourself, but that stopped making sense to me." she spoke, her voice rather stern, but more disappointed than angry. "I have given you no indication that I don't want you here and I'm no threat to you, so why?"

"I have grown to like you both over the past hours and it's just...frustrating. Just tell me what's going on. I don't care which one of you does. I know you're listening too, Dettlaff." she spoke, shooting Dettlaff a glance, who was on the sofa, his back still turned to her. She was just tired of it. Rose had actually put herself in quite the vulnerable position just opening the door for them. She offered them aid and shelter. Being honest seemed like the least they could do to her.

Starter for @vampyrs-and-witchers

Winter was almost there and the weather made that very clear. It was getting colder and there were even a few instances of snow falling, altough it would melt the next day. Rose had done her best to prepare for the winter, as she had a feeling it would be a rough one. There was plenty of firewood, she had stockpiled food and other resources that might be needed to make it through the winter. Usually, her brother would have come home by now, as he usually wintered with her, but he didn't come yet. From the last letter he had sent her, it seemed like he might not come at all or maybe just near the end of the season, as he had a pretty lucrative job as a guard. For how long, he couldn't tell. This slightly disappointed Rose, even though she'd never admit it. She liked her brother's company and missed him dearly. It had been months since they last saw each other. Seemed like for the time being, she had to content being alone in her cottage. It was another cold evening. The sun had almost set and she was busy cooking a stew. She managed to catch a rabbit that morning and wouldn't want it to go to waste. Rose never really liked hunting or killing, but eating was a necessity after all. As she was sitting by the fire, reading as she waited for the stew to be ready, she heard noises outside. At first she thought it was an animal, but it sounded more like footsteps on her porch and she could hear faint whispering. There was no way this was her brother. Hunter would just enter straight away or announce himself. This was more than one person too. Curious, but also cautious, she approached the door. "Hello?" she asked. "Anyone out there?"

Part of her became a little bit scared. She was alone in her cottage and completely defenseless. Rose wasn't much of a fighter and she had always relied on her cottage being hidden in the woods, far away from the next town. What if those were bandits? Then again who travels through a forest, way off the paths? It was strange, but it didn't help her nerves. She leaned against the door as she waited for an answer.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

65 - The Cold and The Rats

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, mentions of trauma and distress, disturbing or gore imagery, blood and violence, threats towards children, implied references to rape

Notes: Everything is fine, don't worry about the chapter title or the warnings :) Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Still fast asleep he was, but you had continued what you started anyways. Why you had been drawn to that book in the first place you didn’t know, but you were. Standing by your bookshelf near the window, your fingers had traced over various names and pages, some you read, some you hadn’t yet. They weren’t books originally of your own collection, those had been lost. Or, not so lost, but you knew they would never be returned to you.

Most of your belongings had been in Kings Landing. Thus by the time Ser Barristan helped you flee, only the clothes he gave you were what you owned anymore. Not just clothes though, letters, trinkets, and of course, all of your books, all left behind. Who knew what Cersei and Joffery had done with them, but not a single thing any of you nor the Starks brought there was any longer yours. By the time you had come back to Winterfell proper, the Boltons were your captors and the only things you owned then were what little they let you borrow from their own. In truth, for the names you held in your life you had very little left. Jon though, had been trying to fix that.

Insisting his bedchambers were as much your as they were his, but you never added a thing to it. Never suggested anything or even came up with a single mention of something you’d even wish for. It was his space, not yours. That hadn’t stopped him though. It was not much and it was slow, but over time Jon had managed to get you some things. A bookshelf with whatever he could find to fill it that might interest you, and a chair more comfortable then it felt belonged in here for you to curl up on. His argument at first was you normally would read at his desk, but if you both were there you’d need somewhere to sit still, and this was his apparent compromise.

Now though, it served well. Large enough that you could position yourself where little Eddard could be wrapped up against your front while a book sat in your lap angled for you to read. When your fingers that evening had trailed along the shelf, you paused at one without initial thought, but it was little Eddard who chose it. Making a small sound of babbling as you asked if thats what he wanted, and you grinned. A strange choice for a story to set him asleep too.

But near an hour passed, and he was no longer awake and yet you kept reading to him.

Your voice was gentle, little more then a tender murmur for the baby’s ears. “The Tower of the Hand was less secure. The two men crept up through the walls, bypassing the spearmen posted at the tower doors. Ser Otto’s rooms were of no interest to them. Instead they slipped into his daughters chambers, one floor below.”

A small murmur came from the baby, but only a shift to snuggle closer to you. A soft smile falling over your face as one hand left the book page long enough to run along his back before returning back. Knowing if you didn’t keep going, he just as well could stay asleep or awake wishing you to have continued.

You knew the words on the page better then most, but for a strange reason you felt your heart race as they slipped from your lips. It was history, but too so removed from you life it felt only like telling a story but yet it felt as if your nerves were ragged and on alert. As if you were living what you read, despite your ability to look up and see otherwise. “Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed.”

Again your eyes flickered up, and again you questioned why. No one still was here, if your ears could strain further then your eyes, you might have even heard the walking and chattering about in the corridors beyond the room.

So again, you tried to continue as you described out loud to the little one words of history you didn’t know why it bothered you so much now. And it only got worse the further into the page it went, describing the scene as Queen Helaena Targaryean came into the room, and her children held at threat. “Debt Collectors, said Cheese. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. Won’t hurt the rest of you fine folks, not one little hair. Which one you want to lose, your Grace?”

The history of the moment was awful, a mother desperate not to make such a choice between her children, offering her own life up in pleading as they denied her. Your eyes looked down to your own for a strange moment as your heart lurched. It was not the same, you were safe in Jons chambers but the weight in your throat sat there even while you continued. “Cheese warned the Queen to make a choice soon, before Blood grew bored and raped her little girl. Pick, he said, or we kill them all. On her knees, weeping, Helaena named her youngest, Maelor. Perhaps she thought the boy was too young to understand. You hear that, little boy? Cheese whispered to Maelor. Your momma wants you dead.”

The voice speaking out next nearly startled you to the point it almost even awoke the baby. “Seven hells.” Your eyes wide looking up to see Arya standing by the door frame with an amused grin at what she caused inadvertently. Stepping more into the room as rose an eyebrow, “A bit young for that kind of violence don’t you think? What are you even reading him?”

Looking down, you closed the book before lifting it up to showcase the front, the words etched into it’s much more simple cover then the contents eluded to. The words of Fire and Blood, written by Archmaester Gyldayn. Written in the not so distant past when Robert Baratheon was still alive and still King over a realm full of peace, it was a well known history text by the time you were old enough to read it. A collection of histories of the Targaryean Dynasty, to a certain point.

Arya tilted her head in amusement as she closed the gap, reaching out her hand you read the intention. Handing it to her as she moved to the bookshelf to return it to the obvious spot it sat before. “I haven’t read this in ages.”

Carefully moving to stand, you ensured little Eddard was still asleep by the time you got to your feet. Easily pulling him from the wrappings into your arms, he shifted close to you as you moved more towards his cradle. “Trust me, there are far worse books on Dragonstone I could’ve read him.” Your hands slowly putting him down, little Eddard trying to worm his way closer to you, and only settling as you let one hand run along the top of his head before leaning down to press a kiss to the same spot. Confident you moved to pull a blanket over top of him and he much more settled as you begun pulling the wrappings from you.

You could hear Arya’s voice from the shelf, her eyes no doubt still looking at them. “What kind?”

Sitting the fabric down out of the way, you turned back to walk closer to her side. “More then I think most realize still exist.” Answering the question you knew would follow, your vision having caught at the side her turning her head towards you. “Baelor the Blessed had most of the Targaryean histories burned in Kings Landing. But, he died before he ever could think to touch the ones on Dragonstone.” Asking what was there, you tilted your head as your eyes squinted in thought. “Books, scrolls, scraps of pages, most of them in High Valyrian, but it was what the Targaryeans brought over decades before the Doom. Most of what’s detailed in those pages are far worse then anything Fire and Blood ever wrote.”

Not an exaggeration. The feats the Valyrian Freehold were capable of, the things known they had done and it was not a wonder why many of the free cities in Essos were not welcoming to their kind or their dragons to this very day. Arya seemed to catch onto your tone, something more low and dark then before. “Not sure what could be worse then that story.”

But your eyes only drifted back to the spine of where you knew Fire and Blood sat once more. That feeling in your gut making you uneasy, and not sure as to why yet. Only a vague idea based on what felt like nothing from your dreams putting you on edge thinking of the words on the page, how it was not a story but a history true to the life you lived now. Your voice little more then a whisper when you said it, and something not so angry nor resentful in it, but breathless and full of something you didn’t understand yet was fear, and in truth you had not a clue why you even said it. It slipped out as if a voice that wasn’t even yours.

“There is a beast beneath the boards.”

As morning light shined through the castle walls, you could only stand there, hands somewhat wringing together as you followed the path he walked to keep him in sight. Arms both preoccupied as either of yours were at any given time these days, Jon well balanced focusing on you with keeping his eyes consistently trained down and bright on little Eddard, whose small hands would occasionally reach up hoping to grasp at his father. He thus far, had not accepted your tone of concern.

Forcing the words out instead of biting down on your tongue, you looked to Jon in a hope that your eyes at least looked convincing of your plead. “He would be safer with you, you know that.”

Jon didn’t even bother looking at you with that narrowed gaze which could live on his face. Grey eyes trained down on the small bundle in his arms as he rasped out in a more smiling amusement to his son now equally as smiling back. “If you had to pick who to spend the whole day with, which one of us would you choose?”

Your eyes almost rolled in a playful manner but you swallowed it back down as the thought continued to rise. “Jon.” Only briefly did his eyes peek up to look at you, softening the moment the sight of the gaze over your eyes grew more and more distinct. Trying to open his mouth to reassure you, you cut him off. Head shaking, hands returning to wring together but not without you now more pacing along the longer edge of the room. “He’d choose me just to be fed. This isn’t about what he wants, or even what he needs. You know why he shouldn’t-”

Cutting you off, only Jons eyes turned to a sternness while his tone cut through as well but did not actually impede on the softness of his voice, despite the words. “I don’t know why. You’re worried about things that aren’t going to happen.” Trying to put forward he did not know that, but Jon entertained none of such insecurity. “I do know. We’ve had him almost a month now, darling. If something were going to happen to you when you had him, it would’ve happened by now. The only person worried about this is you.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, your arms crossed one another over your stomach in something much more protective in motion. “It isn’t just me.” Jons walking stopped, an unknown in his eyes asking the question, but your lungs shook with the answer.

Not yet coming clean or simple, but picking one image in mind you seemed to use it as if a guiding force to tell him what was really going on behind the scenes if he read between the lines, which with you, Jon always could and did. You hesitated to answer, not wishing for it to paint anyone in any ill light but the truth was right there as you saw it.

Opening and closing your mouth, your head dropped, leaning back somewhat against the wooden cabinet behind where you stood. “Gilly’s worried.” Jons head tilted, eyes a softer plead for you to listen to him despite that you both knew how swiftly out of control you could turn something into. “The other day. When you were..” Seeking the appropriate word you elongated the length it took to speak the letters. “Explaining things to Ser Royce, I was sat down where Gilly was playing with little Sam. She would barley meet my eyes, looked at me holding the baby almost like she didn’t trust me.”

Stepping a bit closet to where you leaned, Jon didn’t even somewhat change the manner which he held and toyed with the baby’s attention. As if handling you was no more a strain then caring for his son, as if it came natural to him and only him, dealing with both. “Darling, that isn’t-”

He stopped his own words once you shook your head. The sting behind your eyes making it look a lot more clear what was brewing behind the demeanour you attempted to keep yourself with. “It is. She was looking at me like she didn’t trust me anymore. Everyone keeps looking at me like that. They watch me do something as simply as hold our son and they appear as if they expect having to jump in and take him from me for his own safety. As if I’m-” You cut yourself off as Jons eyes widened in a mixture of worry and a horror that you’d ever stray back down that path leading to such self destruction. Swallowing, the lump falling down the back of your throat did not clear the warmth in your face or the sting or even the rising heart beat with your now drastically increasingly working lungs. “I know what people are starting to say about me, and some days I’m not sure why you don’t believe them either.”

Jon only looked with that soft plead, the one which made it so difficult to say anything against. The baby in his arms only made such a task harder. You knew right away however, he was in a ploy against you. He and little Eddard looked so drastically similar that there was no way to deny he’d grow up to look just like his father. Cradling him in one arm comfortably, he was still small enough that Jon saw no issue with it.

Maester Wolkan had said he was the size which was appropriate for a newborn such as he, but it still felt as if he was small. As if that full month of days you had failed to provide him of growth, were which what would deprive him for good. As if there was no way to fix it now, and yet as he brought him closer to you, your insides melted regardless. Your softness was so close for both of them that he knew just what would make you listen to him with little push back. One hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, Jon turned you up to look at him better.

A gentle rasp which lived in your blood in comfort, your eyes almost fluttering shut at the sound easing the tension in your blood. “I’m not keeping you from him because of this. You’ve never hurt him before, you won’t now.” Adding before you had a chance to say it, “Not even on accident. I don’t care what other people think. They’re not part of this. You’re the mother of my child, I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon tilted your head up more to get a better look at him once more. Thumb running over what of your skin he could reach, almost denying himself the urge to lean in close to you as if not willing to sacrifice his ability to see your eyes. A peek into your truth better then any else could sometimes it seemed. Letting one hand leave your wrapped position on your stomach, you pushed the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp his wrist, your own thumb finding his pulse. Still strong.

Tilting your head a bit into this touch, Jon leaned forward just the slightest to keep your gaze as you mumbled. “It’s getting worse.”

Shaking his head slightly, Jon never let up his gentle touch. “It was this bad before, we just don’t know why it stopped for a while.” He was not entirely wrong. Bran didn’t know what it was, he wasn’t doing anything to even remotely control it, which was how it had accidentally been functioning before.

He looked willingly into some memory you knew nothing of, and he would end up putting your eyes there with him, almost like looking through you made that easier. As if despite not being his blood, Bran could connect to these sights and sounds better with someone to channel this strange energy through, but this was different. This was out of nowhere, wild, lacking any one’s control and none of the times since this begun had it happened when he was anywhere near doing it.

Lord Howland wanted to speak to you however, he and Meera both had experience which seemed a bit closer to what you were experiencing as opposed to the complexities of Bran. Much of what was going on with him was going unsaid, and it felt as if time was running thin for him and you both to act vague.

“The only person who got hurt the last time was myself.” Jon tried to argue you had not hurt anyone this time either, but again, looking at the small bundle snuggled happily in his fathers hold, his son was so small. It would only take one bad day to ruin that and all of this. “How many times can luck be on my side at this rate?”

Sliding his had to the back of your head, Jon pulled you close. Pressing his lips firmly to your forehead and mumbling against them. “You won’t hurt him. You care about his well being, you don’t care about your own.” Opening your mouth, Jon pulled back with a raised brow with the briefest hint of amusement. “You can’t deny that one.”

Were you less on edge, you may have even huffed a breath of laughter. Glancing down, only the faintest trace of a jest came from you. “He seems fine right where he is now.”

That time, a much more real laugh came from Jon. Bright and wide as he kept his grip down at the back of your neck tilting you both to glance down better. “I’m warmer, you’re softer. Trade one for the other.” Prompting you to look once more at him better, Jon mumbled as he dropped the tone unbefitting of your still prominent insecurity. “You’re taking him. End of story.” Waiting for you to nod, Jon left one more kiss to your forehead before transferring the small bundle into your arms.

A weight in your chest at how easily little Eddard turned happily to snuggle into your touch, only brought a much more affectionate chuckle from Jons chest. Tilting your gaze somewhat to look at the baby better, you only muttered in a somewhat false bemusement, “Don’t rub it in.”

You didn’t quite know how much you bought into what he was saying, it all made sense logically of course, but there was a difference between agreeing and understanding. One which no doubt Jon himself was fully aware of, but the constant following of eyes both grey and red were something which never actually went away. Watching like a hawk, keen eyes of both white wolves on your state through the course of the morning. And of course, how much you were pretending as if you couldn’t see that while he watched with a gentle care and concern, the rest watched with trepidation and worry.

If not outright fear of your strange unknowns.

Sometimes it was luck when moments were of such calm. The ability to sit and listen while both you could be seen with a level head and the bundle in your arms too was quiet. Jon was not shy about it, he was not in any consideration to hide away his wife and son from the public court as you knew many would have done otherwise. But if he were to have you at his side, he was not going to keep you from it all just because of the child in your arms.

Little Eddard was scarcely disruptive anyways. Or perhaps you and Jon both merely found it easy for you both to pick up on when he needed something and why. Which was not terribly hard to do for most of your life. Being in and out of the Starks lives as the youngest were born and grew up, and too being there for the first many months of Shireen’s life you were familiar with what a fussiness looked like before it became an issue. Too it seemed, those who watched the proceedings of the court tended to enjoy the presence of the baby. Eyes always drawn to him and gods help when he’d begin making any innocent noises, did eyes and ears all turn to him instantly.

Were he to notice, the little one tended to turn shyly into your person from all of the attention. You’d shift to keep him closer to you and lower from the eyes of the onlookers but that too tended to draw attention. Never did Jon let that interrupt him, he hardly would falter on things which might draw others from the topic or issue at hand. Jon handled both seamlessly at the same time.

Still, it was odd to consider. Strange that despite everything, you sat beside Jon as a Queen and the son in your arms was not just your own, but to all others, a Prince. In your life within Kings Landing never did such a series of titles cross your mind. Princes were spoiled and rotten like Joffery, or sweet innocent blond boys like Tommen. Princess’s were elegant but kind like Myrcella. They were not things which belonged near you.

Born a highborn lady, daughter to the eldest brother of the King. In the royal family was what you were since the time you were born but never did it really feel as such. Why would it though? Where were you in the line of royal succession? Sixth you supposed. Beyond sons and brothers and passed the once supposed daughter of the King, then put you. In the only scenario one could have painted to you, would it lead you anywhere near the word Queen attached to you.

Looking passed Robert, his sons, brothers, and daughter would have to be wiped out to put you there and of course the thought was ridiculous. You’d stand to the side of the throne room in the Red Keep and feel fine knowing you’d never have reason to be placed so near the Iron Throne. Yet it was not being wiped out that put you as close as you technically could be now.

In one fell swoop of truth, were three of those spots gone. Joffery may have called himself a King, Tommen may do so now but that did not make it true. Not that you blamed the later, just a boy when all of this occurred and he was likely still none the wiser. How much people told him anything of significance regarding the rumours around him, you imagined was very little. Still though, with now not Baratheons but Lannisters unlawfully sitting on the Iron Throne, it put you down to third. Then Renly was gone. And the only rightful heir to the Iron Throne at the top with every right to it was Stannis Baratheon.

Were you to agree to it, you’d be second in line. The creeping words of Princess came to mind which no matter what any thought of you, sounded awful with your name. You were nothing like what a Princess was raised to be, nor did anything of the Iron Throne appeal to you. Instead, you found yourself skipping that step in a very odd way.

Greatjon Umber had stood up and declared the only King he’d bend his knee to was Robb Stark, and was declarations of King in the North rung out in the cool night air, did you by his side as wife, become a Queen. Even now, by the side of Jon were you still a Queen. The son in your arms a Prince and would become King next after his father. It was all such an odd place for your life to end up.

Yet it was nothing you knew, compared to Jon. He was born a bastard, not a scrap of this, you, or his son were something he ever thought he’d have because he was not in the rights of the land for any of it but here he sat beside you. The only King which Robb trusted to follow him in death, and every step of the way his choice was proven to be the right one. But there was a known which was entirely unknown to the rest of the country.

You doubted if by now there was any whom had not heard well of Aegon’s actions. Said to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryean and Elia Martell, he was once dead but apparently had lived. Now somewhere in the south he was preparing to take the throne of a family whom never deserved it, but it was not just him, was it? You had joked and jested but neither you nor Jon spoke a word about it in anything close to meaningful.

It was all there, the manner which Joffery had tried to have all of Roberts bastards killed, that were he not legitimate as was rumoured, that a known bastard connected to the father through blood might be the ones with a claim stronger. Yet the one which none of the realm knew about sat next to you as a Stark proudly named Snow, as was his wife and son next to him. It was all strange. A compilation of bloodlines drenched within that of Kings and yet none of it went addressed between either of you, let alone spoken to another soul.

As you sat there, Jons voice strong and his ability to listen keenly was unmatched. He was calm and as good of a King as a man could aspire to be and yet the insurmountable things working against him? It was hard to follow even the logic in your own head, everything felt like it was hard to follow right now.

Nothing felt right in your mind and little of it did you understand. Dreams were one thing, visions another, but it was as if you were unable to focus. A dark brewing cloud you did not really understand was following overtop your head and no one could make sense of it all. No words seemed to hit you from the past few minutes, likely more. Underwater and the speak above the surface was muddled and unclear, no matter how often you found yourself attempting to blink back into focus.

Small grabbing hands could sometimes draw you forth and your eyes drifted downwards with a soft smile only matched by the infant one giving you those bright curious eyes in the first place. Asking you in silence what was wrong, so easily picking up on your state of mind when no one else was able to outloud. Even if the little one could use words, you just knew something felt off. Moreso then usual, and you knew not what to chalk it up to without sounding as if you were dwelling too much on what already was going on with you.

Instead you sat, and only hoped that your silence was being taken as fair and dutiful rather then the confusion settling in your blood and bones. Only, if you thought you could hide that fact from Jon, you were rather wrong. His focus might have been on his people now, but still was there room in his mind for you, and the way you hardly reacted to anything was always a giveaway that Jon would store to handle later.

Only with a glance up, could you see the questioning eyes of Howland Reed. Something as it always was directed towards you, a knowing of something to what was occurring in your mind. And a flicker of his eyes to where the outside sat by the snow covered heart tree, you knew the question being posed. Your nod was small and a subtle yes, but he understood it perfectly well.

The sensation of Jons gaze glancing towards you came about, turning only somewhat to direct a small false smile which he knew did not meet your eyes at him. A public smile, one for the people watching to think everything was fine, and too one that was as disingenuous between you both which spoke that you could only hope he wouldn’t worry.

The narrowing greys looking back at you in something akin to a frown, gave away the opposite.

Grey eyes weren’t the only ones watching, of course you were right in a sense about people looking at you in a strange curiosity, but you knew Jon was not going to give credit to the ones he had encountered. Out of all of them left, Sansa was the most out of the loop. She didn’t know the details of what went on and why, or what led to this or that when it came to the whispers about you, or about Jon.

There was no way at this point she had not heard some or even most of it, but she had yet to ask. Gaze seeking out yours which did not reciprocate, and neither did Jons. Aryas however, seemed to be the ones who noticed where Sansa’s attention was drawn too, and keeping your eyes forward you hoped the girls discussed it together, and not went to you about it. Just one night you needed, one to yourself and Jon and little to interfere.

Your mind only tuning in near the very end it felt to the sound of Jons voice to whom it was he was speaking to at that moment. “Will that be enough to repair your walls?”

A thankful nod and bow given from the older man, “It is, your grace. Thank you, your grace.”

Looking to the room around for any standouts and then both sides to the council up with you both, “If that is all, my lords.” The sounds of chairs and doors and feet got moving, before you could even think to carefully swivel to stand easier, did you feel a warm hand grasping firmly at your side. Turning to look, Jon only moved to grasp at your hip on the other side of you to get you on your feet.

A hum close to something like a laugh in your throat as you looked up at him, arms still firmly holding the awake but calmly content baby. “I can still stand on my own, you are aware.”

Jon only tilted his head a bit, a smirk coming over him as he cocked an eyebrow at you for half of a second. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it anyways.” Gesturing downward to the bundle in your arms as if pointing out the obvious. “Besides, you’re still carrying my child.”

Your brows narrowed in a more playful manner, but said nothing. You knew technically he was right, he was merely being smart about it. Leaving your hip, Jon let his hand run over the top of the baby’s head. A small nonsensical cry coming from him, prompting a bright and handsome smile looking back down at his son, almost causing a wider one back. A heartwarming sensation filled your chest at how similar father and son both were, how much fatherhood suited Jon without even trying.

An interrupting voice cut in from behind both of you, prompting Jon to turn you by your hip to follow and yet not quite leaving a hand from you almost in a stranger display with the amount of people still around. “What is going on with you exactly?”

Sansa stood with narrow eyes but not in what one would call suspicious. Jon withheld what was an instant twitch in his jaw, no doubt from the manner she said it but you took no offence for your own behalf. Adjusting your hold so Jon did not have to leave his gentle touch to his son as you looked up to her with much more of a purposeful calm. “I don’t suppose saying just having some odd dreams is sufficient?”

Only whatever temporary deflection Jon had in mind for you, it was interrupted with the just as curious Arya coming up beside her with an equally as narrow eyed look towards both of you. “We know something else is going on that neither of you are talking about. What is it?” A glance between you both, Arya picked up on it and cut in before a diplomatic response was formed. “Both of you, and Bran. You’re all hiding something weird that’s going on.”

Bran coming up behind all of you looked to you then Meera pushing behind with a hesitant look matching all four of you, Lord Howland approaching quietly much to your relief. “Perhaps this is a discussion best had elsewhere.”

Again, there was no confusion the manner which he looked at you. A promise that answers were had but you knew first there would only be answers upon answers which you did not wish to answer. You had not even wished to divulge a bit of the things which you saw when speaking to Ser Royce. You had only one saviour that day and there was no reaction but the overcoming of white eyes to accompany your disturbed silence. But those who could see you clearly, still saw it.

There felt like no hiding, everyone wanted answers to something you did not understand. You could know an endless amount about it and still not know how to word a single solitary part which one did not experience for themselves. A hesitant look wider in your eyes glanced up to Jon, the hand still at your side tightened with his jaw clenching a bit more. “Meet us in the godswood just after supper.”

Both sisters glancing at the other, but noticing the ones shared between yourself, Jon, Bran and both Reeds with something hesitant all in an understanding of what was to be explained, or even how.

Jon guiding you away however, he only got you as far as a quieter corridor before he gently pushed you enough for you to get the idea. Back finding itself resting against the wall, shifting the baby in your arms, Jon let that hand at your side rise up to cup your cheek much more firmly. His other grasping at your hip stepping into your space, more now crowding you against the wall with not an ability to touch him back.

His plan no doubt.

The bundle turning from looking out to the world, snuggling more into your front as the warmth from Jon cocooned him, tempting sleep as fast as could be. A mumbling rasp on his lips, thumb running over your cheek as you both looked down to little Eddard. “If you weren’t so possessive of her, I’d join you.”

A roll of your eyes was followed by a smile at his audacity, bright grey eyes peering up at you with something smug and prideful before he leaned forward. Not any shame as Jon captured your lips, pulling you by your cheek so you had nowhere to go. Soft lips guiding yours as you melted into him, only able to lean into his reach despite your hands itching to seek out something of him to grasp onto.

Slow he moved his lips with yours, each breath stolen deepening the kiss without failure. A needing feeling always flooded you whenever Jon kissed you, crowding you with his warmth as he stood over you with the power to keep you attached to his lips with no issue. Each time it seemed as if Jon was about to pull away from you, did he lean back into your kiss. Refuse you the thought that it would be brief as that word slowly died off the longer he kissed you.

Only, someone else no doubt had their thoughts on the matter. The small babbles sounded less and less happy coming from between you both as suddenly did the little bundle shift in your arms. Jon however, as if already having sensed it, kept you attached to his lips a moment or two longer. Lingering from pulling away, and only doing so enough he could tilt your head down from the back of your neck. Foreheads pressed against each other as your eyes were a bit dazed and his bright with a grin looking down to the now much grumpier baby.

His free hand shamelessly running along your hip as if he had no qualms with the competition for your attention occurring. “She was mine first.” You almost laughed at the sound coming from the baby, as if he were protesting loudly without the ability to form proper words. Jon only gave a playful look as his hand on the back of your neck tightened as did the one on your hip. “You spend more time with her then I do. Sometimes I need to steal some of your time for myself, you know.”

“Jon.” A huff of laughter came from him as Jon peeled his eyes back up at you. Shifting his grip so his thumb reached your jaw to tilt you back up to his gaze. Leaning close enough to gently run his nose along the length of yours, returning the gesture to him back did Jon steal another kiss. Shorter and more innocent that time, but still as lingering as the rest could be. Mumbling against his lips as he pulled back, staying close you could feel his breath dancing across your skin. “I’m sorry for the meeting.” Asking why, you thought it was obvious, very much sounding as if you were confused why he didn’t know right away. “I was hardly there. I don’t even know if I spoke the entire time. I should be more present at things like this.”

Shaking his head only once, Jon nudged your nose with his once more as if to keep the air of calm and intimate between you as he rasped so close to you. “We handled everything fine, darling. It’s enough that you’re there. I don’t need you feeling like you have to step in every step of the way. We’ve been over this. How many more times do you need me to say it before it sinks into your head?”

A shrug of your shoulder, Jon let a smile creep out onto his lips. That time you captured his lips first, albeit noticeably much more sweet and chaste then any he’d give you himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to apologize.”

A deep exhale, Jon gave you another nod before moving from your hip to run over the top of the baby’s head. His warmth, just as it did for you, causing little Eddard to squirm closer to the heat without failure, pulling another gentle chuckle from Jon. Not yet looking away from the sight as you did, Jon spoke that time both a little more quiet but more with an edge of seriousness. “What are we going to tell them?”

Neither of you needed to specify what he meant. Your own turn to sigh, you leaned more against the wall comfortably as Jon instinctively followed suit, keeping your main sight of vision to himself. “That depends.” Asking you on what, you could only keep it as straight forward as possible. “On how much you and I are ready to talk about it. Any of it.”

Eyes narrowing as he looked back down to the baby, then drifting upwards back to you. Jons face twisted, something more troubled then before yet still soft as ever as he tilted his head a bit looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Deep and raspy when he spoke, the weight of everything seeping into his tone gave hints to his actual feelings on the matter only ever shown to you. “I talked to Sam about some of this. The other night after everyone else left. Some of the things he found while we were gone, it matches what we saw. I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but we’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.”

“I know that, I just...” Cutting yourself off, your eyes fluttered shut as your teeth sunk down on your tongue. Never able to rid yourself of such a habit. At such a young age, a girl of only three or four being told by your septa that you should bite your tongue to keep yourself from having such overly dramatic reactions. Keeping you as stone faced as possible as over the years the pain needed to do so kept increasing, Jons touch cupping your cheek and jaw running his thumb over knowing instantly what you were doing. But still waited for you to find your voice. “How are we supposed to tell them the what, when I still haven’t figured out the why?”

Brows furrowing, Jon kept his touch by your jaw as if to prompt you not to return to such a straining habit of nerves. “I told you-”

Cutting him off, your eyes were a glossy sort of brightness that were sunk in something more distressing then you wanted to give off, but at least here in the small bubble of only you three was it picked up on. “You were given the answers, I was supposed to understand the reasons. But I still don’t. I didn’t then, I don’t know, and I have no idea how any of this works with me to know how to do it.”

You wished Jon didn’t say it, but of course, he had the right answer for that specific conundrum. “Bran might know how.” Almost biting down again, Jons grip grew tighter to stop it in its tracks. To an onlooker, you both would look a mix of intimate but controlling. Close in the others alone proximity, but Jons grip on your cheek and jaw looked worse then it was for. He was controlling, just not in the way it may appear. Some days you wondered if Jon was almost more a Collie. Dogs bred to heard sheep and cattle. Not aggressive but they certainly came off that way to the untrained eye.

Looking to nothing off to the side, only a pillar Jon kept you by to shield from wandering gazes passing the halls, you muttered more under your breath as you shifted your grip on the baby almost as if to move him more so you held him in a comforting manner to yourself. “Bran still won’t even tell us how he knew we were out there, or how he knew what was happening. I don’t know how much it will help him with what he’s going through by adding what’s wrong with me on top of it.”

It wasn’t a blame, nowhere near that, but sometimes to an outsider, when Jon said something blunt and to the point it could come off as a bit on the judgmental side when you knew he didn’t mean it. “He did this to you. He needs to be the one to help you.”

You only echoed what Bran had told little of what he said to you. “He didn’t mean to do this.” Jon only specified that he still did it, you tried to shake your head a little. It was the first time either of you said anything outloud even alluding to the fact, but it needed to be brought out at some point. “The only reason he knew he could do it to me was because you did it first.”

Jon said nothing, he knew nothing about how to respond to it. What was going unsaid, but like you, Jon knew you did not say it with blame or ire, simply stating a fact that was uncomfortable to hear, and near impossible to comprehend with any form of rationality. It was all complicated. What Benjen had said was right. Everyone seemed to have a piece of this puzzle but none of you were willing to step forward and lay out the first one for the rest to connect towards.

Finding your voice first again, you asked in a low voice as if trying to take that first step on your own in a small way. “What exactly did you and Sam discuss? That he found out while we were gone?”

It wasn’t an answer that you picked up on, and for once, it felt as if Jon too was keeping part of that story to himself. Someone you didn’t even realize that he knew, which you didn’t. Or why he had told Sam but not you. Not anything enough to make you feel as if something of your trust had been shattered, but certainly you felt a growing dread. What you already knew, and Jon didn’t want to tell you something about it?

Instead, gesturing for you to come with him. A hand wrapping across your back to pull your hip, turning you to walk beside him and pressed right up against his side, letting that same hand drift once more to your back, sitting at your lower spine. His voice only for you to hear, but the darker shade painting over his eyes and the troubled furrow in his brow begged you to try and read between the lines of what you couldn’t even decipher in the first place. “One problem at a time.”

A thick layer of snow sat around the Winterfell Godswood at all times now it seemed.

Hardly ever enough time the skies gave for the snow to disappear before more fell down and blanketing the North once more in such a way that made the normally thought of dreary and grey waste, appear in the beauty it always deserved to be looked at in. Easy to track who or how many went where in such a state, footprints normally were always covered by the drags of a cloak down behind them, but the path could be followed none the less. The only things individually seen in walking form, were two sets of very large paw prints making their way to the same location. Too their size made normal tracks of wolves much larger and easier to detect.

It was as if nature was sending warnings in two forms against an outsider, that no matter where you went the wolves were never gone. Too was it however, a rare instance in which Jon agreed when you would suggest it may be safer for him to take the baby. For what you may need to do you couldn’t be holding him, but too did you find yourself peeking to the side.

Unfair how matching they looked. Father and son so natural out in the snow of winter, two men truly of the North. Jon kept him warmer without needing to hide him in as much layers as you would, his natural body heat so warm that you were surprised much of the time it didn’t simply melt the snow in his path.

As both of you made your path down to the Weirwood, there sat an air of uncertainty that no doubt only Sansa and Arya felt out of the loop on. The later spoke up first with a much more noticeable air of frustration. “What’s this all about?” Gesturing specifically towards yourself she added, “What’s so secret about what’s going on with you?”

Sansa seemed to match the air of her sister, a quieter spoken but equally as sensed irritation on being so out of the loop. “And why are we,” Gesturing between her and Arya, “The only ones who don’t seem to know about it?”

All attending looked at one another, and yet as you suspected, no one knew how to start, or what to start with. Did it begin chronologically? Paint a timeline and go from that, or where it had begun to pick up in the most important ways? Just as a knowing glance was shared between yourself and Howland Reed, did Bran find that courage and begin speaking where he seemed to think it made the most sense.

“I started having strange dreams after my fall.” Eyes all turning with a haze over most eyes of the Starks which was a sorrow for something each of the remaining ones had to leave before he even woke up from, but Bran continued regardless. No doubt enough time for him had passed that it seemed less important to dwell on those specifics. “They were always the same in a way. A crow with three eyes, he’d try to tell me things, show me things. I didn’t think much of them at first, until..” Brans own gaze that time welled over with something heavy that he refused to hide away. “Until one night, the crow brought me down to the crypts. And showed me father was buried there. But I didn’t know until the next morning that he had...”

No one finished that sentence for him. No one wanted too.

“They kept happening after that. I dreamt about the Ironborn invading Winterfell just days before it happened. The three eyed crow was always there, but the dreams weren’t the only thing.” It did not fail your notice that the only Stark sibling whom did not know what Bran was speaking of when he begun describing what they’d later all learn was being a Warg, that Sansa did not at all know what he was talking about. “We escaped after they tried to burn Winterfell down. We were trying to reach the Wall to get to Jon when-”

That time it was Meera who spoke up, and the heavy weight being forced back down her throat with each word spoke of a pain all here knew too well of loss. “That was when my brother and I found them.” Meera specifying to Sansa when she asked in a repeat of the word brother. “Jojen. A few years younger then me, he always had dreams. He saw things from the past, the future, things that were happening around the world in those moments even. The ones from the past were always true, and they were always stories we never even knew about until we looked into them after. He had the same dream as Bran, when his father was murdered.”

Only yourself and Jon noticed the overbearing weight within Howland’s eyes at the mention. Strange that none but you both understood in such detail what the truth of that friendship was, and you could only pray he felt the sorrow coming from your soul wishing to give any comfort to his. No matter how little it would do.

Meera went into detail, how Jojen begun seeing things, seeing Bran, and eventually when he too had the same dreams and visions of a three eyed crow and the coming winters, did they tell their father. And it was him who told them that they needed to find Bran as soon as possible. Already prepared he was, to answer the question on Sansa and Arya’s minds. “Both you girls grew up during the long summer. This is the first true winter you’ve ever known, and many of us could feel something in the air was different this time. Something was coming with this cold that didn’t before.”

Benjen did not need to even him to elaborate, he knew better then all here about that feeling. “My rangers kept coming back with disturbing reports. They saw men stand up after they died and tried to attack them. They’d flee south, claiming that the Others were awake.” Much like what Arya’s initial reaction had been, Sansa’s face scrunched up in a disbelief.

“The Others? From those spooky stories? They aren’t real. They’re just things Old Nan used to try and scare us with.”

Yet if that were true, the reaction between the rest of you wouldn’t have been so painfully serious and covered in a thickly coated dread. Bran took it back from there, not even giving her the moment of reprieve to accept what had been put out there. “Meera and Jojen found me, and knew we needed to go north. Beyond the Wall. The three eyed crow told Jojen in that dream that he needed to find me, and bring me to him.” Arya that time was the one asking that this crow even was, but it had you hesitate the moment you thought to answer. You..well technically you knew the answer to that in a way he didn’t. But you didn’t have a clue how to bring that up or what it would do or add. It merely sat in your mind as something only which pertained to you it felt. “It’s difficult to describe. The three eyed crow is a man, someone with powers to see the world in ways no one else can. The dreams I’d have but bigger, and almost endless if they train long enough. He wanted me to be brought to him.”

Arya spoke again for Sansa’s confused silence. “Why?”

All hesitated but Benjen. “To learn to be him. The three eyed crow isn’t a man, it’s a title. Like Lord of Winterfell or King in the North. It isn’t one person, just the title for whoever holds it. And eventually, men die, and someone needs to take over their role one day. And so this time, they chose Bran.” Another ask of why, and Benjen explained it bluntly. “Because he was the right one. He had the ability, and he it takes a certain kind of man to do that. To be able to handle knowing as much as that, and not let it corrupt you. Or ruin you.” His eyes glanced to you, and it was without a doubt, on purpose as if to give them a hint.

Sansa seemed even more frustrated then before. “I’m sorry, if this is all true, what does this have to do with her?” Gesturing to you and then to Meera. “Or your brother?”

Howland had that answer, and it was just as cryptic as it felt when such things were said to you from the same man months ago. “Whoever the three eyed crow is, can give others a similar power. The Sight it’s called. The ability to see and dream events from our past and future that can help the three eyed crow on whatever path he is taking. To be their eyes where they might not have any, and do the work they cannot.”

Meeting a guilt in Brans eyes, yours softened in an instant. A begging not to blame himself for what he did not mean to do. Somewhat beside you did Lord Howland continue.

“The three eyed crow gifted my son Jojen the sight, so that he could help bring Bran to him. That was his purpose.” The swallowing of grief, as his arm reached out to run in a firm comforting manner along Meera’s now much more tense and sullen shoulders, the implication was heard and not acknowledged for their sake before he found his calm beyond a strain in his voice and more distant eyes looking to you. “Now that gift is hers. The dreams and visions, that is what she is experiencing. That is what you’ve seen and heard. Her mind is connected through her blood to the great powers of the old gods now. A servant to the three eyed crow as the three eyed crow is a servant to the gods.”

That time your glance was shared with Jon, and one you both knew only you two had a single idea about. Another which you both dared not speak to others. It would be much easier for your mind were you only a servant with purpose to one thing or person. Instead your new existence was stretched thin, tied to posts of different camps and asked to fulfill the duty of them all. Your voice was fair and faint, but all heard your quiet nature anyways. “I have these visions because Bran gifted them to me.”

You felt for both girls, the overload of such strange information that none here understood completely themselves. As if mere men were not supposed to understand. You stood before a Weirwood, and only they knew the truths, only they could comprehend it. You all were merely here to act for them in whatever ways bestowed upon you, no matter how difficult to accept it was.

Sansa at least said it bluntly, “I thought someone else was the three eyed crow?”

Bran was quick, as suddenly only those who had met out beyond the Wall understood with a feeling of gravity weighing you all down. “There was. He isn’t anymore. It’s just me now.” Asking with a mighty confusion that Bran was this crow, he nodded with a solemn look that you shared. “He’s dead, and now I’m the only one left.” Saying your name in more detail, “It’s why her visions are connected to mine. I gave her the sight, so her power is tied to mine.”

Neither said it, but you and Jon both looked at the other in knowing. It was not only his, but neither of you dared explain the what or why or how if either of you brought said issue up.

Though it was Arya who felt no qualm bringing up something else then the path your mind tracked you on towards. “So, the thing that happened yesterday? Or what Ser Royce said happened the day before? That was a vision? It didn’t look like that. It looked..”

Trailing off, Brans eyes found yours, peeling over to Jons to speak an ask you didn’t even bother looking to read. You knew where this was going, it was why he held the baby. This time you didn’t know what you’d see, but it was like Bran said, it would be easier to show then explain it. With a nod from Jon, you stepped towards Bran.

His chair sitting beside the Weirwood as you gently knelt to the ground. Gloved hands braced against your thighs, your eyes looked far brighter with a radiating of trust towards him. Nothing needed to be said, you knew that he nerves already lived within him as they did you.

Behind you somewhat you could hear the shifting of feet through the snow, and Jon dismissing Sansa to just wait when asking what was happening exactly. Deep breaths kept your heart from racing and your lings from exploding from your chest with nervous air as Bran pulled one glove off. Reaching forward to the white bark just below the carved face, the moment his hand touched the bark, did his eyes seem as if they rolled over into a pure white, and within the next moment, yours followed suit.

Getting into the room when none were there was easy, staying undetected was another.

There were paths under the halls of Winterfell. Made for the Kings and Lords of the North to escape no matter where they were in the castle, but hardly were they used for any reason these days. Little did the Starks run from in such a desperation. Instead those who creeped within their path had seemed to know where they were going. Walking the halls at night was easy, but it could not be night which they traversed the path inside.

Soon enough the sun would fall beyond the skyline and the moon and stars would rise, taking its place in the darkness and those in the castle would prepare to sleep. They had to be ready. They were for the most part. A distraction would be needed, separating the two and when the unwanted party was a King, it was far easier to delay him for the night then it would be the Queen.

The room itself was not extravagant as they expected a King would hold. Much more simple, and much more of the cold winter air breezed through with a fire raging near one of the walls being the main source of warmth beyond the furs laying about otherwise. Out in the open everything was in the main room, nowhere to hide not even a screen some used to change behind for modesty.

Curiously, the older man noted the smaller bed tucked against one of the walls by the main bed. Blankets and small toys surrounded it as if for an infant. One looked to the other with a doubt, but the older man dismissed it with a gruff hiss through his cracked and discoloured, rotted teeth. “Deal with the she wolf first.”

The second room attached to the main was better. Smaller, and the largest feature a well put together tub that men such as them had never seen in their lives. Fancy beyond fancy, it paled in comparison to any other object in the side room. One had to cross a corner of tiny halls to get into the room, unseen by wandering eyes right away, they could hide here.

Only, as the main door opened, a gentle hum followed. High pitched and were it to sing, likely would be somewhat off tune but also followed by a deeper voice. Cracked somewhat as if attached to a growing boy as he gave orders to the other humming voice who came in, and the door closed behind them. “Make sure to set out extra of the darker oils, and small cloths hung by the edge in plenty.” A pause was heard as if a face was made, and the boy spoke with a bit more impatience, yet still attempting to be nice. “The King prefers to handle the tasks himself when the Queen takes her bath. He doesn’t want anyone around.”

The voice was less nice then the hum sounded, but the tone was quick and not at all refined sounding, even less so then the boy. “The King is so romantic-” The men could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes from where they were pressed against the wall.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic, I care that you have everything in order. It will be my head if the King or Queen arrive and find everything in disarray because you weren’t listening.” A new maid no doubt. One looked at the other, and there was no qualms about that one. No one would miss a nameless maid if it got in their way.

At first the door opened and closed once more, and firstly thinking that they were alone again, until the gentle patter of shoes against the stone tiles crept closer and closer. Just as the young woman turned into the main room, did the clang of a bucket hit the ground. Smashing of glass oils followed and other sturdier objects rolling onto the ground from it’s depths.

The only sound not heard, was what came beyond the initial start of a gasp before what joined the oils spilling against the floor, was liquid. A copious amount of red liquid, and the thump of a body hitting the bottom of the tub which kept it just out of sight. Then the main door opened once again and the boy called back out as if he had forgotten one more instruction.

It like before, happened before Bran could stop it, and once it begun it didn’t end no matter who did what.

Leaning forward did Bran grasp at your shoulder in one, Howland Reed kneeling calm by the other as Meera was perched to the side of Brans chair leaning more towards you with a concern which looked almost instinctual on her face. The oddity as your breath came to you in heaps that this was something the three closest around you were used to by this point.

Beyond your vision, Sansa now held the more perturbed baby as Jon made his way behind you, kneeling down as he just hovered over the top of your head. His warmth giving away his presence in your subconscious, leaning into his touch as he cupped the back of your neck with one hand, a squeezing pressure to tell you to stay in the moment, the other grasping at your hip under where Brans hand held by your upper arm.

Howland Reed stayed without making any contact but held the most steady expression then even his daughter did. Benjen and Arya both made their way to the opposite side of you both, and the strange feeling came about, that your display no doubt, must have been a horrid sight. Looking up with more gasping type breaths to Bran did your voice mutter out in weakness, “Did you mean to-”

Shaking his head, it only added to the weight in your heart filling with a dread that had been there since the morning. “I had to...it was like I lost you in there. I had to find where you were and couldn’t get you out of there even when I did.”

Meera looked between you and Bran before kneeling down moreso like her father in front of you, a skin of water she pulled from her side almost moving to make your hand grasp it. “You should drink something.” Even in the cold air, you felt the sweat surrounding your hair and brushing over your skin when everyone else could be seen with colour in their cheeks from the cold alone. Nodding with a thanks in your eyes, you never felt Jons touch leave you as you downed nearly half in one sip.

Jon rasping low in you ear of what did you see, but you didn’t know how to speak it aloud. Something odd felt about it and vocalizing it was a challenge. But yet the words you spoke, the sensation rippled through more then one person there that it was not quite from your own thoughts, but an echo of something else that Arya had already heard the night before, yet it made even less sense now. “There is a beast beneath the boards.”

Just as Sansa stepped beside Arya, asking what was going on, Jon took proper control. “Quiet, all of you. Let her breathe.” Prompting you to stand up, Jon acted as a guide to move you mostly for him until you were on both feet. Circling around to your front, Jon gently used a hand to guide Meera off to the side before bracing your upper arms as you reached out to rest yours against his chest. Fingertips attempting to dig into the leather as your head dropped, eyes closed attempting to shake this feeling off. Jon lowered his head more towards you with something muttered on his lips to keep you tethered to his voice. “Take your time, it’s alright.” Jon moving suddenly, your hand almost swiped to grab at his like he was leaving your touch, the hand falling flatly to his chest once more as he simply moved so one hand cupped your cheek. Voice even quieter, but with no care for the people around who heard him. “You’re with me, darling. You’re here, not there you know that.”

Nodding, you felt yourself taking deeper breaths before looking up to grey eyes watching you closely. Jon muttered quietly to Bran behind him what it was you saw, but when he paused, all eyes suddenly turned to him. Jons face twisting in an aggravation asking a second time when Bran looked at your weary gaze and back. “I don’t really know.” Questions came as quick as he cut them off with a bit of a louder anger seeping in. “I don’t know what every moment in history is, I only know what I saw when I managed to find her.”

As Jon asked what it was, you eyes glanced up to his as if something between the two of you already said you both knew. Picking at your brain you found nothing but it sat right there that something was trying to tell you and Jon what it was being shown to you and why, but still it didn’t come.

Seeing your breathing even out, Jon pulled you more into his front, your head dropping a bit to his shoulder as he let an arm come around to the other side of your head to keep you tucked there. Looking to his sisters, “You two asked what was going on with her, but we don’t know. She has these because of Bran and if he doesn’t know why hers are out of control..”

Shifting so you could see the baby looking wide eyed towards his mother and father, you glanced up to Jon, nodding your head in that direction with a question in your eyes. “You should take him for the night.” Jon protested, saying you already discussed this, but the urgency in your voice too was as out of the loop as most here all felt watching the rest of it. “No, Jon. I think you need to take him.”

“Why?”

Only, eyes looking at his skeptical ones, then around and around before landing on the now more fussy moving baby wishing to reach out to you, did you sigh. You didn’t know why, and he knew it. Kissing the side of your head, Jon only mumbled for you to take him from Sansa. Ignoring the others for the moment, he watched as you cradled little Eddard close with something weary deep within you.

Hardly moving from the spot did they talk around you. More and more you felt as you did earlier, your mind refusing to listen as again and again you felt your mind and body elsewhere. The morning was trapped in your own passed, but now it was trapped within someone else’s, and the horror you felt as theirs without knowing why you were hurled into such images.

Your voice recalling a pleading to take their place, your life instead of theirs but the faces of those whom were all around you were little more then blurs. Only the interruption of a guard coming forth had the voices all around come to a sudden halt. “My greatest apologies for the interruption your grace, but there is a situation I believe requires your immediate attention.” Your eyes flew up to Jons with a beg, but you didn’t know why. You cradled little Eddard closer to your chest protectively, but you didn’t know why. The air felt incorrect. Something felt as if it was not right where you stood or anywhere else around you.

Only Jons voice did you hear, a kiss to the side of your head as he muttered for you to put the baby down for now. “Olly should’ve had the maids draw a bath for you by now. Don’t do anything, I’ll handle things when I get back. I want you to relax first, alright?”

He didn’t let you go until you said yes, but again, you didn’t understand why you kept hesitating as you parted ways from him once leaving the godswood. But the halls were growing more and more quiet, and at the very least you could rely on that later in the evening did Theon listen to your requests to be left alone once heading to Jons chambers. Needing the quiet when all day surrounded by guards, you could rely on that peace to settle the strange feeling in your head.

The room was quiet as you entered, no sign that the maid had been close by any time soon, meaning that at best, the bath drawn was not as scolding hot as it would’ve been freshly poured. Laying little Eddard down in his bed, you ran your hand across his cheek as a smile finally graced your features.

Whispering with a gentle lull as you ran your hand over the top of his head as his eyes begun to blink, worming his way into a comfortable position. Not yet leaving him until he fell asleep, always doing so faster with your or Jons touch. “You and your father have your hands full with me, let’s just hope you you born with the best of him instead of the worst from me. Give you even a fighting chance at being taken seriously.”

A mumble of nonsense on his lips before his hooded eyes finally dropped and breathing in his chest evened out. For a moment, you felt more peace come over you as you stood watching him sleep for a good while. Gently pulling the fur from your shoulders and hanging it properly, you stepped from your boots and made your way to the side room, as the outer dress slipped from your body and draping it over the side of a cabinet, only a thin dress and your shift under left as you made your way into the much brighter room.

But there was no water. In fact, there was a mess of what looked like the starts of a bath, then a struggle of things to the floor, then blood. Blood trailing from the floor up the steps to the tub, and painted over a young woman with wide eyes drained of any colour or life splayed out inside.

Lungs stopping with a fear rushing through you, a muffled sound drew you up further to a sight which then put your heart into a painful pounding. Tied and gagged with a terrible fear was Olly, desperately trying to say something to you through a muffle but all you could think was that fear. That voice not your own but whispered aloud as if in the mystery of your mind did it all connect. “The rats..”

The moment you sensed it, you turned to face a large figure standing in the frame way to the main room of Jons chambers.

Two figures were knelt down on either side of Jon looking at the sight. Laid out by the courtyard, a body of a man Jon didn’t recognize but the sight was more ghastly then he had expected. The mans throat had been cut so deep that were one to pick his corpse from the ground, there was a mighty chance the head would detach and fall to the ground with a splat. But it was not just that which stood out, the clothes did not look fitting. As if they had been put on right before or just after having his life hacked away at.

Around his neck was a cheaply made cloak, the fur surrounding the shoulders was no doubt that of a small fox, but the head remained in tact save for the eyes which were bloody and gouged out, no doubt done so from the dead mans own supply as drops could be seen down his collarbones dripping to the fur. Theon knelt next to him on his right, gloved hand looking over the rest of the body, pockets and whatnot to see if anything else could give a form of an answer as Jon turned his head somewhat to his left.

“And you found him out here like this all alone?”

Nodding, Gendry kept a look similar to that which you would give when put off by an unseemly scene, an eyebrow raised as he frowned in a more well put together disgust. “I was alone when I found him, but what’s strange is that no one I’ve asked recognizes him.” Both men turned to the other as Jons face twisted in a more discontent as Gendry gave a single nod as if to indicate he understood how he felt about that. “No one even heard anything. It’s like someone killed them then dumped him out here.”

Hovering at his back, Jon could hear the passing speculations of the now more crowded onlookers as Arya circled around to join next to Gendry with a disgust in her own face. “Why would someone come into the castle walls just to dump a body no one recognizes?”

Theon piped up without even glancing from what he had been doing, “Divert attention so whoever did it can make a run for it through Winter Town?”

Mumbling more, Jon felt something was off about it. “Maybe.” Glancing upwards, he could see Ghost hovering by an edge of the crowd with stern eyes, both wolves making eye contact as Jon attempted to decipher what his direwolf was saying, but it was much like he was. Something felt off out of nowhere, but neither knew why. “Or, maybe it’s here to distract us.” Looking up and around nothing stood out as out of the ordinary right away. “Keep us here while someone does something somewhere else.”

Arya asking what that would be, and Gendry had the more blunt version of that answer. “Something they’re not supposed to be doing.”

Pushing up from the snowy ground, Jon turned to some of his men nearby as his voice projected more in the quickly darkening sky. “Start asking around Winter Town, see if anybody knows who this is or if they saw anything happen or someone suspicious making their way towards the castle walls.”

“At once, your grace.”

Arya and Gendry both made move to stand, making their way to Jons side as he held a furrow in his narrowed expression with something further bothering him about the sight. Arya asking what was on his mind, but Jon grimaced for half of a second before answering. “How many men turn up in Winterfell murdered? Every town or village has their fair share of thieves and rapers, we have more then enough tavern fights then I can count but this? When was the last time someone turned up dead this way in Winterfell that you can remember?”

Arya’s silence was balanced by a matching disturbed expression that she nor Jon knew what to think of. It was odd, that was certain, and turning up so suddenly as it got dark in the castle walls of all places when there was no other disturbance inside or out from what Jon or the guards had been aware of.

Jon appreciated the straight forward and simple manner which Gendry felt comfortable chiming in as he too stood there still. “I grew up in Kings Landing. Plenty of men turned up dead every day, no reason for more then half of them but they got drunk in the street and bumped into the wrong person.”

Shaking his head, Jons expression was withheld in thought. “There’s a million people in Kings Landing, I have a little over ten thousand in Winter Town at best. My people know my family have never taken that lightly. They have a problem that bad with someone, nine times out of then they come to us about it.”

Jon knew Gendry had a point when he said it, but it didn’t feel as if that was the whole answer. “Guess this is the tenth.”

The fox fur stood out to him, and he didn’t know why. It stood out and Jon kept looking back at it before turning away. Something about a fox was pricking at his mind, something which was but a piece of a larger series of clues to what about this felt like it stood out in a negative fashion. The eyes purposely left there to be gouged out with blood, but just as he opened his mouth with another order did Theon call to his attention.

Moving back to where he was still knelt, Theon raised up the leg of the dead mans pant, where he had somewhat pulled his boot down. A bite mark was left, small and not so serious but it was still stained red from the swollen flesh around it. “What kind of animal bite is that?”

Theon was to say he wasn’t sure, but Arya cut him off with a certainty. “A rat.” The men all turned to look at her, but she was as casual about her certainty as she was about most things. “Anything else small enough to make a mark like that he’d have to have come in from the wolfswood to have gotten it, but it wouldn’t look that fresh if he had to walk all that way before he died.”

In truth, were Jon not so preoccupied, he’d have more noticed with something aggravated in his chest at the ease which Gendry leaned his arm across Aryas back to kneel down close beside her, or how she didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Whatever in seven hells that was, he’d focus on how much he didn’t like it later. “What’s a bite from a rat stand out for?”

Jon answered first, “It’s too cold out here. Rats prefer the warmth, they’d huddle somewhere in a pile if they were out in this cold. If he came across one out here, we’d see more scattered. He got this somewhere else.” When asked where, Jon and Arya both had that answer. “The tunnels.”

Explaining to Gendry Arya did, “The tunnels are underground. Close to where the hot springs Winterfell is build on top of, if gets cold they’d all gather there. A bite that fresh, he must have been in the tunnels.”

An increase in Jons heart beat came about, that detail did not sit well with him whatsoever. The tunnels where few knew to navigate let alone knew even existed, and this man no one recognized walked through them enough to get himself bitten by a rat, stumble out where and get his neck sliced into? Theon’s voice captured Jons attention once more with a much more obvious hesitancy. “Your grace...”

Turning to him, Theon pulled his hand from the dead mans neck as if it were shoved in there after he was dead. It was small, broken and bloody but it was no blade of metal of sorts. Not something snapped from a cheap dagger, but put there on purpose. Holding it out between them did Theon and Jon stare at it with wider, disturbed gazes. Shoved in his neck as if a symbol, a sign, a message of what the body was really doing. A snapped piece of antler, from what appeared to be the very top of what belonged to-

Jon and Theon both turned to one another with eyes sharp and full of a wide fear as his stomach turned inside out, and his heart pounded in his chest. The fox, the rat, and now the antler of a stag. Within a second, Jon had called to Ghost and without a single order needed to be given did both turn to run inside the castle, barley giving anyone a chance to even blink before many followed suit, their Kings disturbance.

Your lungs both stopped and shook within you.

The large unknown man filth covered and wreaked as if they had been hiding away from anything close to a bath in years. The one in front of you was older, hair long and a stringy white as his frame encased most of the frame which you could not even see passed. Your foot took a step back on instinct, your muscles both frozen and tense looking at him as your face hardened into something like stone in smothering what fear outraged inside you.

A force sat within your voice, the shaking inside wishing to come out but not allowing it to yet take hold as you considered how little you stood around with. How far away any would be to call to help for at that instance. So instead you stood without moving and without fleeing with a hope of reason in your tone. “Who do work for?”

Their smile was obscene, the discolour in their teeth not just from a lack of hygiene but as if there had been rot set about. The look as bad as the smell which seeped from him as he chuckled too. “Smart girl, you are. Most would just scream and cry about what do we want. ‘Cept you. You could tell right away we ain’t coming in from the outside for no reason.”

Your eyes noting the rather large knife in his hand, trying to ignore it desperately from being the only thing you saw, but also not wishing to give away that you were looking for any opportunity to move.

It had been too late however, pulling it upwards in a display meant to look rather theatrical as he grinned further. “You wouldn’t believe the gold promised for you. Pissed off some mighty powerful people, girl. People who will pay in the hundreds.” Your eyes kept drifting trying to pass his frame, but he too caught that as distressing sounds of Olly muffled in the background. “Oh? Worried about your son, are you? I wouldn’t care about that, girl. Won’t mean much in a moment now, will it?”

You could not stop it, that hitch in your breath with pounded in your heart at the sudden horrific feeling, gone now or gone then you took another step backwards with a far less convincing sound coming from you, much to his pleasure. “Whatever you are being paid, I-”

“You’ll what? Double it? Can the Queen in the North pay me enough to buy me a new head? Because mine will be coming right off, if I come back without yours.” Your body burned hot, but instead of being put out by the fear you felt it grow and grow. Eating away at your remaining stillness as what would happen to your son, would would happen to Olly should you find the final end now.

What failures you would be providing Jon by leaving him now this way? You had to do something, anything. But the moment it seemed the man sensed you were about to try and shout for anyone, did you find yourself unable too.

Two large arms wrapped around you from behind, a rope thick and coarse sound it’s way over your face and into your mouth. Pulled tight behind you, your teeth had no choice but to try and stop from clamping down on it, but you were dragged further behind. Your arms flung trying to reach up and grab at the second assailant but the old man before you jumped to your front. Throwing you with them against the wall to hold you upward, the first came to you with the blade but your hands reached out.

Slicing open both still unhealed phantom wounds, the blade soaked your hand and the metal itself in red as you could hardly make any sound through the rope at the sting nor the struggle in front of you.

Trying to kick at the first, he merely stumbled before a growl came forth.

Lowering the blade only to snatch at the front of your dress as the fabric tore, tossing you behind him as the second man followed keeping your gag silent. But the struggle slammed and sounds muffled from both gagged and men aggressive did the sound of the baby begin to cry.

Stuck in his crib at the struggle ensuing beyond his sight he cried louder and louder with something that would catch attention better then you could yell for, but that fear turned into a genuine pain that if he made enough sound they might kill him to keep it quiet and again you tried grabbing at them to make anything stop.

Knocking you to your knees, the blade came to the back of your neck. Just as you felt it draw blood did you grasp again at the sharp edge and with enough energy, you lifted it up against his strength enough to try and fling yourself to the side to knock him off kilter. Free now you threw your head back against the man with a crack in your skull leaving you dazed as now every sound of distress and yelling and your sons cries was underwater, like a blur for your ears as the room too dazed out.

Trying to stand did the larger man behind you suddenly return, grabbing you around your entire body, and did your world spin being thrown across the air. A sting made by the top of your head as blood begun to seep down into your vision as that same weight slammed you face down into the floor. The older man before you now, grabbed you by your hair to yank your head up and used the other hand to force your teeth to part. Shoving the edge of a blade partially between your teeth he hissed with disgusting rot into your face. “You fight me again and I’ll carve a smile into your pretty mouth, got it?”

As if working in tandem, the anger flowed through the men as a sudden striking fear made you feel as if you were about to pass out, the only survivor in your blood the sounds of your baby crying in terrible distress in the other room but the blood mixed with your tears that you had no plan to get out of this.

The fabric of your dress and shift suddenly tore, a blade behind in the hand of the second man cutting through the fabric as if also carved into your skin without any care. The air of the room stinging the line of blood following as it reached close to the lower part of your spine when the second leaned into your ear as his older companion suddenly shoved your head roughly down into the stone floor. “The price was your head, orders ain’t said nothing about doing what we want with the rest of you.”

Through the blade keeping you quiet hardly any kind of crying protest could leave you, despite the actual cries from your son and the increasingly both distressed and angry sounds muffled from Olly behind being forced to watch. The older man only added to that fear as he ran his filth across your cheek, mouth and jaw almost cupping it in a violent manner to make a display of something you knew too well as it implied. “This is happening boy, so best shut it. Our friend here’s gonna fuck your Queen real good. You won’t even have to look her in the eye when he’s done, she won’t have any. Will you?”

The blood and tears melted together across your eyes as they stung as much as everywhere else did, but you knew from the feeling vibrating in your chest that you no doubt were making sounds of utter distress and panic that you felt so helpless against the heavy weight atop you. But the second the blade returned to finish tearing the rest of it from you, did a loud slam echo in the other room.

Before it even registered did the weight atop you suddenly double before leaving entirely, a mixture of growls and snarls as yelling and tearing hit your ears. Ghost tearing into the one behind you, you barley found it in you to push up at all the moment the older man moved. Turning up and leaping to the second approaching wolf, but this one was not the same was the first.

You saw none of it, happening so fast before your eyes there was more blood as a body dropped to the ground before and behind. Whatever fight to the death these men thought they’d give, it did not end as brave or as valiant as two wolves would ever allow.

The sounds from behind stopped as well, Ghost suddenly appearing at your side as you shakingly tried to push up in your palms but hardly could put any pressure in your muscles as they shook, as your whole body shook. More and more people suddenly poured into the room but your eyes hardly left wide and terrified from the man slumping down dead to the ground before you.

Himself still covered in blood, Jon dropped down in front of you, a seething mixture of fear and burning anger raging through him as he helped you sit up. Your shock to the point you barley had it in your mind to hold the tatters of you dress up as he cupped your cheeks. He called to your name more then once trying to get you to look at him, but your vision was blurry and stinging from the blood and tears, all you managed to get out was a beg as you no longer heard the crying. “Our son..where’s our son..”

Jon carefully wiped some of the blood from out of your eyes, murmuring with such a deep rasp that it scratched along your heart as something more comforting then you should’ve felt his voice was. “He’s alright.”

But you felt that fear still rattled through your bones, shaking your head. “Where is he, I need to- please, he was crying-” In fact though, not that you really had the awareness to know, but you were the one crying, in much more free tears.

Not even turning his head to whomever else was in the room, Jons voice was a husking command. “Bring him here, now.” You couldn’t even hear anyone else in the room despite knowing they were there. Jon pulled you to sit more against the ground with your feet splayed to the side, keeping you close as he looked over you with such bright eyes soaked with worry. “He’s alright, darling. They didn’t hurt him, I promise.”

But he knew you wouldn’t believe that until you held him. Recognizing in the back of your mind that you leaned closer into Jons warmth as he refused to let go of you at all, only giving you enough space when in turn the baby was given to Jon, so he could turn and place him in your arms. Still crying, you cradled him close to your chest as your head buried more near the top of his head, falling a bit into Jons front.

He thus tugged you in close, one arm wrapped around your lower back to keep you tucked into his chest as your son was to yours and also allowing it to hold up what remained of your dress from falling. His other wrapped around to cradle the back of your head, hiding you almost entirely in his safe chest, knowing that the shaking coming from you was in fact hiding the silence of tears following the muffled cries from your son.

You truly weren’t even aware at all of what was going on around you. The shock from such a sudden ordeal had shot much of your nerves leaving only that shaking ragged fear in its remains. You could hear Jons rasps from above you directed towards Olly. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Olly shook his head, a shaking in him as well but moreso looking towards you in his own distinct worry much like the rest of the room. “Only a little. They- They killed-”

Jon cut him off, no doubt trying to spare the rest of the details in front of you at that moment. The instinct within him to protect you growing fierce as ever. “I know.” It to only one pair of eyes who watched, was an interesting sight. Theon knew the dynamic between Olly, Jon and yourself was odd and it was moments like this where he could remind himself why he cared the way he did.

Coming up to him, Theon pulled Olly more up and to his side, luckily keeping his voice likely the most calm and even in the room as he spoke to someone you didn’t have the energy to even look up to see. “Make sure he gets seen too.”

Jon suddenly, moved to pull your face up to look at him, gesturing to be handed something, he shook his head a single no when you moved to give him space. “Stay just like this.” Gently running a cloth over to at least get the blood from your face washed out before noting with a hiss that some of it was indeed coming from a cut in your head. “Oh darling..” Pulling you close again he pressed his lips to your hair, resting his own face in the strands for a moment before pulling himself together.

Not a man to let kneeling on the floor, gently cradling his wife and son be a tender sight that would take away from his command, but as Jon spoke, there was an anger tinted behind. Not giving a single bit of room for objection. “These men came in through the tunnels. I want all of them searched, and every entrance from the outside into the castle sealed one way. No one uses them to get into the castle.” The tunnels, you thought. They came in through the tunnels, hiding beneath your feet. “Guards stationed all around Winter Town and double at each gate and watch. There are to be two guards outside these chambers and two guards at each end of the hall day and night, no one comes in this room without us knowing about it.” Looking up to Theon, you felt Jons arms around you tighten as if to say not to argue as he said your name in reference. “I want to guards with her at all times if she isn’t at my side, she isn’t to go anywhere alone for the time being.”

That had you pulling back a bit, meekly trying to get his attention with a protest. “Jon,”

He only cut you off without a hesitation. “This isn’t a debate. That’s an order. Either you’re with me, or you have guards or Ghost with you at all times.” Biting your tongue, Jon gave you a darker, narrowed look as he ran a hand over the side of your face. “Understood?”

A saving miracle in that for that instance Jon did not make you say outloud, he accepted your nod before much more gently wrapping his hand to the back of your hair and tucking you back into his front, leaning his head against yours with his eyes closing for if just a moment of peace.

[girlactionfigure]

the As a Jews of the IRI

NOVEMBER 25, 2024

WHAT IS AN "AS A JEW"?

“As a Jew” is a tongue-in-cheek term Jews use to describe fellow Jews who weaponize their Jewish identities to excuse, minimize, justify, or deny antisemitism.

As in, “As a Jew, this is not antisemitic because so and so…”

WHAT IS THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC?

The Islamic Republic is the fundamentalist Islamist, ultra-conservative, warmongering regime that has been ruling Iran -- and oppressing its population -- with an iron fist since the 1979 Iranian Revolution. Many Iranians call the Islamic Regime an “occupying force” because it is culturally foreign to Iran.

According to Iranian-American policy analyst Karim Sadjapour, the three ideological pillars of the Iranian regime are “compulsory hijab, death to America, and death to Israel.”

After the Islamic Republic came into power, over 80% of Iran’s ancient Jewish population fled the country. Today, the 8,500 Jews still living in Iran are subject to second-class citizenship and are constantly under the suspicion of the regime, for which they must tread carefully, never openly criticizing the regime’s implementation of Sharia Law.

THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC IS A GENOCIDAL THREAT TO JEWS

Given the Islamic Republic’s commitment to the “destruction of Israel” -- where around half of the world’s Jews live -- it has spent decades establishing proxy terrorist militias around the Jewish state. Among the Islamic Republic’s proxies are Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Ansar Allah, and its most important proxy, Hezbollah.

But the Islamic Republic’s targeting of Jews extends far, far beyond the Jewish state. In other words, no, the Islamic Republic isn’t merely “anti-Zionist.”

The Islamic Republic has planned and carried out terrorist attacks and massacres of Jews everywhere from Thailand to Kenya.

The Islamic Republic’s deadliest attack on Jews in the Diaspora was the 1994 bombing of the Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA), a Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina, which took 85 innocent lives. Before the October 7 Hamas massacre, which killed 1,200 Israelis, predominantly civilians -- another attack that was planned and funded by the Islamic Republic -- the AMIA bombing was the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust.

The Islamic Republic has repeatedly dabbled with Holocaust denial. The Islamic Republic’s leader, the Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has consistently talked about the Holocaust’s “exaggerated numbers.” Most infamously, in 2006, the Islamic Republic hosted an international Holocaust denial conference in Tehran.

THE TRIED AND TRUE PROPAGANDA PLAYBOOK

Though the Islamic Republic government is deeply conservative, it started exploiting the well-intentioned progressive types to accomplish its nefarious goals before it even came into power.

The rule of the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic, was characterized by the most horrific human rights violations. He was no liberal and no progressive. He was not anti-imperialist either, hoping to establish an empire of his own. In fact, he believed that “establishing the Islamic state world-wide belong(s) to the great goals of the revolution.” He spoke of conquering the whole world under the banner of Islam: “Islam makes it incumbent on all adult males, provided they are not disabled and incapacitated, to prepare themselves for the conquest of [other] countries so that the writ of Islam is obeyed in every country in the world.”

In 1964, the then Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, exiled Khomeini and banned his books. As such, the vast majority of the Iranian population was unfamiliar with his more extremist beliefs. While in exile in France, Khomeini downplayed his fundamentalism, presenting himself to the west merely as a fierce opponent of American neo-imperialism and influence in Iran. It was in this manner, for example, that he was able to manipulate Iranian leftists to join him under his banner. In reality, Khomeini despised leftism, and soon after he came to power, many left-wing organizations had to flee Iran. Others were executed.

Nothing illustrates this more clearly than the saga of the mandatory hijab. During the Iranian Revolution, many Iranian women wore the hijab as a symbol of opposition to the Shah’s policies of westernization. Soon after Khomeini came to power, the hijab was made mandatory. Shocked, liberal and leftist women took to the streets; they had not expected the hijab to become mandatory. In response, Khomeini quickly began suppressing and eliminating all leftist and liberal political groups, figures, and parties, and to this day, hijab remains mandatory in Iran, and women who refuse to wear it face arrest, torture, and even death.

WHAT IS NIAC?

The National Iranian American Council, or NIAC, is the de-facto lobby of the Islamic Republic in the United States. In other words, they lobby on behalf of the Islamic Republic, its policies, and its interests.  

Just as Ruhollah Khomeini did in days past, NIAC has spent years latching onto “progressive” Jewish groups to pursue their nefarious interests...and shield the Islamic Republic from accusations of antisemitism.

Of course the Islamic Republic wants to disarm Israel...because their open goal is to destroy the Jewish state. They couldn’t care less about the suffering of anyone in Gaza.

To the left is Rabbi Abby Chava Stein, who is a member of the “Jewish” Voice for “Peace” rabbinical council. Here she is meeting with the current president of the Islamic Republic.

Press TV is a propaganda arm of the Islamic Republic.

THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC AND THE NETUREI KARTA

You probably recognize these guys, present at pretty much every pro-Palestine protest in New York City. They are the Neturei Karta. The Neturei Karta is a Hasidic Jewish sect with about 1,000-5,000 members. They are religious anti-Zionists, rejecting political Zionism on the religious basis that they believe no Jewish state should be founded prior to the arrival of the Messiah. While some other Jewish branches, such as the Satmar, hold this position, only the Neturei Karta have gone so far as to establish close relationships with those who wish Israeli Jews dead...particularly with the Islamic Republic.

In 2005, after then-Islamic Republic president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad called for the ethnic cleansing of Israeli Jews to Germany or Austria, the Neturei Karta issued a statement defending Ahmadinejad.  

In 2006, the Neturei Karta attended a Holocaust denial conference in Tehran. For this, the Satmar, who are also religious anti-Zionists, condemned the Neturei Karta, calling on Jews worldwide to “to keep away from [the Neturei Karta] and condemn their actions.” The Satmar (along with Chabad, who are not anti-Zionist) also issued a cherem (i.e. censure; almost like the Jewish version of excommunication) against the Neturei Karta.

THE OLDEST TRICK IN THE BOOK

How do you deflect legitimate accusations of genocidal antisemitism? You “befriend” Jews, of course. As in: “how could I be antisemitic?! Look at all these Jews who support me!” Three historical examples:

(1) Leading up to the 1936 Berlin Olympics, the United States Olympic Committee was under tremendous pressure to boycott the Games, given Nazi Germany’s horrific treatment of Jews. The head of the US Olympic Committee, Avery Brundage, was a Nazi sympathizer, who convinced Germany to allow one German Jewish athlete to compete to give the impression that Jews in Germany were being treated fairly. In other words, the Nazis needed a token Jew. They proceeded to select a Jewish fencer, Helene Mayer, to the German Olympic team. Mayer placed second and gave the Nazi salute on the podium.

(2) In the 1920s, the Soviet Union shut down virtually all Jewish cultural, social, and religious institutions using a Jewish group, the Yevsektsiya, as a cover. According to historian of Soviet history Richard Pipes, “In time, every Jewish cultural and social organization came under assault.” The fact that the Yevsektsiya was “Jewish” was central to its purpose. After all, the Soviet regime couldn’t be accused of antisemitism when those shutting down all Jewish cultural and spiritual life were Jews themselves.

(3) Likewise, in the early 1950s, notorious Soviet dictator Josef Stalin conceived a plan for the mass deportation of Soviet Jewry to prison camps, all under the guise of “anti-Zionism.” Though the plan never ultimately came to pass, given Stalin’s sudden death, Stalin had made preparations to publish a letter to be signed by Soviet Jews “denouncing” Zionism and Zionist Jews. In the letter, Stalin’s “anti-Zionist Jews” would then urge the Soviet state to “take action” against the traitorous Zionist Jews. Jews would be deported en masse to the Ural Mountains, where MGB would instigate discord between Jewish leaders. Later, they would kill the “elites” in the camps, and maybe even follow with the rest of the Jewish population.

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and  Patreon. 

rootsmetals

I’ve had my differences with J Street over the years but seeing them shill for the Islamic Republic was disappointing tbh…I expect nothing less of JVP and IfNotNow, but I (stupidly?) thought J Street was better than that 🤷🏻‍♀️

[maxedes]

texts from the grid

texts from last night x f1

[malamilkbeats]

My thoughts? And throwing stuff in the dark, hoping it hits something

The Heart to Heart: I mean, as sweet as S2 EP4 was with them, I couldn't shake off the cynicism of it seeming staged to some degree...but I could just be paranoid from feeling thrown for a loop by his nonchalance. Circubit didn't seem the least bit surprised about being corrupted by Cyanide from the hug. And I don't see much of people-pleasing qualities from Circubit other than this scene here. I wouldn't call it people-pleasing really, only because he might have had a soft spot for her situation since it may have been relatable.

Just by a stretch in assumption here, other than relating to her, he might have had that "heart to heart" with her to very well be re-corrupted and to have a possible stronghold down the line, now that he undoubtedly knows Cyanide doesnt a have stable, caring caretaker.

His Duality Form Control and its possible advantages: Another reason I came to this is that...I sort of agree from braincell's previous lore-informed theory that he was also using his corruption as a form of a second shield/form of escapism (from identity flaws, his past as a pure shape, the flexibility of alignment, etc...).

As dark as it is to think about, causing a rift between Cyanide and Dub could be a strategic benefit for Circubit now and later on. From my perspective, he has taken a more machiavellian, neutral approach to fix what has been wrong in his eyes because it's the only route he has open. He has taken his own means to an end to achieve what he could want, and it's kinda too early to tell whether that's to be a hero himself, rally an entire rebellion against Dub, and/or getting another chance to counter his tarnished reputation from the Royal family, his ex-friend, and most of the Land of Spheres. Or something else entirely.

Yeah, we know he's not completely aligning with either the heores nor the corrupted side. He's taking his own rogue path, and we don't really know where that destination really lies.

No Benefit being Pure: If he does take any of those possiblites, I would like to think his re-corruption here made sense, though. Would you think his goals could be achievable with his pure form? I don't believe so nor would his pure self even have the support from the heroes, caretakers, groups, and obviously the corrupted. We are only really sure that he needs to be corrupted to achieve what he might be looking for, whatever that may be. From the looks of Circusic's talk with Iris, bro doesn't have the best reputation outside of his corrupted form nor was anyone looking for him outside of sheer unconditional concern, other than he's a threat or some traiter in other's eyes, especially Iris, unfortunately.

From the short, Circubit's Recurring Memory, the king had already expected Circusic to raid the castle, removing what he was looking for. But it's unclear whether Circusic was going to steal the item for himself, something else, or Circusic could have been, misunderstood, purposefully misled, or framed. Regardless, there's still distrust of his character.

Back to Cyanide's confusing adventure for self-identity: Cyanide is most likely...POSSIBLY...(just a guess) going to be rejected by both Dub and the heroes, causing her to come back to the one and only place she felt a "crumb" of acceptance/validation: Circubit.

"We might meet again."

Yeah, alright, Circubit. Would it be sooner or later? Like, he knows she's failing to cope with rejection (and other's perception of distrust towards her) since he's already skated down that hall himself.

Honestly, I would be very, VERY surprised the hero gang would be fully accepting of her suddenly wanting to NOT be evil after naively being associated with the corrupts.

Idk, man, Cyanide is a confusing character, but she just baby though

LOOK AT HER. SHE BABY

I'm just curious where she's going after her talk with Circubit?

Any Thoughts/Theories On Season 1, Episode 4 Part 1 Video + Rant

Part 1

Heavily sighs God… Heavily sighs again, but longer… Hey, everyone… I know my sorry ass hasn’t posted something here for so, so long, but, considering that the next episode for Season 2 is here in the current making, might as well get started, right…?

RIGH-

The Episode (Part 1)

MAJOR SPOILERS WARNING

Allow me to explain how my first reaction went here…

So the opening scene of Season 2, Episode 4 start off showcasing on a rainy night, seeing Dub telling Cyanide of his uttered disappointment of Cyanide’s ongoing failures within her missions, telling her that she should’ve corrupted him, implying to be Iris himself I think since Season 2, Episode 1.

Cyanide apologizes to her boss, Dub for what happened from her previous mission with Circubit, as Dub then commands her to go back to Circubit, while not giving a fuck about you crying on her communication device. Cyanide, while staying silent from Dub’s command and still sad, ends the call.

Pauses the episode

Me: This next part made me laugh and got so angered out loud because I fucking predicted that Circusic was going to find Cyanide being fucking miserable in the rain!

Let me tell you something yawl… For some weird reason, we ARE NOW TALKING TO CIRCUBIT AS A PURE SHAPE HERE OUT OF KNOW WHERE?!?!

Continues the episode

Cyanide somehow recognizes Circubit in front of her while he’s a pure shape. Circubit as a pure shape, questions her that is her boss, Dub is being an asshole to her, which also causes Cyanide to analyze the cuss word…

Mega pauses the episode

Me: WOW, OK!!! THIS PIECE OF SHIT IS NOW TEACHING A CORRUPT HERO, WHO IS CANONICALLY 0 YEARS OLD CURRENTLY BTW, CUSS WORDS AND NOT GIVING AN FUCK!!!! Oh my god…. Guys, I just really don’t wanna hear these Heroes start swearing… It’s weird as fuck to me… Especially considering that they are still young and are childlike beings…

Continues the episode

After analyzing (the fucking cuss word…), Cyanide is seen trying to process how she actually feels about Dub as a caretaker (sort of) and boss due to how Circubit describes him. Circubit then sits down next to her through the aforementioned processing, telling her why bother listening to Dub. Cyanide tells Circubit that Dub is her caretaker and has to still listen to him.

Pauses the episode

Me: Well, Dub is her creator (sort of), but all Dub has been toward Cyanide is to be nothing but an insufferable asshole to her and she still listens to him regardless, despite the lack of care and support she has been given from him.

Continues the episode

Circubit tells Cyanide that she’s right, but also says that her boss, Dub is making her upset and not being a good caretaker to him. Circubit then starts giving Cyanide vague advice which I’m gonna briefly explain right now:

“Take my advice, always do whatcha feel is right.” This advice means to “encouraging you to prioritize your own gut feeling and inner judgment when making decisions, even if it goes against external advice or societal norms.” So, I think what Circubit is advising Cyanide to trust her own instincts and make decisions based on what she feels is morally correct or wrong.

Pauses the episode

Me: And also here’s the problem about this in my opinion… The progression of their relationship from Season 2, Episode 1 to Episode 4 so far feels inconsistent and frankly baffling:

S2E1: Back when they first met, Circubit appeared largely indifferent toward his collaboration with Cyanide, maintaining a neutral dynamic. For instance, the first thing he does to her is scare her and not caring about it upon her arrival to the Corrupted Royal Castle. While not caring to fix her naivety here, Circubit gives off this remark, "I'll handle everything," implied he didn’t rely heavily on her assistance, even though they were nominally teaming up, while Cyanide wasn’t doing shit with him from their first mission together. Their interactions were minimal—only about two throughout the episode and both gone for the next 2 episodes—conveying a relationship that seemed purely functional at best.

S2E4: Then, after 2 episodes, out of nowhere, Circubit begins fucking speaking in pure form for whatever reason. Upon encountering Cyanide again, the first thing he does is start teaching her cuss words ("asshole") with zero hesitation or concern btw. From there, his behavior becomes jarringly inconsistent. He suddenly starts acting like he genuinely cares about Cyanide’s well-being all of a sudden, offering her vague advice, such as to “trust her instincts.” Yet, seconds later, he's allowing Cyanide to make him become corrupted again—seemingly so he can resume his chaotic plans. Their entire dynamic so far felt forced and nonsensical, and I was utterly confused by it…

Do you see what I mean? There’s no logical progression between the neutral, detached Circubit of Season 2, Episode 1, and the suddenly supportive, seemingly empathetic Circubit of Season 2, Episode 4 BECAUSE WE NEVER SEE THAT HAPPEN BEFOREHAND UP UNTIL THIS EPISODE EVEN STARTED!!!

Continues the episode

When Cyanide asks Circubit if that’s what he has been doing, Circubit says Yep! to her, telling her that he’s hasn’t been doing anything his boss, Dub told him to do.

Quickly pauses the episode

Me: Oh my god… Dub is getting some dogshit servants…

Also also, this next part is even more baffling………

Quickly continues the episode

Cynaide, while briefly staying silent, flies up tells Circubit that she actually wants to be a hero instead of being a villain.

ABSOUTELY MEGA PAUSES THE EPISODE

Me: When did you believe that...... When did this thought finally cross your mind Cyanide after the past 3 fucking episodes you were in because there was no development progression up until this point for you to be saying that line with the help of Circubit! All you were was from the previous episodes, Season 1, Episode 9-10 to Season 2, Episode 1 is just being a poorly written woobie with a frustratingly naïve sense of morality that gets you into these dumb shenanigans with these unlikeable/selfish corrupts in the fucking first place, causing you to appear completely distrustworthy and suspicious of most of the good guys into severe depression mode!!!

You were gone for like 2 WHOLE FUCKING EPISODES (S2E2 - 3) in this season so far, which made me almost completely forget about you as a character. And within this episode, the first thing you finally come back to do here is dramatically cry in the fucking rain to make me feel so terribly sorry for you sympathetically with your situation, even though I don't care about you because of how frustrating you are to me!

Secondly, you immediately started analyzing swearing and possibly will do it more later on (which is clearly Circubit's fault btw for swearing at a canonically 0 year old hero with no hesitation), which led me to scream out a huge "WOW, OK!" Because of how unbelievably stupid or maybe even laughable that was for the past 30 something seconds in this opening scene.

FINALLY, this one is just the best topping of how frustrating your character and alignment is on my fucking birthday cake. After some brief advice you've gotten from Circubit's bitch ass, when you said, "I want to be a hero. I do not like being evil.", A few seconds later you intentionally hugged Circubit as a pure form, CAUSING HIM TO BECOME CORRUPTED ONCE AGAIN!!! LIKE, WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM OUT OF YOUR TINY MOUTH?!?! This baffling and contradictory behavior is the cherry on top of what makes your character alignment—and overall arc so far—so unbelievably maddening.

Slams on on my spacebar to continue the episode

Circubit then tells her Great!, saying to her that they might met again. Cyanide starts quickly zooming toward Circubit, hugging and thanking him by using her head while also… FUCKING CORRUPTING HIM BACK TO HIS CORRUPT FORM FOR FUCK SAKE…!

Slams on my space to pause the episode

Me: The execution of Circubit's return as a corrupt was somewhat exciting, I suppose, but it doesn’t excuse Cyanide’s sudden desire to become a “true hero” this time around without no good development up until this point of the series. This already further shows me how fucked up her neutrality truly is. And, Cyanide STILL doesn't care about the consequences of her actions so far because she actively and intentionally facilitates Circubit's return to his corrupt form, knowingly enabling him to cause more chaos—and does so without appearing to care in the slightest!

AND WHY THE FUCK IS SHE SMILING ABOUT IT!?!? BRO!!!

Slams on on my spacebar to continue the episode

Circubit appreciatingly tells Cyanide that she doesn’t have to thank her while going back to his corrupt form, saying to her about whacha needed to know. After Circubit leaves her, Cyanide starts flashing back toward the worst episode of the TPC series, remembering Cyan's advice and after that, she fucking smiles again and leaves, presumably going back to the main gang or not.

Part 1 ends here.

Finally done, gonna cry in my closet while eating a bowl of ice cream for breakfast....

Plus, If you guys have any further theories/predictions for part 2, tell me in the comments below.

[hijinxinprogress]

Civilian Gothamites realizing they can get vengeance through Sword!Robin

Gothamites figuring out if they happen to mention a rogue treating animals poorly within hearing range of sword!Robin that rogue will be in custody with at least four fractures and a concussion and Damian being completely aware that like 63% of these people are lying but it’s the only way he can get experience with the nonlethal takedowns he’s experimenting with bc everyone keeps complaining about how he treats his opponents and allies 

Like he’s guiding a civilian to safety and they mention that “this would be the worst thing to happen to me today if riddler didn’t stab my fucking cat” and this civilian does not own a cat but they did own a car that was just paid off but riddler fucking crushed it with a stupid ass hot air balloon that’s shaped like a fucking question mark and Damian is aware of this bc he was the one that verified the insurance claim (but he’s been looking for a reason to punch Nygma in the throat since his last Arkham escape when he called Damian a moron)

And he also knows that if he plays along with it and says ‘as if I’d let that gaudy and tactless imbecile get away with committing such atrocities’ when prompted that he’ll get away with barely a slap on the wrist like he gets three half hearted but long lectures he’s not going to listen to and an online sensitivity training seminar he goads Tim into completing (Damian and Tim 100% try to trick each other into doing work they don’t want to do and full heartedly believe the other has no idea what they’re doing)

Bruce’s tendency for finding small crashouts at risk of becoming future rogues in Gotham and deciding they need love & supervision but what actually happens bc he’s so fucking awkward is they get almost the same amount of supervision just with like an hour of intense helicopter parenting a week but honestly besides that they just have more money and resources to do fuck shit

Tim 🤝🏾 Damian: using the manipulation tactics they learned from their mothers then later improved on with help from an assassin cult and bat/cape interrogation questioning techniques on the homies

[severus-snaps]

potions master @snapecentric

[broken-arrow-ambassador]