#unknown parentage

[kresnikcest]

maybe i just have something for siblings running away together--

[iguanastevens]

help me

[tiffanybluesclues]

Had a middle of the night realization last night that my two go-to boys for fic crossovers were both born to parents named John & Mary.

[justfandomwritings]

Who Hurt You? (Aemond Targaryen - Part One)

Pairing: Aemond x Niece!Unknown Parentage

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: This is a "Who Did This To You" trope so the OFC was a victim. It is not described in graphic detail, but please keep it in mind before reading if that may be triggering for you. Also Targaryen-typical cest.

Summary: There was no father in her life from whom she could seek protection in that moment, no father who could rush in and save her from this evil, who could swear to her it would never come for her again. But there was a voice, quiet and gentle and caring, which called out to her "Who hurt you?" and for a moment she thought that perhaps someone cared enough to listen to the answer.

“Princess?” 

How different might the world have been if Viserys had let Rhaenyra marry Daemon that night he’d bedded her in the brothel? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had run away with Criston Cole when he asked her to flee with him? How different might the world have been if Laenor had not been forced to marry her mother? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had not taken Harwin Strong into her chambers? How different might the world have been if she knew who her father was?

“Princess!”

Her features were a mixed bag, some that may have been Daemon, some that may have been Criston, some that may have been Laenor or Harwin, some that appeared to come from absolutely no one at all. Each of them had, at one time or another, looked at her with that sense of possibility, that she might be theirs or their worst enemies. All she could pinpoint were her eyes and her hair, Valyrian to her core. Many pointed to them as evidence of Daemon’s fatherhood of her. Her mother loudly touted it as proof that she was Laenor’s. She doubted it was proof of either so much as it was proof of Rhaenyra’s motherhood. Their hair, their eyes, were exactly the same shade. From the back, many had mistaken her for her mother over the years.

“Princess who did this to you?”

Some nights, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she would play pretend in her mind, decide which man was her father and play act at him loving her. She would pretend Daemon took her up on dragonback back and taught her to fly. She would pretend Ser Criston snuck her sweets and hugs whenever the court's backs were turned. She would pretend Laenor… Well, she never had to pretend with Laenor or Harwin. They had always loved her in their own ways, as much as they could anyway. 

“Princess? Who hurt you?”

If she knew her father, if she had a father at all, maybe she could go to him now. She could run inside to find Daemon; she could slide under the wing of Caraxes’ protection where she knew no one would ever hurt her again. She could run to Criston and beg him to take her away as he’d once offered her mother; he could draw his steel and beat back those who tried to hold her there. 

“Princess, who did this?”

Someone was grabbing her, shaking her. She felt it in a sense, but in a far greater sense she didn’t feel it at all. She knew it was happening, but she didn’t feel the hands that gripped her shoulders, that tugged her back and forth. The same with the voice, calling out to her. She knew it was there, knew what it was saying, but she couldn’t process the words.

“Princess, look at me.” 

Something had happened. Something terrible. She knew that much. She knew the rest too, but by the by it would not come to her. Something had happened to her. 

“Princess, you’re bleeding.”

Yes, she rather thought she was. Not a great deal, but certainly enough to be noticed. To be noticed by… someone. Did she even want to know who?

“Alarra!”

She heard that word. She knew that word. Her name. Laenor had given her that name. He had been so kind to her all the years she knew him. He had always treated her as a daughter, claimed her as a daughter, cared for her as a daughter, loved her as a daughter… at least from what she remembered. Perhaps those memories were colored rosy by death. Perhaps Laenor would not have made this situation any better; perhaps Harwin, perhaps a father of any kind, wouldn’t have either. Perhaps Ser Criston or Prince Daemon would have only made things worse. Perhaps this was simply her fate. 

“Alarra, who did this?”

She knew that voice. She’d known it the whole time, but she recognized it now. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Alarra blinked them away. Her eyes, against her will, regained their focus and brought her out of her daze. They brought her back to the world around her. She didn’t want them to. She wanted to stay there, in her head where she felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. People couldn’t hurt her in her mind. In her body, people could hurt her. 

She must have been crying for some time without realizing while she was stuck in her head. Her eyes were already overwhelmed with tears, and she could feel their dried tracts down her cheeks. 

Aemond was more blur than man, hunched over in front of her, little more than overlapping shades of silver and black in her watery gaze. Yet even in her current state, there was no mistaking him. The details of his face were gone, but the vague black circle where an eye should have been marked him for who he was. 

“Alarra, who hurt you?” Aemond’s voice was quieter than it had been when it called her back to her body, like he knew then that she couldn’t hear him and knew now that she could. 

Of course it would be Aemond. Of course he would be the one to find her at her weakest, at her most vulnerable. He had a way of doing that, finding her weak spots. 

“Who did this?”

In response, Alarra’s body racked with a sob. Her shoulders were shaking with the force of how hard she cried, and it made some still disassociated part of her mind wonder if Aemond had touched her at all, if Aemond had actually shaken her shoulders as she thought or if it had been her body crying the whole time.

“Alarra, I’m going to take you to the Maester now.” Aemond touched a gentle hand to her upper arm, a far gentler touch than she had ever felt from him before, far gentler than she thought him capable of. 

“NO!” She jerked back the moment she realized what he said. Her hands clutched her dress to her chest to keep it from falling as she frantically skittered back on the ground away from him. “I can’t- you can’t- they’ll- no- no- no-”

Why couldn’t Jace have found her? Or Luce? She would give anything for one of her brothers to be here. She would even take her mother or, gods forbid, Daemon right now. 

The bush at her back poked and scraped against her bare shoulders and kept her from moving further away. It reminded her of her present state, of the dress barely clinging to her form and the bruises already coloring her arms and the cuts still bleeding at her collar. 

“As you say,” Aemond held up his hands in a mock surrender. She could see him now, the panic clearing her eyes of tears. His own eye was narrowed, though not judging or angry, for once, merely cautious. 

“No maester…” He stayed there, frozen and unmoving until Alarra ceased, till her feet stopped slipping and sliding uselessly over the ground, pushing for every inch of distance she could win away from him, till her shoulders stopped curling in on themselves hiding the more vulnerable parts of her body from him in favor of her partially exposed back. 

Even when she stopped trying to put distance between them, when she relaxed with the surety that he wasn’t going to force her to the Maester, he did not move any closer, did not break the silence in the air. 

He watched her patiently, as he so often did. And she, as she so often did, looked away. 

“If you take me to the Maester…” Alarra hiccuped around another tearless sob. She felt a need to explain herself to him, to explain before he jumped to his own conclusions. 

She hiccuped again as she prepared to subject herself to the mercies of one of the most merciless creatures she knew. “If you take me to the Maester, they’ll say my virtue — He didn’t. I swear he didn’t, but they’ll say he did— What with the rumors about my father, they will say… They will...” 

Neither of them needed to address the fact that Aemond was very much included in the ‘they’ whom Alarra feared talking. 

Aemond had long questioned the Velaryons’ parentage. He had relished toying with her brothers’ features that clearly weren’t Valyrian, basked in the opportunity to avenge a childhood of mockery and wrongs. She had never before been the subject of his wrath, mercifully spared by a childhood friendship, but the gods knew this opportunity would be too good to miss if she didn’t confront it.

“They will…” She couldn’t help mumbling the incomplete thought under her breath.

When Alarra found the courage to meet his gaze again, Aemond’s one eye was already boring a hole through hers with its intensity, and Alarra thought, not for the first time, that perhaps the gods themselves had plucked out Aemond’s eye. If for no other reason than to quell a potential challenger. 

“Please,” she wasn’t sure if there was enough air left in her lungs to voice the word, but she tried to speak it anyway, pushed it out between her lips like a quiet prayer to the gods, a quiet prayer to Aemond.

Aemond looked to be calculating his own course through these uncharted waters just as much as he appeared to be studying her reactions. 

“We cannot stay here, Princess,” Aemond spoke in a very stilted, calculated tone, like one reading facts from a book. “You are injured. Your appearance is disheveled. Your dress is in tatters, and if I was as without honor as your family thought I was I could see every inch of your front simply by glancing down.”  

Alarra subconsciously clutched her torn dress tighter to her. It was true. The blade had sliced clean through the neck and shoulders of her dress as it cut across her skin. The front would have fallen off long ago if not for her hand, and the weight of the damned thing and lack of support had long exposed huge swaths of skin to the cool night air. 

Though, admittedly, up until Aemond’s arrival her dress had been her least concern. 

Alarra turned her eyes down to her dress for the first time, again to avoid Aemond’s gaze. It was destroyed. The sleeves were gone; the embroidery was pilling and torn; the skirt was caked in mud; and worst of all, what remained of the neckline was soaked in her blood.

Without warning, Aemond stood.

Alarra’s eyes shot back up and her whole body tensed for a moment before she realized what he was doing.

Aemond wrenched off his black, Targaryen cloak and in the same flourish draped it over Alarra. She grabbed for it as it fluttered down, holding it to her chest. 

“Th-Thank you,” she stuttered out the words. 

Aemond’s cloak. She was wearing Aemond’s cloak. 

Aemond ignored her platitudes, which was just as well for her since she wouldn’t have known what else to say to him. “I’m going to touch you now, Princess,” Aemond said in warning. “I won’t harm you, and there will be no Maesters. I’ll only carry you to your chambers through the servant’s halls.” 

It was a chore, to force herself to calm enough for him to touch her, but she knew it was the best course. Her dress was well torn and would trail in ribbons behind her, and she was not sure she could walk. There was no physical damage to her legs, but she did not relish the idea of trying to rise to her feet in this state. Her upper body quaked even now; her legs would no doubt collapse if she so much as attempted to use them. 

Aemond approached slowly, cautiously. He looked like a predator about to put his prey out of its misery. She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, at least not physically, but by the gods Aemond couldn’t help looking like the hunter. There was something to his face. Power perhaps, a touch of ruthlessness, the confidence he had lacked as a child. 

His hands slipped around her, one high on her back while his other dipped under her knees. He was ever so careful in the placement of his hands, tucking the cloak around her in his grip to avoid touching any skin.  He stood with her in his arms, and she thought of anything else to help even out her breathing as she felt a man’s touch brushing against her even through fabric.

Being at home on the rocky beaches of Dragonstone. The soft feel of braiding her mother’s hair. The sound of a crackling fire in her room. The smell of the salty, ocean breeze off the water. The taste of her favorite wine on her tongue. 

Every hall Aemond turned down she made a new list, and her breathing remained steady so long as she kept thinking of things. 

Balerion’s skull on a pedestal lit by candles. The dowse of warm water as Jace threw her in the sea. Caraxes’s roar when he flew overhead. The scented oils anointing her baby brother’s skin. Luce’s piss poor attempt at roasting rabbit as they camped in the woods.

Aemond said nothing while she made her lists. Perhaps he was calculating some plan of his own; perhaps he was simply giving her the space to think. Before tonight, she would have presumed the former, but now she was unsure.

Viserys on the throne. The soft threads of her embroidery. The nurses singing lullabies. The awful smell of the stables. A morning cup of tea. 

They walked in absolute silence, and Aemond took every precaution not to be seen. He ducked down the hidden passages known only to those who had truly mastered the keep; he stopped at the sound of every approaching footstep and hid behind pillars or corners. At one point, he pulled her into an abandoned meeting hall for several minutes as two servants stopped outside to chat. 

That had been a particularly painful few minutes, and she had refocused her efforts to list those things that meant the most to her.

Witnessing Daemon and Rhaenyra’s wedding. Vermax’s rough scales under her fingers as Jacaerys introduced her to his dragon. Harwin comforting her with sweet words after a cruel bout of insults about her father. The smell of smoke when her mother took her up on Syrax. The odd tasting fish Laenor cooked for her every nameday.

“Princess,” Aemond’s voice, as surprisingly gentle as it had been before, called out to her, “would you get the door?”

It was the first thing Aemond said on their walk. 

She mindlessly pushed open the door of her chambers, not even realizing that they’d reached them. “You can right me here, Aemond.” 

Aemond didn’t hear her, or perhaps he ignored her. He did not deposit her in the doorway as she asked; he crossed the room and set her gently back on the edge of her bed. 

“Thank you,” she said, more out of habit than anything. She owed him her thanks to be sure, but her mind was too occupied with other things to mean it. 

“Of course, Princess,” Aemond fingered the edge of the cloak still covering her. “I can leave this with you,” he offered, “but people will question why you have my cloak. It is your choice.” 

Alarra released her death grip on the fabric, and Aemond didn’t tug it away until it seemed she had firm grip on the dress beneath. 

Aemond stood to his full height and turned to leave. “I will leave you to your night. We will talk again when you are well.”  

She watched his back retreat for only a few steps before she could resist no longer.

“Please Aemond,” Alarra whispered into the night air as if the silence were glass and her words a falling hammer that might break it were she not gentle enough. 

Aemond paused at her door and turned back. 

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak, to ask. It was too much to ask. She knew it was too much to ask, especially of him.  “If you ever cared for me at all, as friend or family… do not tell anyone about tonight?”

His eye was not as intense as it stared at her now. It was softer, more discerning. 

That, or more likely the distance buffered the spear of his gaze.

“You are owed justice, Princess.” Aemond replied as he stepped back from the door and let his hand fall from the handle.  

Alarra had expected a simple yes or no, even if the yes was a lie. But then, she hadn’t expected him to find her in the garden. She hadn’t expected him to help her if he did. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to care if she received justice. 

Aemond crossed the room in long strides and knelt down before her, resting a gentle, almost hesitant hand on the top of her exposed knee. “You are owed justice, and you shall have it.”

“But I…” 

Aemond didn’t understand. And how could he. He was a man. He could fuck his way through half of Flea Bottom, and Viserys wouldn’t bat an eye. Aegon already had, and the greatest repercussions he’d faced had been the occasional cold shoulder for his lack of decorum. Aemond was a man, and unlike women, men could demand justice when they were wronged. 

“If I say anything… the rumors… I’ll be ruined. He will say he ruined me, and no one will believe me, not over a man. The moment he opens his mouth, it will be my fault, and I will be ruined.” The tears in her were hardening into something more as her voice became more clipped, “No assurances from the Maester that I am untouched will be sufficient to quell the mongers. My first child will be a bastard no matter when he’s born or to whom, and no man will have me accompanied by such a stain.”

This, of all things, was what Alarra was complaining about, what she was forced to worry about. It made her sick. She felt the bile rising in her throat even now, and she tried to swallow it down. 

This was not what she truly cared about. Alarra wanted nothing more than time to grieve herself, grieve her pain, grieve what had been done to her, but she could not have it. And not simply for Aemond’s presence.

It would have been the same if it were any other man who found her. It would have been the same if it were the queen or even her mother. And even if she hadn’t been found at all, it would have been the same tomorrow, or the next day, or whatever day that monster of a man finally came forward and opened his mouth about what he’d done to her. 

She would be expected to be unshaken, unperturbed by any trauma. Her first and only concern would be expected to be her house, her reputation, and her family, not her own wellbeing. 

The council, monsters that they were, may even demand she marry him, to be sure of the bloodlines.

The tears began to fall again, and she mourned not just what had been done to her and taken from her, not just her sense of safety and security, not just her sense of self, but also the mask she would have to wear come morning. She mourned because she knew it was her last chance to mourn. She mourned because she knew that even now she wasn’t supposed to mourn, for Aemond was watching.

“Leave that to me, Princess.” Aemond’s hand reached up, and a thumb gently brushed away her newest tears, “I swear to you, on my life and my dragon’s. No one will question your honor.”

Alarra scoffed. Such a fond notion. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them naive enough to think such a thing could be done. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them sweet enough to try. But this was Aemond, and he was not sweet. And he was certainly not so naive. 

“You can’t promise that.” Alarra closed her eyes to avoid looking into his.

“I can. I have my ways, Princess. Do not concern yourself with such trifling things as other’s expectations of you now. I will see to those. You need only worry after how to feel yourself again.”

It was as though he’d read her mind and pulled out the exact thing she wished he'd say. If he were Jace, she would have leaned into his hand on her cheek and fallen asleep, not trusting that all would be well by morning but trusting at least that he would be by her side when it wasn’t. 

But this was Aemond, and another tear slid down her cheek from behind her eyelids. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but by the gods did she want to. 

“Alarra, tell me. Who did this to you? Name the man who forfeited his life tonight.”

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat before…

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“You violated guests' rights, broke into a lord’s bedchambers, dragged him out of bed, drew your blade on him, carved out his tongue, and left him to be found by the servants who heard his cries!” 

For the first time in many, many years, Viserys Targaryen looked like a dragon.

It was enough to quell the room to a still silence. It was enough to make the young ones quake with something akin to fear.

The Targaryens and Velaryons, the family, were the only ones called into the throne room for this particular trial. It was not, as so many usually were, made known to the nobility or even the entirety of the Small Council. Even the Kingsguard, save Cole, had been asked to wait outside. The King had kept it quiet, assembled the necessary parties, and immediately begun questioning his second son the same morning the young knight had been found dismantled on the floor of his guest chambers in the Red Keep. 

Aemond stood firm in front of his father’s rebuke. Arms tucked behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, he said, as though he were discussing the weather, “I also knocked out all his teeth.”

Aemond thought he might have heard Aegon snort.

“HE IS A TYRELL!” Viserys lurched to his feet, cutting his palm on the throne he moved so quickly. His finger stabbed at the man, leaning on Ser Criston for support, looking ever the pitiful victim. “A TYRELL! AND THE GUEST OF YOUR KING!”

The pain of the blades did not seem to register to Viserys, and even the usually attentive Alicent did not move to help her king as blood ran down the tip of Viserys’s finger.

On Aemond’s eye’s side of the hall, the Velaryons formed one strong line in his peripheral vision, ever the picture of courtly decorum even as Jacaerys and Lucerys no doubt wanted to jump with glee. They were all quelled to a state little more than statues by the severity of the moment.

Only Alarra stood out of line. Only Alarra was not frozen in stone. She stood behind her mother, peaking out at him between Rhaenyra and Daemon’s shoulders, watching him with a gaze that flashed between awe, pity, shame, and something akin to desperation.

Aemond looked away. He did not let his gaze linger long on her. Much as he wanted to dissect the moods haunting her every feature, he refused to draw the kind of attention to her that observing her would require. 

“Not an important one. Second son of a third son,” Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. “I assure you House Tyrell will not be greatly aggrieved by his loss.”

Viserys’s frame shook as though it could not contain his rage within his body. “On what grounds, Aemond!” 

Aemond stood firm. Truly, his father could yell all he liked. When he wanted to be, Aemond could be a terrifyingly patient man. His patience would far outlast his father’s anger. Not merely for the fact his father was too physically weak to maintain this rebuke for long. 

“I apologize, my King,” Aemond endeavored at civility, “but the grounds are not mine to say.”

That seemed to take Viserys back. Something cold, dark, came into his tone. “You would dare refuse your King.”

“I do not refuse my King. I have freely admitted to what I have done.” Aemond answered with an equally deadly calm.

A pin could have been heard dropping on the stones as Viserys took a shaky step down from the throne. “The Tyrells will make you take oaths for this, and I will not refuse them. They will ask to send you to the Wall.”

Aemond swallowed down his pride, swallowed down the urge to rage that it was the Tyrell who should be sent to the Wall, swallowed down the urge to cut through his father’s presumptions about the night. 

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Aemond bowed his head, “If my king commands.”

“Aemond,” His mother finally broke the silence of the rest of the room as she hissed at him, “Defend yourself.”

Aemond’s eyes stayed straight ahead, watching his father. 

“You heard your mother! Explain yourself boy!” Viserys commanded. “You have dishonored this house; you will give your reasons for this!”

“My reasons are my own. If the Wall is the price of his tongue so be it. I will not-“

There was a commotion amongst the Velaryons as all eyes turned to see Alarra pushing past Rhaenyra and jerking out of the grip her good father tried to clasp her in. 

“He was defending me, your Grace,” Alarra called even as she crossed the room. Daemon and Rhaenyra’s attempts to stop the girl halted as she loudly made her declaration.

Alarra dropped into a short curtsy next to Aemond before taking a similar stance to his beside him. Awaiting judgment. 

Aemond clenched his jaw tightly. He thought he might’ve felt a tooth crack. He did not glare down at his niece, much as he wanted to, nor did he chase her back behind her parents, much as he wanted to. 

Resisting the urge was not without complaint, and a huff slipped past his lips. The whole point of cutting out the man’s tongue had been so he could not speak of what he’d done to her. And now she loudly declared it in open court.

Was she trying to save him? Really, did she think Viserys would actually send him to the Wall? He would order it done then change his mind and settle for some brief exile or other. He would go to Essos, fight a war, become the next Daemon. 

“You must forgive Aemond for any impertinence.” 

Yes. She was trying to save him. 

Alarra’s head was hung as she addressed her King. “It was merely for the sake of protecting me. Ser Wendell attacked me in the garden last night, your Grace. Aemond was my rescuer. That is how Ser Wendell came to lose his tongue. If the Tyrells demand an oath, let me give it in his stead. Aemond has acted with nothing but honor.”

There was a quiet after Alarra finished speaking. Somewhere outside, knights in armor were walking past the throne room. 

The first sound to break the silence was a wordless, toneless groan.

Ser Criston had let go of Ser Wendell, and Wendell had swayed on the spot for a moment before Ser Criston had kicked the man to his knees.

“Attacked you!” Viserys stumbled back to sit in his throne, breathing heavily, seemingly exhausted as the anger within him at his own son quelled in the face of this new revelation. “In what way, dear girl, has this knight attacked you? Has he dishon-”

“No,” Aemond cut off the King before he could finish voicing the word. He had promised no one would question her on this. “I saw what was transpiring from the balcony. At first it seemed nothing more than a spat. When I realized he’d drawn a blade…” He was cut off by his sister’s loud gasp. “I came to her aid as quickly as I could. I am sorry to say I could not prevent all of what transpired, but I assure you my niece’s virtues remain entirely intact. I would swear to it. His honor was the only thing destroyed last night.”

Wendell, on his knees in front of Cole, made loud, wordless noises and gestured wildly in the direction of Aemond and Alarra. 

Aemond sneered and rested his hand back on the hilt of his sword, the blade letting out a threatening ‘shink’ noise as he unsheathed the first inch. Wendell shrunk back, his arms freezing though his mouth still blubbered on. “You can still lose your hand, Ser Wendell.” 

“Or your head.”

All blubbering ceased.

For all of his bluster and rage and shouting and for all the silence and fear it evoked, there was nothing Viserys could do to chill a room like those three words said by that voice. 

“Why does he live?” Daemon continued. His voice was as cold as the Stranger’s embrace, and his eyes glaring across the hall at Ser Wendell just as steady.

The question was for Aemond, he knew, but Daemon made no move to address him directly.

“The coward fled even as I arrived. Alarra was quite merciful in her pleas that hunting him down to slaughter was not justice. So I quelled my anger with his tongue.”

“And his teeth,” Aegon muttered under his breath. 

Aemond’s head jerked around, and he sneered at his brother. “His teeth were incidental. If he hadn’t so resisted losing his tongue, he’d still have them. They had to be gotten out of the way.”

Daemon paid no mind to the bickering between the brothers. He sauntered forth, like a lion stalking its prey.

“Alarra wished to have justice?” 

Daemon stopped then, in front of Wendell, staring down at the man. 

Aemond’s eyes flitted to the woman in question. 

Alarra was watching Ser Wendell almost as intently as Daemon watched him. The way Aemond remembered she used to watch the bugs that frightened her as a child, like she had to know where he was at all times, like she had to keep him in her sights or he may sneak up on her some other way, even tongueless and on his knees with the man visibly pissing himself.

“Yes, she did.” Aemond answered for her.

“He has no tongue,” Daemon mused. His head tilted to one side, and from where he stood Aemond could see the tug at the corner of Daemon’s mouth. “I suppose the only fair trial he will have is by combat.” When he wanted, Daemon’s smile could truly be a thing of evil. 

Alarra looked ready to be sick.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a chore to escape her rooms that night. Her mother had posted two guards to her door in an effort to make her feel more comfortable, but when the unfamiliar faces introduced themselves and took up their station it only made her feel more cut off, more alone. She felt suffocated by the presence of these strangers she did not know or trust blocking her primary exit from her room. 

Climbing out the window had seemed the logical thing to do. 

She could not sleep and had not eaten at dinner. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to do either, but she was sure she didn’t want to feel trapped. 

Her feet took her around the back halls of the palace, wandering paths where no one would dare to look for her. It was around the fourth or fifth hall, in front of the room they had stopped for minutes on end, that she realized the path her feet had been carrying her along. She made no attempt to stop it. Or maybe she did and her feet didn’t listen. 

The garden was beautiful, if a little more terrifying. The moonbeams that had always made the water in the pool seem to glint now only seemed to cast shadows under the hedges. The flowers which were so beautiful and richly hued at twilight had bigger thorns this week than last. 

“I would have thought wandering the keep at night was not to your taste anymore. Least of all here, Princess.”

Alarra did not so much as jump when she heard the voice. If anything, her shoulders seemed to loosen their tension.  

“I could not sleep. My feet brought me here, and I-I cannot say why I did not leave.” She answered the unasked question. 

Aemond came to stand beside her against the bannister, putting his back to the garden and instead facing her. “We all fight our battles differently, I suppose.”

“I appear to be losing mine.”

Aemond chuckled humorlessly. “On the contrary Princess, I think you are the champion of House Targaryen.”

Alarra finally tore herself away from the spot on the grass she had been trying to burn with her eyes alone. “I feel like the Queen of Fools. I keep thinking of everything I should have done, ways I could have stopped him, things I wanted to say.”

Aemond paused for a long moment, quietly considering his response.

“Even if there are things you could have done, that does not make you the Queen of Fools… though I understand why you would think such a thing.” Aemond assented. His head turned so his eye could stare out at the sky, and Alarra watched his profile in detail. He cut a far less intimidating figure tonight than he usually did in the light of day. “I am the same with my duels with Ser Criston. I berate myself for weeks after each loss, picking them apart in my mind. I play each out a hundred different ways. It helps at first, helps me become a better fighter, better swordsmen. I study it until I know I will never make the same mistakes again. But eventually, I have to move on.”

Aemond turned his eye back to her. “For one simple reason, Princess. Those are all things I know to do differently now, but I did not know them then. One day, you will wake up and realize that the only thing you could have done that night, with what you knew then, is exactly what you did. Every idea you think of you can apply if the situation arises again, but you cannot expect yourself to have known those things before you knew them.”

Alarra pulled her eyes away forcefully and stared down at where it happened. He was right, in a way. She just wasn’t sure that made anything better. 

“Do not trouble yourself with moving on now, Princess. The last fight isn’t over until I’ve stopped thinking about it, and I can’t win the next one until it is… but if it takes me weeks to move past something as petty as a lost duel, I wager you are allowed more than a night to move past this.”

“And how many nights can I go before I collapse during the day?” Alarra asked quietly. “This is the second night I have not slept, and my mother’s solution is to put my life in the hands of men I know no better than Wendell.”

That did seem to make Aemond pause. He always thought before he spoke, and the man thought hard now for what to say and how.

“I can-if it please you of course-think of one alternative.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“She will not harm you, Princess,” Aemond assured her. 

Alarra stared up at the dragon looming over her. Her feet had frozen to the ground the moment she realized where Aemond was taking her, which given her distracted, absent state of mind had not been until they were standing on the beach with the dark, hulking mass of Vhagar casting shadows in the moonlight illuminating their skin.

She swallowed and shrunk back further into the meager protection of her cloak as Vhagar shifted and grumbled in her sleep. A puff of smoke floated away on her exhale.

“Princess,” Aemond stepped between her and Vhagar, his back to the creature. He caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her head so her gaze was forced to meet his eye. “Princess, do you trust me?”

“Trusting you is not the issue at the moment, Aemond.” Alarra mumbled.

“You’ve been around dragons many times.”  Aemond said it as both a statement and a question.

Alarra nodded. “Yes of course, but never Vhagar.”

“She’s no different than any other dragon.” Aemond stipulated.

“Only that she’s thrice as large and thrice as deadly. She's so large Arrax could sleep in her jaw.” Her tone was more biting than she meant for it to be. 

Alarra’s eyes wandered back over Aemond’s shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Not with her sleeping right there. 

"I'd be a fool not to be warry, Aemond. We all would be. She's conquered kingdoms. She's killed dragons."

"None of yours." 

"Well, I don't have one to kill."

Aemond rolled his good eye. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” Alarra bit back immediately. It was an instinctual answer this time. An instinct that had formed over the course of only two days, but an instinct nonetheless. If she had been thinking clearly, Alarra would have lied and said no or at least pretended to consider her answer before she tacitly agreed to trust him. Yet with the figure silhouetting Aemond, it was impossible to take time to think and consider anything seriously. 

Something softened, only slightly, in Aemond's expression as he heard her response. “Come.” She hadn’t realized till his hand dropped away that he had been cradling her chin the whole time, drawing her eyes back to his as it did. “I would never hurt you, and she does as I bid. If it helps, keep your eyes on me.” 

Aemond took Alarra’s hand in his and turned. Staring at him did help. Alarra glared daggers into Aemond’s back as he pulled her along towards Vhagar. Though, t he daggers turned to spears as her peripheral saw the beast open its’ eyes. 

“Do not look.” Alarra whispered to herself.

Aemond chuckled, shoulders shaking, and she realized she’d spoken the reassurance out loud. 

“Easy to laugh with the most fearsome creature in all the world under your control.” Alarra snipped quietly at him. 

Aemond squeezed Alarra’s hand in response, as he had so many times that night, so many times since he found her in the garden. “Tonight she is hardly mine.”  Aemond stopped a mere arms length from the head of the dragon. 

Vhagar had not moved but to open her eyes, and Alarra felt them watching her as she stared intensely at the space between Aemond’s shoulder blades. If she didn’t look, didn’t challenge the dragon, maybe she would make it out of this alive. 

“Hello Vhagar,” Aemond’s free hand reached up and trailed over the scales on the underside of her snout, the only place he could truly reach.

Vhagar huffed in response and tilted her head ever so slightly towards Aemond’s palm. Alarra clutched his hand more tightly in response.

“Konīr iksos nykeā hāedar nyke jaelagon ao naejot rhaenagon.” There is someone I want you to meet. Aemond said the words to Vhagar gently, reverently, asking her permission as much as telling her.

“Oh Aemond,” Alarra tugged at the hand he was holding. “I can’t. I’m not-“

Aemond didn’t loose his grip. He clenched down and tugged Alarra out from behind him. He pulled her under his raised arm and tucked her into his side, never letting go of her hand on the other side of her body, instead choosing to wrap his arm around her. “Alarra,” by necessity given their difference in height, Aemond leaned down towards her ear, “I know. Trust me. I know.”

Of course he knew. Everyone knew. The Targaryen who couldn’t ride a dragon. The would-be queen who couldn’t claim a mount. The undeserving heir. 

Alarra’s head dipped slightly away at the reminder. 

Aemond lifted their entwined fingers and took a step behind Alarra. For a moment her heart leapt being alone in front of Vhagar, but Aemond quickly pressed himself into her back, shuffling her forward to reach the dragon. He placed Alarra’s palm on Vhagar’s snout where his had been moments before. 

Vhagar huffed, and Alarra tried to retreat her hand, but Aemond held it still. 

“Easy girl.” Alarra didn’t know whether he was talking to her or the dragon. 

“Gīda, Vhagar. Gīda.” Aemond leaned over Alarra’s frame, pressing her even closer to the dragon, and laid his forehead to one of Vhagar's scales. 

The dragon's chest rumbled and she nudged back against him. Alarra’s hand twitched in Aemond’s grip under the shifting scales, but she made no move to pull it away. 

“Vhagar, bisa iksos Alarra.” Vhagar, this is Alarra . Aemond pulled his forehead back and began running his hands, the free one and the one trapping Alarra in its grip, over the beast. 

With the sound of his voice telling her to calm, Vhagar’s gaze shifted to her rider with a wary eye, and being out from under the dragon's gaze took a great deal of the weight from Alarra’s chest. 

“R-Rytsas.” Alarra hesitantly addressed the dragon. 

Aemond smiled appreciatively down at Alarra and let go of her hand.  She kept it there on Vhagar’s snout though she stopped her stroking. 

Alarra stayed frozen where Aemond left her waiting instruction on how to proceed while the dragonrider stepped out from behind her. Aemond stood under the edge of Vhagar's snout and held his arms out in what would have been a hug if the dragon were smaller.

Aemond's tone was soft as he spoke to his dragon. “īlon jāhor sagon ēdrure kesīr rūsīr ao.” 

Alarra’s head whipped around and her hand fell in shock. 

We will be staying with you tonight. 

Aemond paid no mind to Alarra’s shock. addressing only his dragon. “ Ziry iksos aōha āeksio sir. Mīsagon zȳhon rȳ ry. ”

Treat her as your master as well. Protect her at all cost.  

There was a pause of several moments before Vhagar’s gargantuan tail lifted from the sand and smacked back down. Whatever passed between Aemond and the dragon, he seemed to understand this as acceptance. “Thank you Vhagar.” 

Aemond scooped up Alarra’s fallen hand and tugged her down Vhagar’s length away from her snout and towards her belly. “This should do for now,” Aemond said over his shoulder. “Sand is not as soft as a bed, but it is a far cry better than wandering the keep all night.”

Aemond let go of her and dropped down on the beach, looking up expectantly at Alarra.

Alarra remained standing above the prince staring down at him in stunned silence. 

Aemond watched her shock for a long moment before he said. “You've said yourself Vhagar is the most fearsome creature in the world, Alarra. Yes?”

Alarra nodded numbly. 

“Well?” Aemond gestured around them. Vhagar’s tail had flopped in a ring closer to her head, leaving the pair of them in a nearly perfectly closed loop encircled by the most powerful creature in existence. “I assure you anyone that makes it past Vhagar won’t make it past me.” 

Alarra wasn’t bothered by that notion. No, she was fairly certain this was precisely what Daemon and his loyal guards frequently joked about as ‘overkill’ when discussing old battles. She didn’t feel safe in her room, and instead of suggesting she get to know her guards or offering her Criston for the night Aemond had taken her here, to a veritable fortress of his own making, safer than anything Maegor had ever built. 

No, it wasn’t the threats outside of the circle that gave her pause. It was those within, or rather the lack thereof. 

“Aemond…” Alarra remained on her feet even as he offered her a hand down into the sand. “Aemond…”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “If it is being alone with me that causes hesitation, I can return for you before morning. Vhagar will keep you-”

“ Āeksio?” Master?

Something washed over Aemond then, trading the pause from Alarra to him.

Alarra spoke quietly, as though she was afraid someone would overhear what Aemond had just done. “Ao gīmigon skoros bona udir means. Ao daor gūrogon bona arlī.” You know what that word means. You know you cannot take it back.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. He seemed to think for a moment before deciding to respond, in equally flawless Valyrian. “Nyke jāhor daor jaelagon naejot.” I will not wish to.

Alarra, still as stunned as ever, took the hand he offered her then and followed him to the sands.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

The thing about Jon that a lot of people forget is that he is actually a rather well known figure all around Westeros. I don’t think it’s incorrect to say that he’s Ned’s most famous kid by a large margin, and perhaps even one of the more famous teens in Westeros; especially now that he has become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and his reputation has began to stretch to a different continent. Because of his very unusual origin - being honorable Ned Stark’s bastard son by an unknown woman - his name has been passed around in noble houses across the entire continent. He’s not some random kid from the North that no one has heard of. The majority of people may not have seen him, but they have at the very least heard of him.

I bring this up because people tend to act as if Jon would be automatically scoffed away by just about everyone if his true parentage ever came to light. After all, they say, why would anyone believe that some random kid from the north is a Targaryen prince? But this is not really true. Jon is not a random kid. His father was one of the most powerful men in the entire land. And not only that, but Ned’s reputation as an honorable man with no fault ensured that the scandal of begetting a bastard was known by everyone who is someone. The thing is, readers tend to ignore a very large gaping hole in the story when it comes to public perception of Jon’s parentage. People all over Westeros have been talking about Ned and his bastard, but no one can agree on the mother - this is actually important!

Most people would not have questioned Ned to his face, but they too want to know who Jon’s mother was, even if it’s just for a little bit of gossip among nobles. Jon’s parentage is a mysterious puzzle that a lot of people have tried to solve themselves. Catelyn hears one answer in Winterfell, but Davos hears another on his way to White Harbor. Edric Dayne from Dorne says a different name to Arya, while Cersei and Robert (who both live in KL) hear different things. That there’s so much variation all around Westeros is actually proof that a lot of people are talking about this one issue. And Ned’s refusal to name a woman may actually end up having unexpected consequences when someone finally mentions the name “Lyanna Stark”.

So I would like to push back on the belief that no one in Westeros would care about the R+L=J reveal or that they would immediately write Jon off. GRRM deciding to keep Jon’s mother an in universe mystery that is the topic of constant conversation will have major payoff. While I could see some being incredulous, it’s absolutely not a foregone conclusion that most people will choose not to believe it. And it’s not a foregone conclusion that this reveal will only matter to the Stark kids and no one else. Sure GRRM is playing with fantasy tropes, and Jon squarely falls under the hidden prince/king. But something that makes Jon quite different from a lot of his genre counterparts is that he’s not an unknown figure who shows up at the last minute to claim the crown. Jon is not an unknown entity. He is well known, it’s just that very few people have dared to think too deeply about the very large elephant in the room regarding his origin. But I’d imagine that if R+L=J was to be revealed, it wouldn’t be too shocking for a lot of people. It’s not so far fetched that honorable Ned Stark actually chose to protect his sister’s son.

And in regards to GRRM playing with fantasy tropes, Young Griff always comes up in conversation as Jon’s foil. People say that he will be the one to be believed because he looks the part of a Targaryen, whereas a random kid from the North won’t be believed because of his brown hair and grey eyes. Jon doesn’t look like some random unrecognizable Northman. He very specifically looks like a Stark! And anyway, is Jon’s story - that Ned took him in after his sister died and raised him as his own under the protective banner of House Stark - any less believable than Young Griff’s - that Varys had the foresight to save him and whisk him off to Essos before the Mountain bashed his head in? Until now, people have never heard of Young Griff so they’ve never had the opportunity to ruminate over and gossip about his origin story. But they know Jon. And they know about Rhaegar and Lyanna. And Jon looking so very undeniably like a Stark (like Lyanna Stark!) could perhaps work in his favor.

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so it features mentions of killing/ injury/ general violence. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2,046

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. The next part is here, I had so much fun writing the first part that I just couldn't stop thinking about the next chapter of this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two (here) | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen(coming soon)

——————

Your Marine photo lay on Doflamingo’s desk beside a copy of your file, the information sent through by Vergo in record time. It was sitting waiting to be read the second he returned to Dressrosa. One of the Palace’s doctors tended to your injuries while he withdrew to the peace and quiet of his private quarters to get his mind straight. The entire journey home he couldn’t stop but think about the cause for his powers not working on you. Over and over he tried to make sense of it, nothing added up and the longer he thought about it the more agitated he became, desperate for an answer. Desperate for a cure or a fix or whatever you wanted to call it. No one would get the better of him and certainly not some unknown Marine that came across his path at the wrong time. 

Settling into his chair he pushed your photo aside and flicked open the file, lazily reading over the information. He didn't need to know about your past missions or any of that inconsequential nonsense. Doflamingo was searching for something remarkable, a mention of a Devil Fruit, anything in your parentage that could give him some insight in his search for answers. He felt the vein in the centre of his head throb when nothing jumped out at him. As if sensing his unhappiness, the den-den mushi rang and he lifted the receiver, not even bothering to speak first. Vergo’s voice sounded. “Was the file acceptable Doffy?”

“Acceptable in that it's detailed but not what I was looking for.” Doflamingo snapped your file closed and pinched the corner of your photo between his thumb and finger, lifting it to inspect your appearance blankly. “Could anything have been missed?”

“From what I can see everything is accurate and up to date. Medical history, combat and mission logs, specialised training and skills.” Vergo noted, on his end of the call he was looking at your file too checking over everything to ensure he hadn't missed a page or annotation. “Is there something specific you’d hoped to have known?”

“Devil Fruit ability? Something that would render my skills useless against them.” There was a beat of silence from the other end of the call. Vergo found himself genuinely surprised that someone could be unaffected by his master’s power.

“If they possess a Devil Fruit capable of that, they’ve managed to conceal its existence for as long as they’ve been part of the Marines.” Doflamingo glared at your picture, not satisfied at all. “I’ll look into things on my end just in case someone higher up has intentionally kept certain information out of their file.”

“Good.” Doflamingo ended the call and discarded your photo, in one swift movement he rose from the desk and left his room. He suspected you would be awake by now and he was in no mood to just sit back and wait for Vergo to research things. It was time to ask you directly and if you knew what was good for you, you’d answer his questions. 

He slammed the door open and without needing to say a word the doctor fled the room, leaving him alone to stare down at you as you lay on the bed. You were awake as he suspected and staring blankly at the ceiling. You weren’t restrained and you’d only been in here with the doctor, even with your injuries you were most likely capable of overpowering him and escaping had you wanted but in Doflamingo’s view of the situation you looked bored. “Did any of them survive?”

Doflamingo’s grin appeared at your question and he sat on the edge of the doctor’s desk. Still no begging for your life? Not even a curious ask of where you were or what was going to happen. Instead you were looking for confirmation of your unit’s status. “Every single one of them died.” He tilted his head to see you nod in acceptance. “No tears to shed for them?”

“I’ll mourn them privately if I live long enough.” You told him stiffly, training you gaze on the ceiling, refusing to look at the man whose presence filled the room intensely. The memory of what happened at the warehouse was fresh enough and you didn’t need to look at the Warlord. Perhaps if you didn’t feed into his sick entertainment of tormenting you, he’d grow bored and kill you quick. You’d reasoned that was why you were still alive, you’d fallen unconscious too soon before he had his fun. “You’ve been keeping me alive for a reason.”

“I want answers about your power.” Doflamingo told you, grinning wider to see you slowly look at him at last. Your expression was unreadable but the fact you finally looked at him felt like confirmation that you knew what he was talking about. “Born with it or is it a Devil Fruit?”

“I don’t have any power.” You answered, confusion evident in your tone. Doflamingo’s jaw clenched, you were a skilled liar. You had to be because for a second he almost believed you. “You wasted resources in healing me. I can’t tell you anything about something I don’t have.”

“I’m trying to be patient here. You can stop lying about your ability I saw it for myself.”

“Then you were imagining things. I don’t have any-” You were cut off when Doflamingo was across the room and lifting you into the air so you were eye level with him, his hand tightly around your throat. You could feel the strength in his grip, the power but you didn’t feel any pain. Was he just trying to intimidate you? To let you feel the ultimate control he had over himself when he could easily snap your neck or squeeze the life out of you. In a way you wanted it to be quick, being a prisoner and dragging out the torment was not ideal. With a heavy sigh you could only repeat. “I don’t have any power.”

Doflamingo felt the rage building in him once again. Even now you lied to his face so blatantly? He had put enough force into his hold to choke you, to at least make you squirm and hold some fear for your life and yet you didn’t react. You didn’t even twitch or try to struggle for breath as it still came to you so easily. It wasn’t just his powers or using a weapon, his own strength failed him around you. He was incapable of harming you.

Keeping you in his hold he turned and left the room, ignoring the frightened and scrambling servants who leapt out of his way and bowed lowly until he passed. Even his subordinates from the lowest rank to some of his elites didn’t even register in his mind not even when they called after him and followed close behind. At this point in time he was in search of only one other person who could give him some clear insight. Bursting into one of the drawing rooms he locked eyes on the former Princess of Dressrosa. “Violet. Your power now.” He growled as he dropped you onto the plush armchair. “I want to know the truth of their ability.”

You looked at the woman who stepped forward, remaining silent as she made a circle with her thumb and finger and peered at you intensely. If only you knew what power or ability Doflamingo was so adamant you possessed, at least then you’d have some idea of what was going on. One moment you were a Marine, just doing your job and now you sat in the home of a feared Warlord completely clueless. You jumped when Violet let out a shocked, strangled yell. Even Doflamingo tensed at the sound and he stared at her hard. “What do you see?”

“It’s not possible.” She whispered, not just looking at you but also Doflamingo with equal shock and disbelief. “Never thought I'd see such a thing.”

“Stop the riddles Violet, what’s their ability and how do we reverse it?” Your head snapped up to him and you frowned heavily. Reverse? What had to be reversed? Did something happen while you were unconscious? Could it have been something to do with what was in the warehouse before it exploded. Had remnants of some weird substance gotten on you? 

“It’s not an ability…it’s something bigger than that. It’s fate.” She whispered and Doflamingo scoffed in annoyance, his fingers flexing. He was getting agitated and if he didn’t get answers soon, a lot of people were going to get sliced. “I swear! It’s the only way I can explain what I see. The two of you are connected. It’s not at the mind or heart…it’s deeper. Your souls are bound to each other.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. No, this had to be some trick. Some sort of bizarre theatrics planned while you were unconscious. You still didn’t know how long you’d been asleep for, it was likely they kept you sedated in order to perfect these performances although for what end you couldn’t tell. You weren’t high ranking enough to be of any use to Doflamingo and he was a Warlord and a King of an entire island. He had enough power and influence as it was. Just what was going on and why of all things go with the ‘connected at the soul’ nonsense? The existence of soulmates had been recorded a few times throughout the world’s history but it was extremely rare to the point it was considered myth. Violet seemed exasperated at not being believed and looked to Doflamingo. “You’ve tried to kill them already?”

“A few times.” He answered tightly. First at the warehouse with his strings, then with your gun, then again in the doctor’s room. You didn’t even bruise in any of the attempts. Behind his bright glasses he looked down at you out of the corner of his eyes, noting you didn't seem surprised by his admission. Instead you looked confused about how you were still alive. You shook your head, still not convinced by any of this. No, this wasn't happening. You jolted in your seat as the sound of gunfire sounded loudly above you. 

Slowly you tilted your head up to meet the smoking barrel of the gun that had been aimed directly with the top of your head, the weapon held steadily and unwaveringly in Doflamingo’s grip. There was no missing with that proximity but you were alive, you hadn’t even been grazed by any of the bullets. Swallowing hard your body began to shake, not out of fear of the weapon but by the undeniable truth of the situation. You glanced down to see the bullets on the ground, the pathway they would have had to take to land beside the chair was impossible but there they were. You were protected from any harm by Doflamingo's hand by fate as Violet said. 

Both of you had the answer now and neither of you liked it. Those that were in the room that had been there to witness the truth of the matter for themselves were stunned and silent. To see the existence of a soulmate and the rumoured power it had for the pair would be something they would never forget. For some it was also an extra thread of proof that their master, Doflamingo was truly amazing to have a soulmate. With a growl, Doflamingo threw the gun across the room, letting it smash through the antique vase and send the roses it held scattering onto the floor. Then a sound filled the room, you began to laugh. You couldn’t help it. The sheer absurdity of it all and the weight of this new reality was too much. It was like some higher power had decided to play the cruelest joke imaginable on you and you finally got the punchline. 

“So what’s the plan?” You asked, looking at your ‘soulmate’ expectantly. “Do I go home and we pretend this isn’t happening? Or do you have another idea?”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Doflamingo’s statement was firm and quicker than you anticipated. You could only nod slightly and glance once more at the bullets on the floor.   

“Thought as much.”

----------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04

[ahasiw-okitowin]

I gotta say in the vast amount of "I just found out I'm native" type situations, I don't think that counts as "reconnecting"

Like at that point you're not native, you have a native ancestor. Not the same thing. Most of us have kind of always known we were native? Reconnecting is for Indigenous people who weren't brought up in the culture, not for people who found out their great great great great great grandparent might have been native.

(Excluding cases of adoption or unknown parentage etc etc etc there's always nuance in these conversations)

[diejager]

what happens when reader has the baby and:

A) It looks like Horangi which covers the half life.

or

B) It looks like König which exposes the half life.

Cw: DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, STEPCEST, age gap, forced pregnancy, kidnapping, silencing someone, tell ,me if I missed any.

A) In this scenario, it would make everything much easier for them to separate you from your mother, your only crutch in your living situation. Despite the shock and slight discomfort of your mother, she’s still proud of you for finding someone who loves and can provide for you while you’re still young and learning, especially since its someone she knows and in both your entourage.

Horangi would be over more often than he used too, stuck to you by the hip while you worked around him during the day and afternoon, seated so close to you, always touching you or always whispering filthy praises into your ears. Your mother was none the wiser, going on with her days as if nothing had changed, as if they hadn’t forced themselves onto you and knocked you up.

It didn’t take much encouragement from both men to have you permanently moved to Horangi’s home, the house beside yours that had been vacant until he moved with König. It was bare and minimalistic, boring even in every aspect —except for your room and the one for your little baby. Yours a softer tone of your colour and your baby’s a very calm and neutral brown and cream colours.

This would be the most favourable situation, you get to stay near your mother, scared, isolated and confined, but still interacting with your mother. You get to see her everyday, to smile and talk to her as much a s you wish and she gets to help you throughout your pregnancy.

B) In this one, König and Horangi’s hands are forced, you’ll have to move away and your mother silenced. You’re terrified and stressed, separated from your mother who just faced the worst thing in her life, the betrayal that flashed through her and the disappointment she felt towards herself for being so blind. You’re torn away from your struggling mother, taken away from her parentage and support to a place where only König and Horangi have access to.

Your mother is permanently silenced, that worried you, but neither men would tell you what they did to her except that she wouldn’t bother you anymore —that only frightened you more and stress was bad for the baby. You’d be without moral or mental support, without anything standing between you and them in their little heaven of a cabin, secluded and well-hidden from prying eyes and curious glances. They made choices, some smart and some idiotic, but they were all done for one reason.

They made it as if you disappeared from the rest of the world, dropping any sort of connection or relation to the outside world to keep you confined to the cabin, locked away with their attention solely placed on you, now that any sort of facade was out of the door. There was nothing to hide now, they would have you walking naked or only in a shirt, caring for your every need and fulfilling your cravings. They dressed and dolled you up, turning you into their pretty, pregnant wife that swayed and waddled with a swollen and heavy stomach.

This would be the worst situation to find yourself in, stolen and uprooted from anything you knew, being forced into a life of unknown and uncertainty. Your only source of human touch and affection are the men that took you away for their own selfish desires.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny

[torveiglyart]

Due to my inability to post a comic page today, I have some more fleshing out of the Avicorians… and a Lance AU.

Due to the unique materials that many Avicorian’s body parts are made of, this race has been poached to extinction. The feathers, bones, teeth, claws, and eyes of an avicorian are held in high regard on the black market. Although they are universally known as extinct, there was a rather large group of Avicorians that escaped the mass poaching epidemic by fleeing to a small outer-rim planet known as Earth, and hiding there.

As generations came and went, the degree of chameleonisation rose, making it impossible to tell an Avicorian from a human, 2,000 years after the genocide. The only indicator that a person could be Avicorian or of that descent is heterochromia, yet even that genetic factor happens in regular humans, so there is no sure way to identify them.

Like Alteans, Avicorians have a unique connection to quintessence. The light markings on their wings indicate a person’s connection, or “power”, to the quintessence they feel strongest. for Avicorians, the composition of quintessence differs based on the colour: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Teal, Blue, Violet, and White. Coincidentally, this colour action works similarly to Earthling’s “Auras” in that personalities can be identified by the quintessence colour. Unlike Alteans, Avicorians cannot “wield” quintessence or manipulate it in the way alchemists can. They can react to and with it, like recharging a Balmera, but cannot utilise it, like Oriande shows. Avicorians require quintessence usage to shape-shift (to morph, not sustain), while Alteans do not.

Quintessence and meaning

Red: Passion, agression, impulsion, heart

Orange: Energetic, creative, impatient, skittish

Yellow: Stubborn, support, compassion, caution

Green: Inquisitive, petty, productive, amicable

Blue: Fluid, thoughtful, trust, fawning

Violet: Decisive, level-head, weary, calm

White: “Purity” White quintessence does not normally appear naturally as it is a refined version. There are no traits, as there are none with a connection to white.

Teal: “Raw Quintessence” Balmeran crystals are the easiest example of quintessence in a raw form. Curiosity, kindness, flexibility, empathy

And now the Lance AU:

Unknown to Lance McClain, he is half Avicorian. His parents, who were actually a full-blood Avicorian and his “aunt” Rosa, were killed in a car accident when he was only 2, and so he was taken in by his aunt Sophia, who he knows as his mom. He was never told of his true parentage, as no one felt it was important for him to know. He was a McClain anyways.

Lance always had heterochromatic eyes, brown on bottom, blue on top, but preferred to wear coloured contacts to hide the unusual colouration, especially after a bad spout of bullying when he first moved to America.

Years later, when Voltron went to aid an Empire outpost with broken shields, Lance sacrificed himself to save Allura from a beam of electricity and was revived by her newfound knowledge of Altean alchemy. Upon revival, he began to have strange pains in his back and nails, yet continuously brushed them off as battle scars or “the whole dying thing”. Months later, when they fight Lotor in the quintessence field, Lance passes out after their victory and wakes up in Red, his armor broken on the ground in front of him and eyes burning. He doesn’t actually take note of the changes until Red is packed with his things and the castle is gone. No one ran into him during the packing trips, but now that things have settled, Pidge is the first to point out Lance’s silence. It is then that Lance freaks out about the wings, blue sclera, and claws.

[mothdapple]

Tigerstar's Legacy in RiverClan

The aftermath of Tigerstar and TigerClan is one of the topics I enjoy exploring the most in Warriors, especially TigerClan's impact on RiverClan. That is certainly reflected in my TNP rewrite Shaken Roots (and everything I say here can be considered "canon" to my rewrite,) but I also find this an interesting and relevant lens to examine the canon books through as well. And that is sort of my goal with Shaken Roots anyway— I'm not reinventing the wheel with my rewrite, just expanding upon the design canon has provided.

Now on to TigerClan. TigerClan feels like a quite momentous era— Tigerstar and Leopardstar unite ShadowClan and RiverClan into one, and four RiverClan cats are imprisoned for being half-Clan, one being their loyal deputy, who is then executed.

It should be a watershed moment in RiverClan's, and Leopardstar's, history. But one of the things that makes this so fascinating to me is that it's not. This is my main thesis on the post-TigerClan era— RiverClan as whole is still dealing with the same attitude/ideological problems that led to TigerClan in the first place. They have not truly changed.

I see TigerClan as something which RiverClan tries not to think or talk about in general. However you slice it, it's a shamefully moment for RiverClan, and RiverClan, like all the Clans, are proud. They would prefer to sweep it under the rug. But if pressed to discuss TigerClan, RiverClan cats will explain it using the framework of ShadowClan— and Tigerstar specifically— conquering and occupying RiverClan, and imprisoning their Clanmates. This framework firmly shifts the blame away from any RiverClan cat and onto Tigerstar— a palatable scapegoat given all his crimes.

That's not to say, of course, that Tigerstar is blameless for TigerClan (quite the opposite,) but regardless, this framework downplays the actions of other culpable cats. Still though, it's understandable why some cats, especially cats who were very young during the TigerClan time, might see it this way.

Take someone like Dawnflower for example. She is the same age as Stormfur and Feathertail, and they grew up alongside her, all cared for by Mosspelt. Like them, Dawnpaw was a newly made apprentice during TigerClan. When Stormpaw and Featherpaw were imprisoned, she likely understood less than the warriors about what was going on. All that she knew was that her two best friends— the cats who were fostered with her— were taken away from her. Even if she protested, as a powerless young apprentice, there was nothing she could do about it. She’d likely just have been told that she would understand why this was happening when she was older.

Knowing her experiences with TigerClan, it makes sense that when Dawnflower grew up, she would almost solely blame Tigerstar for what happened. So when Hawkfrost's and Mothwing's true parentage was revealed to the Clans, Dawnflower had a knee-jerk reaction to be wary of them. Why wouldn't she be worried when she knew how much devastation their father had caused to the half-Clan apprentices she once was so close to— especially when Dawnflower herself had just recently given birth (to kits with an unknown-to-the-Clan father no less) and has their safety to worry about now too?

But by assuming that Mothwing and Hawkfrost were dangerous just because Tigerstar was their father, Dawnflower is falling into the same prejudiced mindset that Tigerstar had used himself to justify imprisoning the half-Clan cats. Fundamentally, her reasoning is just as prejudiced even though Dawnflower sees herself as being on the "correct" (pro-halfClan/Mistyfoot/Stormfur etc) side.

Let's take a different RiverClan cat example now to explore the other side of the Clan— the more conservative cats who are more distrustful of half-Clan cats.

Heavystep by all accounts was one of TigerClan's supporters within RiverClan— he is one of the few RiverClan cats noted to be sitting by the Bonehill during Stonefur's execution, while the majority of RiverClan is absent. Heavystep also happened to be Dawnpaw's mentor. (I imagine he was probably the one telling Dawnpaw that she is just too young to understand why this is happening when Stormpaw and Featherpaw were imprisoned.) I see Heavystep as someone who didn't like Tigerstar taking power in RiverClan, but ideologically, he agreed with him. Heavystep of course wouldn’t have killed Mistyfoot, Stonefur, Stormpaw, or Featherpaw himself without reason, but he was content to be complacent in their imprisonment. Even after TigerClan, Heavystep probably still thinks that Tigerstar had some decent ideas, but he just went too far with them. And there are certainly several other RiverClan cats who think similarly (Blackclaw for an easy example.)

In Shaken Roots: Dawn, when Hawkfrost's and Mothwing's father is revealed to be Tigerstar, I have Heavystep argue against them staying in RiverClan. But Heavystep’s reaction to Hawkfrost and Mothwing doesn’t come from a rejection of Tigerstar’s ideals, but rather a continuation of them— he thinks that they are untrustworthy half-Clanners, and while their father had some good ideas he “usurped” power from Leopardstar and unfairly “conquered” RiverClan, so Hawkfrost and Mothwing also shouldn’t be trusted.

Finally we have Leopardstar, who sits in a bit of a unique place at the heart of this. She clearly carries a lot of guilt for her actions during TigerClan, and in her mind, I think she genuinely wants to change for the better (and believes she has.)

But she didn't actually put in the work, and like the rest of her Clan, she never truly learned her lesson. We can see this in that fact that every choice Leopardstar makes after TigerClan that seems accepting towards half-Clan cats is only performative. Firstly, there is her naming Mistyfoot her deputy, which seems like a responsible move on her part, until after Mistyfoot goes missing, Leopardstar's first response is to appoint Hawkfrost (who shares Tigerstar's/Leopardstar's values) in Mistyfoot's place.

Leopardstar's acceptance of Feathertail and Stormfur in RiverClan is also obviously surface-level— as soon as they go missing in Midnight, Leopardstar's assumption is that they were disloyal and left for ThunderClan. In Shaken Roots, I expand on both of these examples to fully highlight Leopardstar's hypocrisy, but the foundation is present in canon.

Then there is Leopardstar's reaction to the reveal about Hawkfrost's and Mothwing's father. Interestingly, she is one of their few defenders within RiverClan. Is this proof then that she has changed, learned to accept half-Clan cats and not judge them for the actions of their parents? No. Leopardstar clearly sees Hawkfrost and Mothwing as exceptions, not the rule. 

I think Leopardstar has a lot riding on Hawkfrost and Mothwing. Knowing that Tigerstar is their father, I think she has wrapped the two of them up in her own personal path to “redemption.” Leopardstar sees herself undoing some of the harm she caused with TigerClan by training Tigerstar’s kits to be powerful, loyal members of RiverClan— maybe even her successor in regard to Hawkfrost. There is also a lot of pride for Leopardstar tied up in the two of them. Hawkfrost was her former apprentice, and Mothwing was trained by her deputy and her medicine cat/father. Them being successful cases reflects well on her.

But Leopardstar's behavior towards other cats shows, fundamentally, that her views on half-Clan cats being untrustworthy are unchanged. Hawkfrost, Mothwing, (and to some extent, Mistyfoot) are just examples that Leopardstar can put on a pedestal and use as a shield to say “See??? I’m different now.”

This is why RiverClan is still as vulnerable to Hawkfrost's influence in TNP as they were to Tigerstar's in TPB. At a fundamental level, their ideology carries the same prejudice, so it's easy for Hawkfrost to sway them. In Shaken Roots some cats like Heavystep will even come to be one of Hawkfrost's staunchest supporters, since all Hawkfrost has to do is gain his trust— Heavystep already agrees with his ideals.

TL;DR TigerClan didn't end in RiverClan with Tigerstar. Tigerstar just provided an outlet for the prejudiced beliefs that festered in RiverClan long before him, and continued for long after him.

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/sustancy/747773148584378368?source=share ☆ https://www.tumblr.com/gecekorkusu/763774722535227392?source=share

After being humiliated by Aegon at the brothel, Aemond is strutting the place in a fit of rage, trying to find a woman that would be able to satisfy him and growing angrier as he continues to fall short. That's until he's pulled into a room by none other than his mischievous bastard neice, the girl absolutely stunning to him despite the stain on her parentage.

She's already bare before him and he can see by the marks on her thighs, she's already had her fun getting warmed up by the mouths of eager whores. It's almost primal the way they don't speak but she falls to the bed with him taking his natural place between her legs. She teases him, tracing her foot up his toned stomach while entranced by the way he desperately held back from just plunging right inside her. Aemond catches her leg before wasting no time running his cock through her drenched folds, her hips canting upwards everytime his tip hit her clit or dragged against her entrance.

Pressing her legs to her chest, Aemond slowly enters her before picking up the pace and fucking her into the mattress. It's been far too long since his cock felt the warmth and wetness of a pussy, though this time he felt powerful pounding his niece into submission. The girl was no better than a whore if she were spending her time in this place letting commoners pleasure her, so Aemond treated her as such. Once he bored of their original position, he flipped her over and held her hips in his hands before plowing right in, her choked moans muffled by the mattress. Though he cares nothing for the girl, Aemond takes care to not break her and is even surprised when she squirts around his cock a few times, her hips circling wildly as she helps work him inside her as much as he'd allow.

Before he floods her with his cum, something possesses Aemond to kiss her. He desperately cups her jaw and connects their plush lips, a sense of comfort and a spark running through him before his cock twitches for the last time, his thick white cum exploding into her. He snaps his hips a few more times to help her milk the rest of his cum before resting himself against her back, his head against her shoulder taking comfort in her warm body and fresh scent. They remain in bliss like that before Aemond carefully frees himself from her tight grip and moves to sit in the chair off to the side, admiring her body unlike before. She looked beautiful all undone and filled with his cum.

When the girl moves to sit up, Aemond orders her to stop, confusing them both. He stands again and kneels at the end of the bed before spreading her again and watching his cum slowly trickle out, the sight bothering him for an unknown reason. She's surprised when her uncle who normally avoided her and her siblings at all costs, humiliating them and treating them with disdain, seems to enjoy fucking her to his fill, the man taking his natural place inside her.

Aemond justifies his newfound desire to absolutely overpower the girl while fucking her and lowkey breeding kink by telling himself it's just to get back at Aegon for humiliating him in front of his little friends. Aegon would eat his words knowing their little harlot of a niece was filled with his brother's child, the conception taking place the very night he suggested the Madame was the only one for Aemond. So Aemond pounds her like the Seven have decreed it his sacred duty, getting lost in her body and allowing himself to enjoy her beautiful sounds and the way she reached for him to help keep her grounded. He's had her in everyway possible, but still his cock stands up again within seconds and he's back inside her like a ravenous beast feeding on carnal pleasures.

His poor little niece had only had a few men before him and now she was being subjected to a night of intense breeding, not that she minded. Aemond had always been someone she had a crush on but knew would never happen because of his disgust for her origins, though she doubted that would be much of an issue after tonight. She'd expected to be cursed out for touching him to begin with, but was happily surprised by a lust filled romp that quickly spiraled out of control, now a breed-a-thon for the usually pious prince. The princess can only hope that when he's finished enjoying her body, he'd have the decency to help her back to the palace or at least brew moon tea... Though his level of cruelty is unknown to her now since he'd once despised her, yet in this night he was taking his fill of her like only she could provide him such pleasure.

When it is evident that he no longer has any cum left, she is finally allowed reprieve. It's awkward for a second before she finds the courage to request he lie with her for a bit, Aemond scoffing but doing as she asked and holding her to him as if she'd escape and tell everyone about his queer interest in her. He eventually relaxes and they cuddle peacefully, staring at each other in wonder before she eventually passes out from exhaustion. Aemond leaves her a hour later, grabbing his clothes from the Madame and ordering that she watch the girl carefully until his return the next evening. He didn't wish to wake her or waste his efforts of filling her to the brim so he left her to rest in hopes it would also help the sperm take.

The Madame is jealous but takes his words seriously, sitting in with the girl and chuckling when she realizes just how scandalous the once pure boy had become. Upon further investigation and recognizing it was the princess in bed, the Madame could only cackle upon realizing she had been responsible for taking both of their virginities upon request of Aegon. The girl had been brought along once because she wouldn't leave her uncle alone and he'd dropped her to the Madame thinking she'd only eat the princess out while he had his fun... only for her to talk the girl through it as she absolutely wrecked her poor little pussy with a strap on they had specially made for noble women.

The Madame lets it go to her head and treats it as an honor to watch over the princess while Aemond’s cum works it's magic inside her. That's why the Madame instructs her girls to place pillows under the princess's hips and to bring her strap on "just incase." Though the Madame knew she would find any excuse to use it, knowing now that Aemond had marked the girl, she wouldn't get another chance. So the Madame kisses up and down the princess's body, placing them on every inch of skin and leaving bright red bruises in their wake. Her favorite part are the princess's perky tits, sucking them into her mouth and drooling over every bit she could, the girl's nipples swelling into sharp points.

Madame notices her eyes fluttering awake and carefully eases herself inside before the girl wakes fully, massaging her hips as she inches inside her creamy cunt. Madame is satisfied when she's all the way to the hilt and slowly starts thrusting shallowly inside her, the connection mattering more than fucking the princess's brains out. When the princess eventually falls into a deeper sleep, the Madame lets her hips flow more fluidly, grinding into the girl's g spot to help trigger an orgasm so Aemond’s cum would be sucked deeper into her womb. The Madame loves the power she feels fucking the sleeping royal, turned on by having to slowly cant into her as to not wake the girl though it's unlikely she would reject the Madame, still having a sweet spot for the mature woman as did her uncle

The Madame allows her large tits to rest on the princess's, their swollen nipples dancing together and sending pangs to the Madame's clit. The girls watching are surprised to see their boss so enamored with a customer and a few move to pleasure the Madame as she fucks the sleeping beauty, satisfying her desires and the prince's. The Madame allows her girls to lick and suck her folds as she slowly starts to gain more confidence that the girl won't wake, and it wouldn't matter if she did, sternly pounding into her as the girls of the brothel start playing with both of their bodies. The princess wakes for a moment, her eyes flashing in a panic before the instense sensations take over and she lies there in bliss while the women fuck her back to sleep, the Madame kissing her passionately and fucking into her deeper until her eyes rolled back in her head.

Aemond comes to collect her and raises an eyebrow at the marks on her, along with how raw her pussy looked even after hours of him leaving her. Until he watches the Madame walk back in fully naked with a false cock hanging right between her thighs, a mischievous look on her face when she notices him. The Madame sighs while rubbing the princess's clit lightly, the girl reacting to it with a desperate roll of her hips, before telling Aemond she's all warmed up for him. The madame winks and jests that she was happy to keep the princess plugged all night for him and that they should visit again soon. 👑💀

!!!!!!!!!!!

I HAVE NO WORDS!!!! We truly deserved such a scene with Aemond, its unfair at this point!

I love the madame getting involved and how its all gone to her head that she was in control of all of this.

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Dead Dove Recs, Part 2 🕊️

Thank you all for the wonderful reception to Part 1 of Tomarrymort Dead Dove recs! I was honestly blown away by the interest in this first list featuring Non-Con/Dub-Con recs. It was so incredibly heartening to see that the open-mindedness towards the taboo, the degenerate, the ‘problematic’ is not only alive and well, but thriving, in this ship, when it seems like it’s been reviled and sanitized out of other ships and communities and spaces within this fandom and elsewhere. But Tomarrymort readers seem to be a special breed 🤝 and I’m just so glad we can all be horny sickos together 🤍

For Part 2 of the Dead Dove rec list, the first half is comprised of incest fics, and the second half is chan (underage) fics. These aren’t all necessarily dark fic in terms of tone or plot (some fics are actually quite cozy); the dead dove label just serves as an indicator to take the tags seriously.

Please note there is potentially triggering and disturbing content in the rec list below (including in some of the summaries), so I will be placing all 25 of these recs below the cut. Keep in mind don’t like; don’t read, so feel free to scroll on by if either incest and/or chan is not a theme you would like to explore.

This list was made in collaboration with @danpuff-ao3’s Dead Dove Diaries Series. Check it out for other HP dead dove recs!

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Tomarrymort Incest Recs

Fruit of the Forbidden Tree (part 1) / Forbidden Indulgence (part 2) / Forbidden Darkness (part 3) by @neurowriter14 (E, 19k, complete)

The true parentage of Harry Potter was unknown to everyone except for three people. None remain, but another figures it out.

Hold Me Down (Fuck Me Up) by @itsevanffs (E, 15k, WIP)

Tom Riddle, chief of police, first met his nephew Harry Potter handcuffed to his desk, lip cut and knuckles bleeding, a proud smile on his lips and challenge in his eyes.

I Could Send You to Hell, I Know You by @dividawrites (E, 7k, complete)

Nothing about Harry Potter intrigues Tom—he's average in everything, doesn't act out in class, doesn't do very much at all, in fact. When he finds out they're related, though, this changes at once. After all, there's something to be said for family traditions.

In The Dark by @itsevanffs (E, 64k, WIP)

Harry's mother remarries shortly after his father's death to James' half-brother, Thomas, much to Harry's confusion and disgust. First a duke, now a king, it seems that nothing will stand in his uncle's way when it comes to getting what he wants. Not Lily, not propriety, and most certainly not Harry himself.

Infinite by @duplicitywrites (E, 8k, complete)

Harry and his twin brother Tom have the same mark. The same soulmate. Whoever their soulmate is, wherever they may be, they will go to Tom. Tom, however, has other plans.

Little Bits by @lordmarvoloriddle (E, 10k, complete) 

Inspired by Cinderella. Only there's no prince, and surely no one is singing about their feelings, and Harry's life could be a lot worse than having three step-brothers and a father who didn't like him. He's going to be proven right.

Plains of oblivion by @milkandmoon-ao3 (E, 3k, complete) 

Trapped in the past with no way home, a disillusioned Harry executes a plan to make an ally of the rising Dark Lord and reshape history.

Say It Right (part 1) /  Say You'll Haunt Me (part 2) by @rightonthelimitt (E, 32k, complete)

After James Potter dies, his wife and son have it rough. Their lives change for good when they meet Tom Riddle four years later, but is it for the better?

Seventeen Years by RenderedReversed (T, 10k, complete)

Voldemort is a day old when he realizes he’s been reborn to muggle parents and that he has a twin brother. He is a year old when it sinks in who his twin could possibly be. Because his twin might, possibly, probably be Harry Potter.

Summer Break by anon (E, 5k, WIP) 

A story of a brother's love and duty and terrible obsession.

the dark passenger by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

Harry had lived 17 years as a horcrux, and Ginny was possessed by another one, so is it all that surprising that their middle child reminds them a little bit too much of another boy they once knew?

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Tomarrymort Chan (Underage) Recs

Below Stairs by pauraque (E, 1k, complete)

Harry receives a visitor.

conversationalist by worn (E, 3k, complete)

As a boy who's known silence and solitude well, Harry finds himself quickly growing attached to Tom Riddle's diary and the way it has so much to talk with him about.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 20k, WIP)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings wrap all around Harry until no more than dark magic and devotion remains, along with visions of a wraith with red eyes.

Everything Green Is Gold by @cindle-writes (E, 27k, complete)

Prior to Hogwarts, Harry had stayed mostly invisible to the teachers and adults around him his whole life. But Tom Riddle, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, looked at Harry like he was something to be wanted.

File A by @kushimanii (E, 7k, complete)

In a different universe, one where the prophecy was never heard and Voldemort won, Voldemort finds eight-year-old Harry Potter in the basement of Fenrir Greyback and takes him in.

he whistles and he runs by @wolfantlersinspace (E, 5k, complete)

"Tom," Harry murmured, ducking under a branch and nearly touching the top of Tom's diary with his lips, "I really don’t like this."

Hearthstone Abbey by @ramabear (E, 92k, WIP)

Harry follows Thomas Gaunt into his world much like he stepped onto Diagon Alley that first time, wide-eyed and full of wonder. He has no idea what exactly this world has in store for him, but he knows that with Thomas at his side, he is safe and happy for the first time in his whole life. 

Make a Wish by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 3k, complete)

Tom Riddle is wasting away in his hospital bed, far too young to succumb to such a terrible and mysterious illness. The only thing that gives him solace is the hope that football star Harry Potter might visit him in his final days.

Quam singulari by anon (E, 6k, complete)

Spermarche: the beginning of a boy's development of sperm; normally signifies a boy's beginning in sexual maturity and puberty.

shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes & @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)

After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.

study session by @ilya-zzz (E, 3k, complete)

"Tom–" Harry tries, coughing a couple times before lifting his hands to his head, softly rubbing his temples a couple times. "...I think you should go back to your common room."

The Abyss by AislingSiobhan (E, 36k, complete)

Nietzsche was right: when fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one himself. That didn’t matter anymore. It was too late to save himself, yet he could still save the world from Voldemort. But who would save Voldemort from him?

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP)

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle. The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching. “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

This Is Why You Don't Summon Demons, Harry by @kushimanii (E, 59k, complete)

Harry Potter is seven when he's left at the nearby church by Petunia to get an exorcism. Instead, he ends up summoning a demon that he makes a deal with. The demon, Voldemort, will protect him, and in return, the demon will devour his soul when it is ripe.

Without A Chance by Harryfan80 (E, 20k, complete)

When Voldemort (as Quirrell) meets Harry in her first year at Hogwarts, he exploits her naivete and uses her to acquire the Sorcerer's Stone.

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[myimaginationplain]

I've found that when it comes to discussing who has the best claim to the iron throne and/or the Targaryen dynasty, there's often this implicit assumption that when Jon finds out about his true parentage, the knowledge will inevitably leak to the general Westerosi public. People love to theorize about whether or not the Northerners would continue to support Jon if his being Rhaegar's son came to light, or if he would be pushed as heir to the iron throne over Dany & Aegon, & I'm just like...how would any of them find out about it? Why would any of them find out about it?

I feel like some people believe that when Jon finds out about R + L = J, he'll, I dunno, send out news letters about it or something? Publicly renounce his status as Eddard Stark's son? I don't exactly understand what people think Jon would do with the information, but anything less than keeping as tight a lid on it as possible would be very out of character for Jon. Guys, we're talking about the same guy who purposefully gave a young mother the wrong baby. He's not gonna be cavalier about this.

The only people we can really be certain he'd feel the need to tell the truth to are Arya & Sansa. We know that Bran is likely to already know the truth himself by then through his greenseer tree-god bullshit; Rickon, even if he is found & taken to Winterfell by the time the other siblings reconvene (which I find highly unlikely), would probably be considered too young to trust with information like that.

Daenerys is also an extremely likely candidate for being one of the few people Jon would tell, although this is variable, as it depends on what sort of relationship you believe she & Jon will have by the time R + L = J is revealed. I for one am betting on she & Jon already being involved in some capacity by the time he finds out, thus making her one of the people he'd tell. But if you're in the camp of people who think they'll be enemies by then, he probably wouldn't tell her in that scenario.

Sam is furthest down on the very short list of people Jon would probably tell. I think it's likely, seeing how much he trusts Sam & leans on him for support. But still, it's not a sure thing.

So, including Howland Reed (who has successfully kept the secret for ~17 years now), that makes just 6-7 people who would be privy to Jon's parentage. None of whom would have much motivation to go screaming about it from the hilltops in any scenario where they're still behaving like themselves. (If any of you bring up show!Sansa here, then I'm gonna beat you with a hammer. Don't be a hypocrite; if you can acknowledge & accept that literally every other character was wildly ooc in Season 8, then do the same with Sansa. Betraying Jon's trust after swearing not to before a heart tree is just as ooc for book!Sansa as purposefully burning Kings' Landing to ash would be for book!Daenerys.)

Even in the event that Jon rides a dragon, I think that can easily be explained away by lying about Jon's mother. "Oh, why can I ride a dragon? Not many people know this, but my mother was actually a Lyseni whore. You know they have some Valyrian blood in them. She died in childbirth, though, which is why my lord father took me in." Who's gonna call his bluff on that? Ned's resolute silence on Jon's mother would absolutely work in his favor. The historical precident set by Nettles & others like her means that Jon can 100% just say his mother was the daughter of some unknown dragonseed or something.

IMO, the real question we should be asking is, if Jon were to have children, would he ever tell them the truth?

[ottpopfic]

Jason wakes up because he is overheating

Sometime during the night his goddaughter joined them, curled up on Jason’s free side with George the Real Human Skull's sharp nasal cavity stabbing him in his bare ribs. Katie has her head resting on his chest and a leg thrown over his waist, somehow worming her way under his arm without him noticing. This wouldn't be a big deal, but Jason’s husband runs at a thousand degrees on a cool night and he is plastered against his other side in an octopus cuddle.

Also Katie runs warm, not as warm as Leo but a little warmer than Will, it's definitely something to do with her unknown godly parentage. But it's the combination of the two of them that has Jason actually dying. There's too much heat from both sides, but they are so soft and cute and he is pretty sure the gods will strike him dead if he wakes them up. It had to be a cardinal sin, he should know he's the pope

Gondor needs to call for aid

Somehow Jason is able to reach his phone from his bedside table, holding it high enough to get a picture of the two mops of curly dark hair pillowed against his chest. He sends a call for help

Nico

[attachment] :You

Help :You

Nico: lol been there 😂😅

I'm melting :You

Nico: Get good

His best friend is useless and heartless and cruel. Here Jason is watching their child while he's on a stake out and this is the thanks he gets. He texts actual help

So-So

[attachment] :You

Help :You

No answer. That should have been expected, it is the middle of the night and Calypso has a normal sleep schedule, but Jason is sweating

[whencyclopedia]

Romulus and Remus

In Roman mythology, Romulus and his twin brother Remus were the founders of the city of Rome. They were the children of Rhea Silvia and Mars (or in some variations the demi-god hero Hercules) and their story is recorded by many authors including Virgil who claims their birth and adventures were fated in order for Rome to be founded.

The Birth & Parentage of Romulus & Remus

Romulus and Remus were the direct descendants of Aeneas, whose fate-driven adventures to discover Italy are described by Virgil in The Aeneid. Romulus and Remus were related to Aeneas through their mother's father, Numitor. Numitor was a king of Alba Longa, an ancient city of Latium in central Italy, and father to Rhea Silvia. Before Romulus' and Remus' conception, Numitor's reign was usurped by Numitor's younger brother, Amulius. Amulius inherited control over Alba Longa's treasury with which he was able to dethrone Numitor and become king. Amulius, wishing to avoid any conflict of power, killed Numitor's male heirs and forced Rhea Silvia to become a Vestal Virgin. Vestal Virgins were priestesses of Vesta, patron goddess of the hearth; they were charged with keeping a sacred fire that was never to be extinguished and to take vows of chastity.

There is much debate and variation as to who was the father of Romulus and Remus. Some myths claim that Mars appeared and lay with Rhea Silvia; other myths attest that the demi-god hero Hercules was her partner. However, the author Livy claims that Rhea Silvia was in fact raped by an unknown man, but blamed her pregnancy on divine conception. In either case, Rhea Silvia was discovered to be pregnant and gave birth to her sons. It was custom that any Vestal Virgin betraying her vows of celibacy was condemned to death; the most common death sentence was to be buried alive. However, King Amulius, fearing the wrath of the paternal god (Mars or Hercules) did not wish to directly stain his hands with the mother's and children's blood. So, King Amulius imprisoned Rhea Silvia and ordered the twins' death by means of live burial, exposure, or being thrown into the Tiber River. He reasoned that if the twins were to die not by the sword but by the elements, he and his city would be saved from punishment by the gods. He ordered a servant to carry out the death sentence, but in every scenario of this myth, the servant takes pity on the twins and spares their lives. The servant, then, places the twins into a basket and onto the River Tiber; the river carries the boys to safety.

Continue reading...

[caliburn-the-sword]

how come ONLY mal's parentage was ever important enough to have BOTH her parents name dropped in the movies, and not only that, both MAJOR antagonists and not just sidekicks or goons?? cause like. i get that carlos and jay aren't that much of main characters as the girlies, but c'mon after mal and ben, evie was more or less THE main characters. like. when mal was getting all angsty over her dad i whole heartedly believe that evie would've been "hey i get it. yk my dad ________ was also super absent in my life. i understand you <3"

anyway here are my theories on the unknown blank parents of some of the VK's, in order of how much i believe it to be true. shoutout to @piraterefrigerator who heard me out on this and let me bounce ideas off him to try as i tried to figure out who was whose parents

evie

now, we all know that the evil queen is the gold digger of all gold diggers. now, i believe that unlike most other villains and their henchmen, the second that snow white became queen, all of the evil queen's staff would've started serving snow white, snow white is beloved, and none of the evil queen's staff actually had anything to do with her vendetta against snow white OTHER than the huntsman, who i actually don't believe is on the isle since he was good and maybe?? died?? i can't remember

while the evil queen has a killer reputation like the rest of the parents of the core4, since she has no loyal army, no threat of magic to hold over peoples' heads once they all escape the island (i believe she was a potionsmaster/alchemist rather than someone with innate magic like maleficent or jafar), and we don't really know HOW those core 4 ever actually came to power, but we do know she came to power last out of those 4 on the isle since the maleficent exiled her for 10 years

... the place that i'm going with this, is that the evil queen MAY have seduced jafar to be able to share in his power on the isle. but to prove this, i'm going to have to dive into jafar as an individual

the only 'romantic' subplots we ever see jafar in are when he's pursuing jasmine. jafar may have soley wanted to marry jasmine for legal purposes (becoming sultan) and the pedo implications were a complete accident on disney's part. and since he has no claim to that throne through jasmine anymore once he was defeated

his plan getting with the evil queen COULD have been to take back her kingdom and become the king of that kingdom once they escaped the isle, especially because we NEVER actually see jafar complain about aladdin or jasmine, whereas maleficent wants to take over auradon, the evil queen gets pissy over snow white, and cruella harps on about the dogs. not only that, the evil queen is also the ONLY formerly royal woman on the isle that we're aware of in canon

i think. jafar would have ditched eq the second that maleficent banished her because he's more afraid of maleficent than he would have feelings for the evil queen, and he took jay since he wasn't in the immediate blast range (jay isn't eq's son) which is how that all worked

i also think that evie might be one of the only girls that jay doesn't flirt with??? i could be wrong. since i haven't read the first book in a few years

but like. evie is quite racially ambiguous, so while i don't think that makes or breaks this theory, i do think it supports it

a crackpot theory for another candidate of the evil queen's baby daddy is

but that's a furry, and evie has no furry qualities

dizzy

lady tremaine and her daughters are, you guessed it, also gold diggers, and i think that they, like all villains on the isle, would have clawed onto whatever power they could, especially given that they had none of their own legions, magic outside the isle, any reputation that they could stake their lives on (in the grand scheme of things, making a girl clean the house isn't all that grand compared to people that tried to conquer kingdoms)

now. we never see the tremaines in descendants so i'm inclined to believe that they look exactly as in the animated/live action cinderella movies, aka european descent, but dizzy herself is portrayed by a wasian actress

while the descendants casting was more or less raceblind for the vk's, i'm still inclined to believe that dizzy is actually the daughter of shan yu, which effectively would grant that evil stepsister a bit of a leg to stand on in the isle

carlos

now, carlos has NO magic, and is also noticeably paler than his mother. which means his father could be any white disney antagonist, which is *check notes* a lot of them. cruella is a nepo baby, so i don't think she would've been a gold digger like others on this list. especially because, as "the bitch that wanted 101 puppies dead for her fur coat" i don't think she needed anything for her reputation as the scary crazy bitch that wants 101 puppies for her fur coat

... narrowing down her baby daddy's identity to "possibly white" and "not magic" does not narrow it down by much since i don't have any other personal taste i could attribute to her, other than perhaps hunters

the candidates are, in most to least likely, are:

because i think only a catnapper would get behind cruella's batshit dognapping plan

however, there is also this guy:

cause i think she would appreciate his hunting of an exotic animal

this guy, because i think she would like the idea of a fox fur coat

this guy, because he does animal abuse and cruella would get behind that

or, my most crackpot theory yet:

"but cal, that's a wolf!! and cruella fucking hates dogs!!"

i could argue that cruella wanted to skin that guy for a coat and was gonna get him while he was a asleep, failed, and then raised carlos to believe all dogs are bad because fuck that guy in particular. also, carlos DOES run fast enough for the sport team as like. their canonically fastest player, despite him being a little computer nerd. that boy has never run in his LIFE. so like. you could attribute having a wolf father to him being a fastboi

harry hook

as for harry, i honestly think his mother is a milf. because those good looks had to come from SOMEWHERE

also, if we're following punnet squares, harry has light coloured eyes and hook has brown eyes, so one of hook's parents probably had blue eyes, and i imagine either hook's mother or his grandparents on that side of the family would have to have blue eyes. for simplicity's sake, i'm gonna assume that it was his mother so that i can narrow it down

harry ALSO doesn't have magic, so i'm running with the assumption that his mother has blue eyes, maybe dark hair (unimportant), and no magic, and is presumably white. one woman that fits the bill is mother gothel

jay

i will be referring to this post quite a bit

i need to start this by saying, there is a popular theory that jafar swapped out his actual child for aladdin's son, and jay is actually the son of aladdin and jasmine. i think that this is a stupid ass theory, because the barrier had already been up on the isle for 4 years at that point, and if jafar had managed to SOMEHOW get off the isle, travel all the way to agrabah, swap out their similarly aged children, do you not think he would have just STAYED off the isle instead of returning with his new son to stock the store??? he wouldn't need to stock the store if he WASN'T ON THE ISLE is all i will say. also, you don't just genetically inherit your parents' ability to steal, it is a learnt skill. jafar learnt how to do it, and then taught jay, plain and simple

however, unless jay is more than 9 months older than evie but less than 12 months older than her, then his mother would be some other woman, especially because the two were raised completely separately. i DON'T think that the evil queen is jay's mother, but i still think jafar would've gone as close to royal as possible since we know he values economic status

there aren't many female villains, so the main candidates for this would've been yzma (kuzco's royal adviser, very close to successful to stealing his throne), or the other tremaine evil stepsister??? since that was a reasonably wealthy family considering their inheritance

as for yzma, i don't think she has any inate magic of her own, just alchemy, which accounts for jay not inheriting any magic like mal. yzma is also, i assume, an albino latina, but whether jay has a european mother or a brown mother i don't actually think that matters too much since he's fairly ambiguous

sidenote, i always knew that booboo stewart was indigenous but i didn't know he was also asian omg

now for the son of jafar, obviously they couldn't be raceblind when casting him and had to find someone not white for the role. and hollywood treats brown people as quite interchangeably and just casts whoever as whoever (see the oscar isaac joke that in the 'a priest, rabbi, and imam walk into a bar' joke, he can play all three), but i'm using this as my proof anyway that jay is (possibly) a son of yzma

uma

uma is unfortunately at the bottom of this list, because i actually have no idea who her father would be. like sure, it would be easy to just go and say "well the only other Black villain on the isle is facilier so it must be him" but he is SO present in celia's life and has such a good relationship with her that i refuse to believe that he would in the same beat be completely absent in uma's life. unless there are other disney villains that got racechanged in the descendants universe that we're unaware of, i actually have no idea who uma's father would be, ESPECIALLY because the only comment ursula ever makes on men is in poor unfortunate souls, but that was more her gaslighting ariel than her actual proper view on men and romance. the only thing i can say is that since ursula is in squid form on the isle naturally despite the magic ban, but uma is naturally in human form, i definitely think that uma has a human father rather than a father from an undersea kingdom. if any uma stans want to weigh in here, please go for it because i'd love to hear who you think is uma's father