#we must remain focused sisters

[valkyurii]

how she sees me

how i see her

[milfyclaus]

Balled up parchment litters the desk around her, kissing the hems of her skirts, the edge of her dainty shoes - all filled with blotches; words crossed out and rewritten and crossed out again. Where words had once come to easily to the good lady - be it sermon or business, these were halting and uncertain; but then again, those had never truly been her words, had they? A part of her wonders if these are, too. Instead, his hand is still on her shoulder, his voice in her ear — our lady’s skin crawls, and she takes another drag upon her cigarette. Her fourth in the two hours since she’d sat down. There is a blotch on the parchment, bleeding through - she crumples it, pushes it aside — begins, again. And again, and again. 

Knight-Commander, I once again must thank you for agreeing to meet with me this afternoon; your support and generosity in what is to become our endeavour will not only enable me to give my countrymen their livelihoods back, but also aid you and yours in carrying out the Maker's will. As promised, I have spoken with my smiths regarding production - While my smithy is not as large as it was in Ferelden, it will not impact what we can and will produce. With that in mind, we will be able to expand production and accommodate any needs through the years, should our services prove satisfactory. At our current capacity, we will be able to make twenty four plain long or short swords for your recruits - with sparse decoration, if desired - over a period of three weeks. Or, if that does not please, forty eight daggers or silverite tipped arrows; though I admit, I cannot imagine needing daggers before true swords. If the quantity and type of blade is agreeable to you, let me know at your leisure. I will await word from you. Your obedient servant, Lady A. Comstock

Her wrist moves with flourish - precise, steady; not allowing a splatter or drop of ink to stain the page. Cleanliness was a mark of the Maker. 

Satisfied, she returns the quill to its well - and our lady's appraising eyes narrow as she takes in the page; the neatness of her writing - concise in the way her speech never is, stripped of finery, but not pleasantries - a breath in. Her nose twitches, wrinkles, mouth pulling into a displeased, harsh line -- it reeks of cigarette. Acrid and foul like the yellowing of her nails, the way it clings to her clothes like a burial shroud no matter how she has them scrubbed. I cannot send this - what does it say of me? No longer that pristine paragon of survival; no - something, someone else. Something left at the riverside. 

Her fingers twitch; picking at the threads in her silks, staring down at the parchment she'd written and rewritten. The Maker asks that we live in His image. It is for her own reputation, then, that the good lady reaches for the delicate glass bottle of perfume at her desk, kept on hand to mask the smell of her vice upon her - and sprays it upon the parchment. Once, twice -- three times; until all she can smell is cinnamon and cloves, fig  and pear - as warm and inviting as the good lady presents herself to be. 

The sweetness of her perfume does not entirely hide the smell of smoke, but it is a better alternative to offering the Knight-Commander a window to her personal life. She must, as always, press on, stay focused. It is easier to do when @idolbound is not present - a thought she leaves in the back of her mind for later ( always later ). 

Nimbly, she creases the paper - deliberate, neat when she folds it, when she slides it into the envelope, drizzling white wax against the opening, pressing her own seal down. This, her first act as her, as someone else - someone dead and buried. This, her first act of freedom. It is only after she has sent off the paper in the claws of one of her beloved ravens does the good lady realise what she has done - the letter smells of the boudoir; and Maker help her, as much as she prays the salt air will take away the scent of smoke and perfume, another part of her wonders if Meredith will notice. If the Knight-Commander would enjoy the scent of her. Another thing to chastise herself for later. For now, she will wait.

[duuhrayliegh]

consequences

a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO

also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.

"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."

He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.

"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."

You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.

"I still can't believe he said that to you."

The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.

"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"

The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.

"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."

You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.

"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"

You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.

"Focus on me, Peanut."

Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.

Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.

You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.

“I don’t even know why I���m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.

“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”

Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.

“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.

"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."

This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.

"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."

You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.

"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."

There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.

"I call bullshit."

Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.

"Uh, yeah I can."

He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.

"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"

You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.

"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."

He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.

"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."

His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"

"But he--"

"You're husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."

"He didn--"

"Yes, he did."

Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.

"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."

Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.

"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."

You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.

What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--

"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we end up not working out?"

"What if we do?"

The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.

"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"

You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.

"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."

Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.

A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.

[aemondsbabe]

Oathkeeper

summary: aemond comes to winterfell to vie for favor and while cregan has his mind set on backing rhaenyra, you remain unswayed. will your indecision be his saving grace?

pairing: aemond targaryen x stark!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, brat taming, aemond is a little shit, choking, mild degradation, oral sex (f receiving), very lyanna mormont coded reader, aemond whimpers, he's down bad tbh he loves it, angst, allusions to violence but no actual violence, please no one kill me for the end lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.1k

a/n: happy 3k laura!! i'm so happy to be a part of this collab with you and so many of my other fantastically talented writer friends! check out the full milestone celebration here and the masterlist will be here!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

🦋my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Icy air whips around you as you stand atop one of the many high stone battlements of Winterfell, eyes scanning the horizon; the grey earth and sky seem to meld together as one as the sun sets lower and lower. 

“It is our duty to hear them out, sister,” Cregan rumbles beside you, brow furrowed. Ice glimmers in your periphery when you glance over at him, the great sword strapped over your brother’s shoulder contrasts sharply against the deep black of the furs draped over his body, “If they come to us for aid, we must negotiate.”

The air around your lips turns to mist as you scoff, jaw clenched. Today, of all days, you could do without your brother’s condescending tone. 

“Negotiate,” you echo, pulling the thick white fur of your cloak more snugly over your shoulders as the wind seems to pick up, “They come with hardly any notice, with two dragons, and you still believe this is a negotiation?”

“Sister –”

“To call it anything but extortion is a fool’s game, Cregan,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused only on the horizon, when he turns to glare at you, nostrils flared. 

“Need I remind you that we are sworn to House Targaryen? That we have been for –”

“Which House Targaryen?” You swiftly counter, cutting your gaze to his with a biting scowl of your own. The wind gusts again yet you pay it no mind, hardly noticing when a shadow passes overhead. 

An all encompassing roar seems to vibrate the very air around you and you whip your head up just in time to see a behemoth of a beast duck down below the clouds, followed swiftly by a smaller, though no less monstrous, one that lets out a resounding cry of its own. 

“Gods be good,” you sigh, already feeling weary of this whole endeavor; you roll your eyes when you look to Cregan, only to find him positively beaming, entranced. You, however, would not be so easily wooed – of that, you were determined. 

Glowering, you turn your face to the sky once more and watch as the creatures circle one another, huffing when it dawns on you that their movements strikingly resemble two riders racing on horseback, goading and taunting one another. 

Shaking your head, your chest heaves with a tired groan, Seven Hells.

“I shall see you in the Great Hall when you have finished fawning,” you sigh once more before turning, leaving your brother to stand like some open-mouthed whore, gawping at the sky.

“My Prince and… my Prince,” Cregan’s voice echoes throughout the great stone hall, accompanied by the steady crackle of the enormous fireplace at its back wall, “We bid you welcome to the North, I trust your journey’s were pleasant ones.” 

The tension in the air is nearly palpable as you stand beside your brother, carefully watching the two dragonriders.The one on the left, Prince Jacaerys, stares straight ahead at Cregan, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look anywhere else. His dark brows are set in a slight scowl and his gloved hand hasn’t once risen from the pommel of his sword since he dismounted his dragon, who you’ve been informed bears the name Vermax.

Your gaze, however, seems continually pulled to the right, determined to see through the cool mask of indifference Prince Aemond wears. Unlike Jacaerys, his singular lilac eye had been busy flicking all about the space, though he stood stock still with a haughty manner about him, hands clasped behind his back. 

“‘Twas a fine journey, yes,” Aemond hums, looking first at Cregan and then to you; his gaze is piercing and you can’t help but wonder if the rumors among the smallfolk are true – that he’d replaced his lost eye with some sort of gemstone, “Vhagar and I were fortunate to not encounter… anything of note.”

Your eyes move quickly to Jacaerys, breaking from Aemond’s stare once you catch the pointed tone of his words, slicing through the air like daggers. His jaw clenches, though only for a second, as you silently pray that this does not end in the two men coming to blows, or worse. 

“My journey was quite pleasant, my Lord Stark, thank you,” a small part of you is impressed that he seems determined not to let his emotions run amuck. He steps forward and pulls a rolled piece of parchment from the inner pocket of the thick, fur-lined cloak he wears, “I come with a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Beside him, Aemond quickly steps forward as well, producing a similar scroll, close enough to you that you’re able to just make out an image of House Targaryen’s three-headed dragon embossed on the golden wax seal. “And I come bearing a message from King Aegon, Second of His Name,” he pauses, looking between you and Cregan, glancing almost imperceptibly toward Prince Jacaerys, “Who currently sits the Iron Throne.”

“Usurper,” Jacaerys mutters under his breath, nose twitching in annoyance.

“Say that again,” Aemond’s voice is low as he whips around to face Jacaerys, all but shoving the scroll he brought into your hands. 

“That is my mother’s throne,” the brunette replies, simmering with a barely contained rage as he hands over Rhaenyra’s terms to Cregan in a similar manner, “Your drunken fool of a brother has no right to it.”

Your heart thrums in your chest as they stare one another down, the hostility between them seems to suck all the air from the room and bathe it in a silence you’ve only ever felt in the crypts. 

“And who would bend the knee for a whore with bastard heirs, nephew?” Aemond’s footfalls echo about the hall as he stalks around the other prince, circling him with a goading smirk, “She could not honor the oaths made to her husband, I shudder to think what would become of her promises to the realm.”

Your eyes widen and a gasp is wrenched from your throat when Jacaerys whirls around with a snarl and the sound of metal-on-metal grates through the air as both men unsheath decorated daggers from their belts; they stumble a few steps back, chests heaving as they each wait for the other to make the first move. 

“Do it,” Aemond taunts, lips twisted into a wicked smile while he and Jacaerys circle one another. Raising a hand, he pulls the black leather eyepatch from his face and tosses it to the floor, clearly relishing the way the other prince falters at the sight of his uncovered face. The deep blue sapphire he reveals gleams in the light from the fire, the sight of it makes your breath hitch, “Finish what your bastard brother started, go on.”

“Cease this!” Cregan shouts, voice firm, though he may as well not have spoken at all for all the good it does – each man only sparing him a glance. 

“I did not come to fight you,” the brunette huffs, scowling at his uncle while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger.

“No?” Aemond questions sardonically, “You’ve no wish to prove your might, hm? To show the realm how strong you are?”

The remark sounds like any other taunt to you, yet something about it seems to make the fire simmering within Jacaerys blaze closer to the surface – too close. You can see it coming before it happens from the way he tenses, from the miniscule twitch of his hand.

Acting quickly, you lunge for the great longsword strapped to your brother’s back and unsheath it without a second thought. Cregan reacts just as swiftly and clambers for you when you turn on your heel and rush over to where the two men glower at one another. From the corner of your eye, you see Jacaerys lunge forward but you cut off his movement as you swing Ice over your head. 

Metal crashes against metal, filling the hall with a shrill clang, before the great sword slams against the stone floor with a cacophonous din. Everything comes to a sudden halt as the loud noise sends a shock through the hall. 

“Enough!” The word leaves your lips as a snarl while you stare between the two men, nose twitching in annoyance, “How dare you sully our home with such feckless, asinine bickering!” 

Each of the princes sheaths his dagger in silence, though you hold the sword between them still, the tip of it digging into the stone as you keep hold of the pommel. “I’ve no doubt that were those creatures outside to engage like this that they could easily rip Winterfell to pieces, stone by stone, and yet they remain peaceful! Tell me, do you have baser morals than that of a beast?” Your voice is low as you speak, every ounce of patience you had for this idiotic farce wrung from you, “Is this the kind of man House Targaryen sets upon the realm?” 

“Apologies, my lady… my lord,” Jacaerys murmurs, glancing between you and Cregan before quickly staring down at the floor, his jaw set. 

You give him a curt nod before training your eyes on the silver-haired prince and narrowing them expectantly; he holds your gaze for only a second before looking off into the fire with a sigh, “Apologies.” 

Cregan reaches for the sword again and this time you relinquish it without a fight, turning your attention back to the two scrolls abandoned on the longtable – one carrying a gold seal, the other a black one, both bearing the three-headed dragon emblem.

Your brother sighs behind you and you can practically feel him throwing an icy glance at the two men before he joins you at the table, leaning back against the edge of it and crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

“We will hear your terms,” he starts, ignoring the way your head whips around to face him, “As is our sworn duty, but there will be no violence in these halls.”

“No.”

“Sister –”

“Not tonight,” you shake your head firmly, glancing over your shoulder at the princes before leaning closer to Cregan, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry in through the hall, “‘Tis late and they are on edge as is. Any negotiations will not go peacefully tonight.”

He turns his head toward you with a soft sigh; you tilt your head just slightly when your eyes meet, communicating silently, with only a look, as you have since the two of you were small. 

“Please,” you think, your gaze flicking between his blue eyes, lips set in a firm line, “Listen to me, just this once.”

Finally, after a long moment, he simply nods and looks back at the two men still standing in the hall, looking pointedly away from each other now. 

“We will hear your terms in the morning,” you announce, turning to face them, your expression set and neutral, “The hour is late and I imagine the two of you are tired from your travels, the –”

“Lady Stark,” Aemond starts, stepping forward, jaw clenched with barely contained annoyance, “W–”

“We will hear your terms in the morning and that is final, my prince,” you repeat, enunciating each word firmly, leaving no room for whatever argument he was intending to make. You glance between the two men again, watching as he gives a polite, stiff nod. 

Sighing tiredly, you give Cregan one last withering look before turning on your heel. “The servants will show you to your quarters,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the gold sealed scroll from the longtable on your way to the doors without sparing the men another look. 

By the grace of the Gods, you manage to have a few peaceful hours to yourself. The castle remains quiet, save for the usual bustling of various servants and guards. The crackling of the small hearth in your chambers is the only sound that accompanies you while you read over the terms Prince Aemond brought with him, which were fairly generous, all things considered. 

Only one point gave you pause, perhaps King Aegon’s greatest gift – the offer of his brother’s hand. You wrinkle your nose in disgust when you read over that bit, although you had expected it. It’s no secret that you, Winterfell’s greatest prize as you’d been told time and time again since you were old enough to even somewhat comprehend the idea of marriage, are unclaimed. Of course the Greens would exploit that, the Blacks probably did as well.

Of course any other weaker Lady would take the offer. 

Unconsciously, you clench your jaw as you gaze into the fire, watching the flames dance while you think over the terms set before you, etched cleanly on the parchment. You get up from your place at the desk to go see if Cregan has finished reading over Rhaenyra’s terms, quite curious to see what it is she’s offering up. 

“Gods!” You exclaim when a sudden knock at your chamber door cuts through the peaceful silence of the night, startles you enough that you grab at the edge of your desk to keep the bottle of ink there from spilling. Corking it, you let out an annoyed little grumble as you stand.

“Enter!” You call out, smoothing out the silken, fur lined fabric of your evening robes, the soft blue color sparkling like seafoam in the light from the fire. Your brows pinch together in equal parts annoyance and intrigue as a certain white-haired prince saunters through the door, his lips set together in a firm line, as if deep in thought. 

“Prince Aemond,” you huff, bristling when he closes the door behind him, “The hour is quite late, surely whatever you’ve come for can wait until the morning.”

He pauses at that, not moving from his place in the entryway. Confusion wells up within you when he doesn’t meet your gaze, his lilac eye blinking as his lips open just slightly – something clearly weighs quite heavily on his mind. 

“I apologize for the late hour, my Lady,” he murmurs, finally looking up as he takes a few steps into your chambers, arms clasped behind his back, “But I do not think the matter can wait until morning, no. I don’t believe that would be wise.”

“Speak, then,” you nod with a sigh, resting against the arm of a small sofa by the fire. You try your best to hide your annoyance, feeling certain that whatever the Prince had come to you with is not nearly as serious as he seems to believe.

Aemond remains quiet for a few seconds more and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain, something brewing just below the surface. “I… Did you intend to make a fool of me, Lady Stark?”

“What?”

“I’m aware that my coming, and that of my nephew, were… sudden,” he continues, leaving you utterly perplexed, which only makes you clench your jaw, already exasperated at this entire exchange, “But, had you and Lord Cregan made it clear that you had already come to an agreement, I could’ve left — been on my way to the Stormlands and saved us all the trouble.” 

“Seven Hells, why must he speak in riddles,” you think, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching your brow tiredly. 

“Prince Aemond, perhaps I could be of some help if you spoke your concerns more plainly,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and peering at him once more, “However, I can assure you that Cregan and I have decided nothing. He and I have planned to take the evening to read over yours and Prince Jacaerys’s terms, which we will discuss in the morning.” 

“Mm, then am I to believe that your lord brother plots without your knowledge, my Lady? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aemond paces, smirking as he traipses back and forth before you, acting like he can see clearly through some false plot you’ve set… if only you’d set one at all. 

“I overheard them, Cregan and Jace, in the library — I cannot seem to find sleep and thus was wandering the halls,” he murmurs, quickly explaining his actions before you have time to ask, “Surely you’re aware that your brother intends to support my traitorous sister.” 

His words should come as a shock, that Cregan would do something like this behind your back, and yet you can’t find it within yourself to be truly surprised. Ever since he’d become Warden of the North, he’d become… hardened, even to you. Before, he would’ve never dared do this, would’ve considered your thoughts as carefully as his own, but not anymore. 

“My brother may be decided,” you start, voice clipped, “But I have yet to come to a decision.” 

The prince hums yet again, something he seems to do often much to your great displeasure. He studies you for a moment, lilac eye never wavering from yours, before looking away with a tsk. “And yet, from what I overheard, he seems quite convinced that you have.” 

You scoff at that and push yourself off the arm of the sofa, placing your hands on your hips as you blink at him for a moment while the corners of your lips twitch with the threat of a smirk, “I must confess, my Prince, but I do not know how to proceed. We seem to be at an impasse – I assure you of one thing and yet you cling to your belief in another.”

“So it would seem.”

His calm reply does nothing to lessen your irritation and your chest heaves with a sigh, jaw clenching. “Well, then,” you huff, no longer patient enough to keep the frustration out of your tone, “What would you have me do, hm?”

“Perhaps,” your eyes narrow at the indifference with which he speaks – an act, you’re sure of it, “It would bring me some comfort if we could come to some… agreement of our own. As your brother and my nephew seem so eager to do.”

“As I’ve said, I do not wish to discuss the matter further. ‘Tis late, my Prince, and I see no point in staying up half the night to do something that can be accomplished just as well tomorrow.”

“Mm,” he hums, pacing around you and further into your chambers, to your great annoyance. You turn, watching him as he saunters through the space, acting as if it’s his own, only to come to a stop beside your desk. 

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips just as he feigns surprise at seeing the scroll he’d brought with him unfurled over the wooden surface, “But, you have read the king’s terms, no? Surely discussing them would not take long.”

“Discussing them, no,” you acquiesce, gritting your teeth, “My thoughts of accepting them, on the other hand…”

You can tell he’s only half-listening as you speak, focused on reading over the notes you’d scrawled in the margins of the document – questions of various assurances and the like… aside from one particular line which you’d hastily crossed through. A shiver goes down your spine when his eye trails up from the parchment to once again meet yours, darkened with some new sense of resolve.

“You are aware that the crown has the ability to strip you and Lord Cregan of your titles, yes? Especially if I were to inform my council of your plot against me…”

Your heart quickens at his warning, thumping meanly in your chest while you try to process his words. “All this over a simple marriage offer?” You think as your brows pinch together in a scowl; you do not take kindly to such threats.

“Over my brother’s right to the throne…,” Aemond murmurs and it’s only then you realize you must’ve spoken aloud, not hearing your own words due to the turmoil in your head, the rush of blood in your ears, “Over my family’s safety, yes. I would be willing to dole out harsher reminders as well, if need be.” 

“You must understand, this is not a slight against you, nor your council,” fire rages within you as the winds outside pick up, howling throughout the castle, “I have no want to be bound to anyone –”

“Think of the station you’d have,” he cuts you off, determination seeming to well up within him the same way it does you; each of you is ready for a fight, “The power you could wield in King’s Landing, everything you could do to benefit –”

“You could not drag me from the North kicking and screaming, I have no desire to go –”

“My Lady, you are intelligent, ‘tis plain to see,” he murmurs lowly, indignation finally managing to bleed through his placid exterior while he paces about, circling you just as he did Prince Jacaerys, “Surely you realize that your talents will be wasted here, squandered to the cold, frozen waste –”

“Do you think insulting my home is the way to win me over, my Prince?”

“Mm,” his dismissive hum alights a spark within you and your hands curl to fists at your side, “No, though I suspect flattery would do no good either.”

His words are sharp, spoken with the sole purpose of cutting into you, yet all they draw is an angry huff. You can see his eye narrow in your periphery, can feel him studying you, no doubt trying to find a way to make you crack. 

A part of you hopes he’ll succeed. 

“So, you see, I’ve no other choice than to resort to threats,” he hums, long silken hair swaying over his shoulders as he finally comes to a stop before you, close enough that you’re forced to raise your chin to maintain eye contact. 

“Should you be fool enough to try, you will not succeed in taking the North, my Prince,” you say softly, a quiet calm blanketing your fury just as snow blankets the fields outside, “Even Aegon the Conqueror could not, surely you know that.” 

Something dangerous flashes in his eye at that and your eyes narrow with the knowledge that you’ve crossed some invisible boundary, gone a step too far. 

He stays quiet for a moment, just long enough for the eye of the storm within you to pass, for the maelstrom to be ignited once more. 

“Surely you’ve heard tale of the wrath the Conqueror brought upon Harrenhal, Lady Stark,” his voice is low when he finally speaks, though there is no softness to it; only a harshness, a finality, that would surely make anyone else grovel for forgiveness at his feet, “Reduced to a pile of ash and molten stone… even now, more than a century later, it stands as a ruin – a cursed place…”

Your jaw clenches tightly at his words, eyes narrowing as you stare into his own as if challenging him to say it, to finish his threat.

“It would be quite a shame if that same doom was brought to Winterf–”

Aemond lets out a grunt when his back thuds against the stone wall behind him, gasping and caught off guard by your sudden advance. 

“Have you no shame?” Your words are biting as you snap at him; fury pours off of you in waves, your entire being concentrated down into rows of gnashing teeth, “You come into my home, unbidden. You threaten to spill blood in my hall, you feel entitled to my time and my space and my thoughts and my hand, all unbidden.”

For the first time all evening, the prince seems to have no response, not even a condescending hum. He stands frozen on the spot, held against the wall by your forearm pinned across his chest. The air feels like it evaporates from the room, leaving the two of you in some sort of bubble where the only sound is Aemond’s harsh pants. You see his angular nose twitch and his lips press firmly together as a sneer forms on his pale face. 

There’s a cruel, almost savage, gleam in his eye that should scare you, that maybe actually would, were it not for the soft pink flush spilling across his cheeks and an undercurrent of something resembling shame in his gaze – the expression of a child being scolded by a parent, caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

The strangeness of it brings you to heel for a second, only for the anger within you to flare up once more when he starts to open his mouth, starts to push himself off of the cool stone at his back. 

“Don’t,” you huff, narrowing your eyes and pressing back against his chest. A bitter laugh bubbles up from your throat as you stare at him, surprised once more when he quickly gives in and lets you push him back, “I bet you’re quite used to getting your way, hm? You’re a prince of the realm, of course you are.”

With each passing second, your ire for him seems to be slowly replaced by a growing curiosity — Why isn’t he fighting back? What kind of game is he playing at? 

“Entitled prince,” your heart quickens when his breaths start coming more harshly and his chest heaves against beneath your arm, “You hold no power here.” 

Aemond’s nostrils flare and his lilac eye narrows, just as fiery and intimidating as before. Your lips part when his hands come to rest on your waist, far too delicately for the situation. 

“Might I remind you,” he mutters, a rumble to his voice that hadn’t been there before, “That the crown—“

“The crown, the crown, the crown,” you lean in, nearly on your tiptoes, just a hair’s breadth away from touching your nose to his. Without considering the movement, your free hand wraps itself around his pale neck, not squeezing but merely resting there, pressing against his Adam’s apple — a reminder for him to remain silent, “Why is it that you lean so heavily on something you do not even have, my Prince?” 

You can feel him swallow against the palm of your hand, once again not fighting back. Though, it’s only when you meet his half-lidded eye and see that heady, shameful spark hiding there does the truth finally hit you. 

“Gods, he likes this,” your eyes widen ever so slightly at the realization, such a mighty, fearsome prince and yet he’s all but melting under your touch. The feeling is rather intoxicating and you feel a rush of power flow through you, making the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end. 

“I don’t see a crown on your pretty head,” you continue leaning into the feeling, intending on leveraging his submission to whatever extent you can, “Doesn’t that bother you, Aemond? Hm? Being reduced to the second son when you could’ve been so much more…”

“V-Vhagar could—“

“Vhagar could do nothing,” your fist tightens around the column of his throat as you press yourself more tightly against him, the thin fabric of your evening robe the only thing separating you from the warm black leather of his tunic, “Not if I take my brother’s sword and go slit her great belly myself.” 

He balks at that, brows furrowing as he stares at you — half in fury, half in wonder. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off again, not interested in hearing another half-baked threat. 

“Does it bother you that I don’t find you the least bit intimidating?” You question, narrowing your eyes at him. 

A grin blooms on your lips when he just barely shakes his head, the movement so subtle and so quick that you hardly catch it — though it sends lightning down your spine all the same.

“No? It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Again, he shakes his head, more firmly this time; his throat bobs beneath your grip, “Do you like it? That you can’t scare me?” 

He nods — not good enough. 

“Say it,” you command, tightening your grip on his neck once more. 

“I… I like it…,” he answers after a long moment, his voice hardly a whisper.

“Good boy.” 

He whimpers, the small sound vibrates against your hand. A shock goes through you and before you can fully register what you’re doing, you release his chest and neck and haul him toward your bed — that barely there whine enough to ignite a fire in your belly. 

You can see the confusion written plainly on his face when you sit on the edge of your mattress and gaze up at him expectantly, you try not to focus on the little flip your heart does at the fact that he’d followed you so willingly, like a little puppy. 

“Kneel,” you command, nearly giddy when he actually does, actually sinks to his knees before you. You lean forward and quickly tug off his eyepatch, eager to see the sapphire once more, and again, you’re shocked when he doesn’t put up a fight. 

Tossing the small scrap of leather to the side, you stop for a moment and admire the glimmering gemstone, even admiring the long, thin scar that adorns his otherwise flawless face. 

“You’ve been a thorn in my side all evening,” your fingers card through his hair while you speak, your voice low, hardly louder than the crackle of the logs in the fire, “Starting fights, coming to my chambers in the middle of the night for matters I said I would not be discussing, talking back… and I can think of much better uses for this mouth.”

Aemond’s breath hitches when you cup his jaw and skim a thumb over his bottom lip, grinning when he just barely follows your touch. With your free hand, you tug your robe open at the slit going up your leg, just enough to show him you’re bare beneath it.

“If… if I do this, you’ll back Aegon?” He rasps, staring up at you from his place on the floor as his hands come to rest gingerly on your thighs, “You’ll agree to his terms?”

“Of course…”

“… All of his terms?”

“All of them,” you echo breathily, sighing softly when he leans in and kisses the top of one knee, a smug grin on his lips despite the situation. 

If only he didn’t make this so easy. 

“Enough talking,” you grab at his pale hair and shamelessly pull him to where you need him, smirking at the little gasp that leaves his lips once he’s face to face with your center, “Show me what it is I’ve agreed to.”

For all his faults, Aemond doesn’t make you wait and quickly dives in — licking a solid line up the middle of your folds, groaning as he goes. His hands tighten around your thighs and he eagerly spreads them wider, shifting on the floor until he’s pressed closer to you. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasp, leaning back on an elbow, though you keep a grip on his hair and use it to drag him directly to your aching pearl, arching your back when he hungrily suckles at it. His eagerness makes the fire in your belly burn bright right away and you swallow thickly, battling against the dryness at the back of your throat. 

Aemond growls against you and dutifully licks over your bud, flicks his tongue against it again and again until your head spins. Your thighs tighten around his head but he’s quick to press against them once more and hold you open, fingers digging into your supple flesh. 

“Good boy,” you pant, relishing the way his eye rolls back. Biting at your bottom lip, you yank his hair once more — guiding him to your entrance. He catches on quickly and another almighty gasp is wrenched from your throat when he pushes his tongue inside you, making you shiver. 

“Seven Hells!” Your hips buck against his face of their own accord when his angular nose brushes against your pearl, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. Your walls clench down around his tongue, pulling twin whines from the both of you. 

Knowing you won’t be able to hang on for much longer, you press his face against your core and rock your hips more earnestly against his face; your eyes nearly go cross when he groans deeply against you, squeezing at your thighs hard enough to surely leave behind bruises. 

“T-That’s it, that’s it,” you chant, chest heaving. It feels as if lava flows through your veins each time he presses his tongue against you, the fire inside you burning brighter by the moment. 

Suddenly, he moves on his own accord and nips softly at your pearl before suckling at it once more. The sudden turn of events causes you to snap and finally slip over the edge, making fireworks explode behind your eyelids. 

“A-Aemond, Gods!” You cry, harshly tugging at his hair, nearly ripping it from its roots as pleasure beats against you in waves. You’re so lost within yourself that you hardly hear him growl against you, low and heady. 

You shove him away after a moment when his touches begin to border on overstimulation and lie panting on the bed, dropping to your back against the warm blankets and staring, half-lidded, at the ceiling. 

You can hear the shuffle of his clothes as he pushes himself up off the floor but you don’t bother sitting up, limp still from your peak. It’s not until he speaks that you finally look up. 

“I take it I’ve fully persuaded you, then?” He hums, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Leaning up on your elbows once more, you look him over — taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest thrums under the dark leather of his tunic, the evidence of his arousal pressing tightly against the ties of his trousers. 

Gods, what a desperate thing — wanting so badly for validation.

“Well, I’ll still need to read over Rhaenyra’s terms…”

“But —“

“But nothing,” you snap, sitting up once more on the edge of the bed, “I must at least operate under the pretense of being fair, no? Cregan will know if I don’t come to collect the papers your nephew brought.” 

Aemond nods stiffly, lips set in a thin line as he looks you over. Your heart speeds up just slightly when his lilac eye pauses at your chest, darkening at the way your robe has loosened, showcasing your cleavage. 

“True,” he acquiesces, brushing a lock of hair from your shoulder, “It would be smartest for us to be careful now…” 

He leans down, intending to kiss your cheek, perhaps even your lips or neck, but you put a hand up to stop him — shaking your head with a small smirk and a raised brow. 

“That’ll be all.” 

His brows furrow at your words, eye searching your face, “I thought —“

“I need to rest,” you cut him off, nodding to the door, “Goodnight, my Prince. I hope sleep finally finds you.” 

“I…” he starts, staring at you for a second, absolutely crestfallen, before simply nodding. “Lady Stark,” he mumbles, finally turning and seeing himself out, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Poor thing,” you think with a sigh as soon as your door shuts behind him, “He has no business here.” 

You’re hit with a wave of deja vu as you take your place next to Cregan, each of you standing before the long table at the head of the Great Hall. Once again, the place is as silent as a crypt, the only sound being the steady crackle of the fireplace. 

You stare straight ahead, focusing intently on the opposite wall while your brother addresses the two princes — exchanging morning pleasantries and worried smiles. Throughout his small speech, you can practically feel Aemond’s gaze on you, like he’s determined to sear a hole straight through you. 

“I have read your terms carefully, both of them,” Cregan states, each of the scrolls laid out on the table behind you, “And I propose that House Stark honor will keep faith with its alliance to Lady Rhaenys, in memory of the oath we once swore to King Viserys.” 

“Very well,” Prince Jacaerys nods, giving your brother a small, polite smile and grateful nod. 

“And what say you, my Lady?” Aemond cuts in, determined to force your hand, for you to make good on your assurances from last night. 

The desperation in his eye almost makes you feel bad.

With a sigh, you finally look up at him for the first time all morning, immediately noting the dark circles beneath his eye. Breaking from his intense, nearly pleading gaze, you look toward Prince Jacaerys with a small smile.

“I’m afraid I must agree with my dear brother,” your voice is cold, emotionless as it rings throughout the stony room, “House Stark will not be breaking its oath today.” 

Aemond lets out a sharp, stuttering breath, as if he’d been punched in the gut and his shoulders sag in defeat. 

And you almost feel bad, only for a moment. 

Almost.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[milfyclaus]

All that the Knight-Commander does is so enticing; the intake of breath, how soft skin shudders beneath the press of her nail, how it gives way — the shine of her teeth as they sink into the plush of her lower lip. Hardly serene; but starved. Famished. A pilgrim who has walked the ice and snow; cut their feet and legs upon rocks and brambles to ascent to Haven, only to find a feast awaiting them. Her own inhale is sharp; now suddenly keenly aware of the way blood rushes in her ears and the heat upon her cheeks — any might pass by, any might dare to enter, so early into the afternoon. Improper, hardly befitting of a lady; and her she shakes her head — straightening, shoulders back; head held imperiously high in a momentary bid to remember herself, her childhood teachings that she could never quite leave behind at the riverside. Some days, she wishes she had. 

“ I have little doubt of that, my dear. ” A pointed stare replaces her earlier expression at such a prolonged, formal address, though the warmth in her gaze lingers. The good lady is, perhaps, not as formidable as she wishes to be; and the hand upon Meredith's cheek moves, knuckles brushing against soft, soft skin. “ You are fortunate that I am not demanding. ” In matters of business, at least.  Another breath, and suddenly Meredith is there, the space between them closed; the warmth of her burning hot, the feeling of her breath against sensitive skin. Andraste, your servant knows what she is doing. And Maker, so does she; turning to brush her cheek with Meredith’s, a sharp inhale at the sensation of her paramour’s lips at her jaw, the sensitive skin of her neck. “ —Meredith! ”

The admonishment comes without heat, instead a low whisper; face flushing deeper as she demurely lowers her gaze, but does not turn away. To do that would be a worse punishment — a worse fate — than being made to wander the Fade until the Maker returned home; and her hand slips from Meredith’s to curl once again into the silk sash at her lover’s waist, pulling her closer when she turns to press a kiss to Meredith’s cheek; reproach in her expression just as much as the good lady is pleased. “ It does. You might find it within your heart to join me for dinner as well, and not linger too long. ”   

Maker preserve me, Meredith thinks for the moment as she feels the good lady's nail dig into delicate skin beneath her glove; there are several thoughts that come to mind, of their prior dalliances, and for just a moment, the Knight-Commander bites down on her lower lip, lest she decide to act upon them, then and there. Such temptations linger, and were it not for the midday hour, knowing the prying eyes and ears of the First Enchanter remain just across the hall, she might've indulged in them.

"Hm, I am thankful for your patience, Lady Comstock. As Knight-Commander, there are many, many administrative tasks and reports to attend to," In some ways, she misses being on patrol through Kirkwall's streets, weaving through Hightown and into Lowtown, seeing the people and protecting them from the mages. Yet, being here at least provides them with a momentary reprieve behind closed doors and for that, she is grateful. Thin lips curl back into a wolfish smile, with bared teeth and deepened wrinkles, leaning into the good lady's warm touch. With great amusement, she watches as her paramour flushes a shade of red envious to that of a beet.

"Mmm, perhaps I should," Meredith takes the suggestion with a raise of the brows, tongue swiping the front of her teeth in contemplation before closing the distance as safely as she can whilst in full plate, leaning her towering form downward with a hand placed upon the good lady's shoulder so as to press a kiss first to Amelia's jawline, then to the delicate column of her neck -- just below her ear. She tilts her head just enough to whisper into her ear. "The end of the week, after evening service, if it pleases you..."

[aspoonofsugar]

"I'm done blaming myself for your mistakes"

This line by Vi pretty much sums up her conflict in Act 1 of season 2, but I have yet to see it discussed. The point is, in fact, that Vi does blame herself, which is why she is unable to properly call Cait out. If Jinx specifically were not the one responsible for Cassandra's death, I doubt Vi would have stayed silent in front of Cait calling Zaunites animals or that she would have accepted many of Cait's actions without saying a word.

Vi still feels at fault for Powder becoming Jinx, which makes her vulnerable and willing to compromise on her morals, so that Caitlyn would not leave her. Ironically, I think this behavior is among the reasons why their love story does not work out in the first Act. They fail to communicate properly.

On the one hand Cait treats Vi badly. She insults Vi's people and insists that Vi should become an enforcer, despite her knowing of Vi's painful past. Obviously this is wrong, but personally I think it stems from Caitlyn's poor attempt to reconcile her love for Vi with her hate for Jinx:

"Three faces keep spinning through my mind. I see mother when they found her. And every fiber of me just sinks like in dark water. But then there is Jinx. Laughing. I want to tear that laugh from her throat forever. Then I see Vi. I asked her to put on the uniform. Suffice to say, she declined."

Cait's solution is to have be become a part of her society, so that she can keep on hating Jinx and the "bad" Zaunites, while loving Vi and the "good" Zaunites. Except it obviously does not work.

On the other hand Vi is unable to call Cait out. And the whole point is that Cait needed someone to call her out. She is grieving, but she is obviously becoming like the enforcers she once despised. Like the enforcers Vi despised. She negates Cassandra's legacy, by using her ventilation system to poison the air. She acts cruelly against a man, who is unharmed and who has clearly been hurt by that same gas she weaponized. She is ready to shoot a child (even if she does not intend to kill her), so that she can get at Jinx. Vi clearly sees all of this, which is why she asks Cait not to change:

Vi: Everyone in my life has changed. Promise me you won't change.

However, she fails to confront Cait about it all. Except that when you are in a relationship, you must feel secure and free to call the other person out. Even to get into a fight with the other person. Still, Vi is so terrified of losing Cait too, that she is indecisive. And in the end she is tragically left behind by Cait.

This happens because Vi herself has not yet decided who she wants to be. Is she a Zaunite or an Enforcer? Does she want to kill Jinx or not? Vi can't choose. Jinx even calls her out on this:

Jinx: Plastering my face all over, so someone else would do your dirty work?

She tells Cait she wants Jinx dead, but the moment she can kill Jinx she doesn't. Sure, Isha comes between them, but after Cait disarms Isha, Vi could pretty easily take Isha away from Jinx and let Cait kill her sister. However, she does not. That is clearly because she sees Powder in Isha. Jinx and Isha embraced are clearly representative of who Jinx is as a whole. She is an unstable terrorist, but she is also a hurt child. That is who Jinx is and that is what Vi (and Jinx herself) needs to see and to reconcile. Even now, Vi insists that Powder is dead and that only Jinx remains. However, Jinx is Powder no matter how much Silco, Jinx herself and Vi insist she isn't. She still clearly is.

It is just that Powder has changed, but this is normal. Just like it is normal Vi herself has changed and will need to change again, so that she can decide who she really wants to be. Just like Jinx and just like Cait will have to do.

As a side note, I am loving the foiling between Cait and Jinx. They have always been foils, but while last season focused on how this juxtaposition impacts Jinx, right now we are seeing how it impacts Cait.

In season 1, Jinx sees Cait as Vi replacing her. In a sense, Jinx's jealousy of Vi stems from that same inability to accept change. Jinx too deep down hopes she can go back to being the innocent Powder and that Vi can love her, like she did in the past. However, that is not possible because people change and forge new relationships. Jinx forges a bond with Silco she can't simply erase because Vi wants to. Just like she can't erase the one with Vi simply because Silco wants to. Similarly, Vi has a new bond with Cait that she can't break simply because Jinx asks her to. So, Caitlyn is really who Jinx wants to be. Someone complementary to Vi in battle, but also reliable, dependent, lovable. By the end of season 1, Jin realizes she can't really be that person anymore and interiorizes there is a part of her Vi can't understand. That same part Silco instead accepts.

Silco: Don't cry. You are perfect.

In season 2, Jinx becomes Cait's dark side. She is really Cait's Joker, as she is the one who challenges Cait's sense of justice and morals:

Cait: It's her blood in your veins. Vi: Then why are you the one acting like her?

Cait is letting grief and pain change her for the worse, just like Powder was transformed by her own losses and traumas. Cait keeps insisting she is different from Jinx, but she isn't. In fact, her whole fiasco kinds of hint at it symbolically. Cait poisons the underground city in her attempt to catch Jinx. Only for Jinx rewinding the ventilation system, so that the poison Cait used is sent back to Piltover. Jinx literally acts like Cait's mirror, which is why Cait's shot ends up hitting exactly this, a mirror. As in, Cait can't really kill Jinx without hurting both herself, Vi and the whole city :P

I am curious to see how their foiling will develop, now that both girls are growing into the leaders of their opposite factions.

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine you and Aegon find comfort in each other.

Warnings: mediæval like; canon divergence with the series; Y/N’s plot is loosely inspired in (TV Show’s) Helaena’s; drama; smut.

***

• (I)

You have dreams. What do you know about them? They come true, that is what you understand. Whatever colours they are painted of, they come true. Mostly they show you the past, but every now and then… these dreams show something beyond your historical comprehension.

“Y/N, my dearest”, the queen calls you out, bringing you back to reality. You raise your eyes and spot this red-haired woman dressed in fanciful green robes eyeing you with a maternal, yet distant care. “There is something we must speak of.”

“What is it?”, you remember your filial duties. Leaving aside your books, you concentrate on what your often absent mother has to say.

“By any means I mean to bring to you a subject that makes me uncomfortable in speaking of”, the Queen forces a smile, but you can tell by the awkwardness in her eyes that she wishes to be elsewhere. “You are soon going to be married.”

“To Aegon”, you observe, resigned. “How could it be otherwise when he’s the heir?”

For someone so young, your tongue can be sharp whilst your eyes give tons of liveliness not afore perceived by your mother. An awkward silence hangs in between the two of you.

“Yes, to him. This will not happen soon, though.”

“But from now on my lessons will change. I am aware.” And you smile to break the sudden tension. “Fear not, mother. I think Aegon and I will be… in good terms.”

She doesn’t know how you can be certain, but the Queen is relieved for delivering at last what she formerly thought to be dreadful news.

***

• (II)

“Marriages are alliances that must not be focused in sentiments”, instructs the Queen. “These must be placed aside for the sake of duty.”

“Is it not commendable to have some degree of affection between the parties?”, asks Aegon, somewhat confused with where this is going.

His mother gives him a look, deprived of comprehension: how could she, when she married his father by force, never nurturing any affection for this man?

“Nay. The Church strongly discourages affection on both parts, for otherwise marriage, sacred in its end for the purpose of continuing the lineage, becomes profaned.”

Aegon sighs heavily. It is worthless to discuss with his mother, he knows it well. This is a matter that women are better familiar with, for, like his grandsire likes to say, it is linked with a feminine world of which men have little doing in it.

According to the old Valyrian tradition, the heir to the throne comes to understand that he’s to marry his younger sister, Y/N. The young man closes his eyes, at first not really excited about making you his wife.

“I shall do as my lady mother commands”, says he in a mechanic tone, eager to leave the meeting.

Must it be constantly uncomfortable every time they gather together?

A question the Queen sees unposed in her boy’s eyes. One of the kind she wishes she could answer, but trapped in her own ambitious web, all she does is eventually dismiss his presence of her.

And serve herself some wine, naturally.

***

• (III).

Aegon watches as you sit by the fountain. Years gone by since you and him grew up and were forced to marry. The union has been consumed, but you have been avoiding each other’s presence ever since.

However, for some inexplicable reason, here he stands, watching you absorbed in your usual reading. The book is black velvet with golden pages, but judging by the content that has you frowning your eyebrows, Aegon believes it not be of religious type.

He hesitates at first in how to come at you. There had seemed to be an unspoken agreement between both of you since that unfortunate day that once consumed, the marriage would remain as void as possible.

Duties were performed, of course. However, ever since Prince Jaehaerys came to pass, a victim of the Summer Fever, neither could console the other properly. As a result, Aegon produced bastards… but never a legitimate son to continue the line. Perhaps this was arranged, albeit unconsciously so, between him and you against Queen Alicent’s and your grandsire Lord Otto’s ambitions.

But now… Aegon cannot handle his demons alone. Out of his siblings, you are the one whose nature somehow… does not mirror others or his own.

Sensing the weight of his stare, you lift your gaze only to be caught off guard by your estranged husband’s presence. You quickly stand, somewhat fearful he might be here just to scowl at you for failing your duties—something that you’ve seen in others’ eyes.

And even though you’ve been having odd dreams where Aegon and you get along, overcoming these initial struggles that a forced match put you through, you are somehow faithless in this. In addition to this, there’s the fact neither speak to the other since your only son’s demise.

“I do not fault you for his… premature departure of this world”, says Aegon, not needing too much to disclosure the reason why there’s a distance between both parts, under covered by a mutual distrust. “His suffering was short.”

“‘Tis part of our position to accept that what the Lord gives, the Lord takes.” You muse thoughtfully.

Aegon glances away. Religiosity has never been his best, even if he’s forced to play the pious.

“Ours, however, has been unnecessarily prolonged.”

The silver haired prince, who wears court garments today, looks like an empty vessel when these words reach his ears. You hope to reach out for him, but…

“Pardon?”

So close, yet so far.

You are dressing a cream silk gown with details in green and pearls. Aegon notices the result of the embroidery you’ve been working, particularly focusing at the dragons that have been so perfectly woven in the cloth.

“I’ve only meant to say…” You sigh, shaking your head as you quit. “Never mind. This battle is lost.”

Aegon scoffs at your behavior, but in retrospective could you be the one to blame when he walked away so easily?

Biting down a bitter answer, he looks down at his feet before saying:

“May we… walk around the gardens? I think we must speak.”

You cast him a long look.

Could this be?

But when this pair of lilac irises encounters yours, mirroring each other’s soul deprived free will—for where hast it been put if not casted upon the creature done in the similitude of its Creator?—it as if the divine ire has been placated at last. As if little by little all is starting to settle.

Almost if there is hope.

“Aye, lord. I do not see why not”, and when you smile, Aegon realizes this is no time to winter, but to spring. “It has been too long since we last spoke.”

So too he smiles, charmed by this woman whom he neglected by force of pride, weakened in flesh and spirit as he knows.

“True.”

In his own way, Aegon and you begin to gravitate towards each other. Thus the dragons dance.

***

• (IV)

“There is a sadness behind your eyes I cannot decipher”, Aegon muses.

You are lying on his lap. The two of you are found at the gardens in this cloud day. You like how he strokes your hair, careful, tender. A positive change in his manners in these weeks which you gladly welcome despite the early distrust.

“I think I might when I come to think about it, but I fear to dig into it…”, he proceeds. “It makes me want to demove it out of you.”

“That is kind of you, but some people are born with it, I guess”, you close your eyes, unsure where these waters are leading you to.

Though your dreams, green they might be, show you facts that come to be true, you are still frightened by them. Some of them brought you to this very moment in spite of your reluctance to it.

Here you are, though.

“I think we are rather creatures of it”, says Aegon. “And I fear that I am one of the reasons why melancholy has found solace in your heart.”

You carefully rise and contemplate your husband. Your eyes scan his handsome features, part of which mirrors yours. Lilac eyes and silver locks, but a nose and a mouth that certainly take after your mother.

Pulled by strange strings that come from above, you are reasoned by the certainty of being pawns of the gods. Regardless of never answering to them, these never answer to your family either. The clash of mortality and immortality often results in misery.

“Pride is our fall”, you muse, able to see so many tragedies in the past that lead to this current one. “It is only equaled by selfishness. We are all doomed in the end. ‘Tis the nature of us all.”

“I often wish I was worthy of being loved, made different by the divine”, so much being brought out by words and yet you are drawn by them.

“No, my dear lover; my sweet brother, we are all capable of loving… and being loved”, you tell him, capturing his face with your hands.

You rest your forehead against his. Aegon closes his eyes, swallowing the tears he’s been ashamed to keep when darkness rises.

“I am not. And I lament with the depths of my soul for it.”

“Shush now. Quiet the riots of your heart, for we are neither too pure nor too profaned, despite being creatures of sin. We can be light when there is darkness.”

“You are too pure for this world.”

Oh, the anguish. The atonement behind words that hurt like knife, so vicious is the pain these cause.

And yet your lips seek for his in attempt to mend it. Aegon is surprised by your pursuit, but he doesn’t shy away. He welcomes gleefully the sweet taste of your lips.

For the first time in a very long time, pain is left aside by another sentiment, to both of you unknown. What is this? What is this if not the spark of joy? The start of something new, where no words are sufficed to translate.

“I want you”, he whispers like a pained lover, realizing a little too late how his prideful heart and doomed soul stole him away from you for too long.

Whilst his tongue mixes with yours, you succumb to the power of gravity. Like the planets attracted to the sun, so is your heart to his. And you want to steal his misery, you want to be desired as much as you want to love this man.

Half of your soul, your other half.

“I am yours, Aegon”, you bite down his lips, letting him have his way to you when lying down the grass and pulling him over you. “Reclaim me, I beg of you.”

“I shall do as my damsel commands me to”, he gasps, breathless.

Where there was cold, there is now fire. Two dragons, two sides of the same coin, about to get burnt.

He kisses you hard, famine for your affection, desperate to reach out for you and you lift your legs to tie him in between all the whilst returning his fierce kiss, hands gripping his hair, making a mess with his silver locks.

And then…. His lips comes to your neck, biting and leaving bruises, pleased to hear small sounds out of your mouth.

His eager hands start to work on your gown, unlacing it eagerly, digging his hands possessively against your back, very clear in his selfish gesture.

“Mine, mine lady”, Aegon whispers against your chest, pausing breathlessly to contemplate the mess you are now.

Your eyes are partially closed; your red-ish lips are open in a small “o”, wanting for more, releasing these desires for so long repressed, for years repented as wrongs that should be cleansed of your soul.

“Mine lord”, you sigh in content.

And looking down at his face, you see a smile crawling over his lips, which rises to his eyes. Your heart melts and you smile too.

“I exhort you to give me a precious gift”, and you lift him so you steal a kiss out of his lips. “Your heart, your soul… I cannot sleep well at night knowing my lover is not well. Let me be your healer as Venus healed Ares when he was in his worst. For I’d go to hell and cross through damnation to save you.”

“Lady, profess naught these words, I forbid you”, and he kisses you in turn. “Unworthy I am of this gesture, this affection! I shall guard, however, your heart as the great treasure to me sent by the divine. Sinful and doomed I may be…”

“I will redeem you if you let me.”

You shush his uneasiness with another kiss. Now you lay him down, taking control of the reins. You reclaim him like he did to you, except the dragon fire makes you bolder this time.

So your kisses do not concern his lips alone: your hungry mouth captures his neck and his chest… all the whilst you unlace his pants. Starving for affection, one needs the other; a need released after being repressed under the guise of good behavior and social rules.

Oh but where’s the etiquette when your hand grips his manhood, taking it the way he likes—oh you still remember your first night together, when even under the effect of alcohol he was excited to teach you the way it’s done.

Bearing this recollection in minds, Aegon throws his head back and lets out a loud groan.

“Heavens! Oh, my lady! Never before so fair, my leof!”

His chest growing heavy, Aegon’s body is instantly warmed with fire. Eyes rolling in the back of his mind, he’s about to come undone, but not wasting his seed, he turns tables and soon you are no longer the hunter, but the prey.

That in finding pleasure you are able to bury scars of cloud days formed through pain is to delight yourself in these marital activities you and Aegon prevented each of the other in the past years.

Now he’s sliding his manhood into your core after locking your hands above your head, you comprehend at long last what these dreams are about.

Your promise prince. The hope of a yet to come spring.

‘Tis the way upon which salvation is craved: when hearts are blended and bodies are intertwined, when parted souls are one united.

***

• (V)

Politics are not the world you were educated to be part of, which is something you are content about. Unlike your mother, the former queen. This is not a field where you intend to seed your ambitions.

To many, you are content with the role delegated to you, and this isn’t completely untrue. But there are times where nights are dark…

…and full of terrors.

“Aegon”, you whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond; his snore tells how asleep he is. You sigh, but you don’t call him again.

Untangling of his arm, you roll out of bed, anxious. Another dream comes to take your peace… something no one knows, no one’s understand.

You walk barefoot towards the window and there you stand, watching through the glass the darkness above. You can still hear the screams in the back of your head, accusations, the sound of blades…

War is coming.

What is there to stop it? The ambitions of the men are seed to the inevitable. Even so, the scenes are hard to unsee.

Lost in your world, you miss Aegon’s groaning when noticing the cold you left your side of bed and not much time after coming for you.

“Y/N”, your husband snakes his arms around you waist, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look pale. Are you unwell?”

You chew your bottom lip, a sign of distress that Aegon’s familiar with. He suddenly recalls the reason why you and him were never close throughout your childhood and subsequent early adulthood: the fact you were always stuck in your own world.

A reason there was to it, but he was afraid to figure it out then.

“What bothers you, my sweet?”

As you slowly turn at him, Aegon spots tears forming in your eyes.

“You’d not understand.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate, fearful of losing him. As if he could read your thoughts, Aegon cups your face and rests his forehead against yours.

“I shall not leave your side, regardless of what it is that daunts you so.”

“You may call me witch for what I am about to tell you…”

The king chuckles.

“Hardly.”

He waits, aware that this is where you open yourself to him. Aegon can tell, by the looks you cast him, how important this is, a test of trust that will rely on his reactions.

Eventually though, with little need to reassure you that whatever that comes out he will not leave your side, Aegon holds your hands firmly and says:

“We have been under neglect for so long. We were not taught affection nor approval, or any of the values our mother praises in public. And yet here we are with the crown over our heads.” He kisses your cheek, there staying for a while. “We cannot be faulted for the sins of our parents, my wife. We are of the same blood, but we are more than that.”

It is only then you finally grant him entrance to a world where none had dared to do so. Aegon is thus told that you have inherited an ability few possessed in the Targaryen dynasty: the one of having green dreams.

Even so… here it is where one estranged couple gets intimate in the most blessed of forms: by trusting each other and overcoming former difficulties.

Indeed, a victory to the Cupid… or the Virgin Mother who brought harmony to two troubled souls.

***

• Epilogue.

War eventually makes its way to the realm. But when it does, all is settled.

“I must lead my troops against this pretender to the throne”, says Aegon in reference to their sister, Rhaenyra, who never entirely accepted to be cast aside in favour of her younger brother.

“Be mindful. She has Lord Daemon by her side”, you advise him.

“But we have Aemond by ours”, Aegon smirks at you.

As you two embrace, Aegon places a kiss on top of your forehead and a hand over your growing belly.

“Beware, my love”, says he, and you detect concern behind his eyes.

But you sweep away his concerns when you smile the brightest.

“No need to worry. You shall come back to my arms and I will perform my duty accordingly. Dare I say that more children will come in due time!”

Aegon chuckles quietly. When he smiles, no beautiful sight could have warmed your heart like this.

“Aphrodite blessed me indeed!”

He takes your hand to his lips before leading you both to the court where he expects to part with his men soon. Aemond soon comes, joined by Lady Alys, his wife.

Even though this is an unusual union for the time where low born are hardly married into high born houses, you and her got along just fine… and she’s been a good help with the dreams you have.

“This shall not be a farewell!”, says Aegon before all, in a ceremony that you are the protagonist of it. Oh, courtly nonsenses, you know, but here are the perks of being queen. “For the divine calls me to take in arms with the one who, as the same blood of ours, has been conspiring with violence and never befriending with peace!”

“The Fortune has set the path to you, my king. Be merciful, I ask.”

Aegon nods his head regally, every inch a king.

“I will keep your request in mind, my damsel!”

And to prevent a civil war, he goes, mounted in his golden horse whom he calls Sunfyre.

***

However, women are not prevented to fight their own wars even if their victories in childbed are not sang nor praised by poets and bards.

Surrounded with the women of your trust, you are now closed to a feminine world where men take no part. Curious to notice that where Aegon fights for the survival of his dynasty, you too take a similar part in delivering its success.

Amidst pain and blood, though, you perform your duties accordingly. Most would applaud your bravery in facing the process with no tears and few screams.

I am as Targaryen as any of them.

A pair of twins comes to breathe the air after the process is done. You opt to name the male after your husband, Aegon, and the female after Rhaenys. It is only fair since you come after their line.

“How is my queen doing?”, Lady Alys asks you once the labour comes to an end and the babies are taken to be cleaned.

“Good”, you smile at her, taking the hand offered and giving a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

“More will come”, she whispers.

Your smile spreads fully.

“Oh, indeed. A victory granted by the Divine.”

“Even if the Targaryens answer to no men nor Gods”, says Alys.

Both of you chuckle.

“It is what it is”, you give your motto to your sister in law.

Towards the end of the reign of Aegon the Wise, the chronicler writes how you, successfully known as the peacemaker, set the path to other queen consorts in your queenship. Popular throughout the Seven Kingdoms, your hand extended where your husband’s could not.

For example, you helped arranging the marriages of your third child, Rhaella, with Rhaenyra’s son, Jacaerys, as well as your fourth, Hughes, with Visenya. That way you brought Rhaenyra closer to your family instead of instigating another possibly revolt. Such matches pleased her.

It all ended well.

As for you and Aegon, no successful match has been seen since King Viserys wedded Lady Aemma.

You and him found solace in each other and would remain so until the end of your days. There’s a saying in King Aegon III’s reigns that you and your husband’s bond was so strong that both of you were found dead sleeping in each other’s arms in an advanced age.

[thewritetofreespeech]

What the Future Holds

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond & the Greens have returned victorious, but at what cost? [before all this: X XX XXXX]

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

"Aemond, tell me true. Did you do this to Aegon on purpose?"

Aemond stared at you for a long moment. Seeming to debate lying, but you knew he would never truly lie to you. "...not entirely on purpose..."

"Oh Gods Aemond...." You felt the air sift out of your lungs. Thinking back to Aegon's burnt, mangled body in the bed. The maesters not confident in his recovery to the point that they had all but stepped aside to let the septons have him. You needed to sit down.

Aemond rushed to your side, kneeling in front of your seat, his hands on your knees. "You have to believe me. This wasn't my intention at the start."

"Aemond..." He was getting perilously close to his first lie ever towards you.

"I was being careful, like you told me." You scoff ruefully at his explanation. It sounded a lot like blaming. "But Rhaenys and Aegon were..." He paused then. Seeming to think back on that moment and he did not look happy on it. "I did what I had to. Aegon got caught in the crossfire."

"Literally?" You don't mean to be glib but Nine Hells this was a lot to process.

Aemond's expression looked worried. Fretful. He took your hands in his and held them tight. As if scared you would run away if he didn't hold them. "With Meleys and Rhaenys gone, the Blacks have lost one of their dragons and decidedly best council. Rhaenyra is not educated in war. Daemon is as brash and impulsive as my brother. They will never recover from this. Aegon was...a necessary sacrifice for the greater good."

"Aemond, this isn't like you push him off a bridge or cut his arm off in a duel. You set him on fire!"

"If he can't stand a little dragon fire, then he's no true Targaryen." He reasoned. Sitting back on his heels but still focused on you. "Don't you see? With Aegon out of the way we can end this war and be done with it. No more loss. No more bloodshed."

"No more King?"

You knew Aemond was being honest with you, but you also weren't stupid enough in love to not realize his intentions weren't all pure. "You said it yourself. We must think of the line. Of our future." He grasped your hand again, only this time one for one. Your binding hands. "Mine and yours."

You take a deep breath and look around. Trying to make sense of this, but Aemond rose up on his knees to take your face in his other hand and focus on him. "Westeros deserves a king who will lead it to glory. Who will appreciate it. Not a man, a child, who has squandered everything in his life. Who didn't even want it. And Westeros deserves a Queen who will guide them. Not a meek eyed doe like my sister. Not a zealot like my mother. You. Together we can make this kingdom better. Because we will be better. The Gods may not have chosen us first, but we are the right choice." Every word from Aemond rouses your heart. You knew of his passion, but who knew he was such a wonderful orator. "Tell me you feel the same. Tell me you believe in this."

You look upon Aemond and think on his words. "I'm not going to help you kill Aegon."

He sat back down on his heels and frowned at you. "I wouldn't ask you to."

"But I won't stand in your way." You finish.

If he dies, you will accept it. If he lives, Aemond would have to accept that too. This was the coin toss the Gods had offered all of you.

The prince thought on your answer, then nodded. It was the best you could offer and the best he could hope for. "Alright." He rose back up again, tentatively this time, and wrapped his arms around you. "You believe me, right? You do not hate me, do you?"

"Never." You might not agree with what Aemond was doing, but you could never hate him. It was done now anyway. "Promise me you will remain careful though."

"I will try." He had promised you that before, and here you were.

You held Aemond close, and he clung to you. You want to believe that this was all a mistake. An accident of zealousness born from wanting this war over and peace to come to the land. A necessary sacrifice, as Aemond had said. There was no denying he was right. The Blacks would never recover from a blow so hard, but what of the Greens?

There is a nagging feeling in your chest, however, that for the first time Aemond was lying to you. Or perhaps he was also lying to himself.

There was still much uncertainty on what the future holds for the two of you, but all you knew was that you held your future right here. With Aemond in your arms. Even if you didn't agree with his motives.

[daiziesssart]

a humiliatingly long character analysis of lily evans

Someone sent me an ask that briefly mentioned how misunderstood Lily is, and before I knew it I was typing out this monster. I am. sorry. This is literally just me rambling about her, what I find compelling about her character, and why her character is so often misunderstood.

This is long as hell so I'm putting it under a read more lolol

Part of the reason I like Lily so much (other than my being ginger and projecting onto any redheaded female character I see) is that even though she isn’t explored as much as her other Marauders Era counterparts, we know enough about her to start building the framework for her character. And what I see is a girl who was incredibly interesting, kind, and flawed.

One thing I always think about in regards to Lily is that she was dealt with a pretty unfair hand. As soon as she receives her letter, she’s basically torn between two worlds, both of which have been less than welcome to her. On one hand, we have the muggle world that she’s known all her life, but once she starts integrating into the wizarding world, she likely feels a bit of a disconnect with that world. To twist the knife further, her sister- whom she loved dearly and grew up so close with- starts outwardly resenting her with such unbridled hostility that they likely couldn’t even be in a room alone together without major conflict. 

On the other hand, we have the wizarding world– a world she’s not as familiar with and one she soon learns holds a demographic of people who hate everything she is and would rather see her excommunicated or even dead. And even though finding out you’re a witch/wizard is probably such an exciting and life-changing moment, I can’t help but also take note of the difficulties, especially if you’re the only one in your family with magic. You’re essentially uprooted from the only way of life you’ve known at an already complicated age, and now you have to quickly become acclimated to this new world that you only just found out existed. Not only that, but now you’re suddenly attending a school with classes that are primarily focused on this world of magic (which is still brand new to you), and you have to work extra hard to play catch up in order to do well. Like, that all seems like… a lot for a kid to handle.

And then I remember how young she was when she was thrown into that mess. She was only 11, and kids that age desperately crave any sense of belonging. I mean, that’s something that still holds true for adults, but it’s especially critical for a developing child. So imagine Lily, ages 11-15, struggling to stay afloat in this weird purgatory between these two parts of herself, both of which have been the cause for major and traumatic experiences relating to rejection in her life.

(I say it was the “cause” even though it’s obvious that those things were never her fault at all, but when you’re a young kid navigating the world, the only thing you’re able to process is that the common denominator is you, therefore you’re the one who must shoulder the blame.)

So now we have this tween-teenaged girl who has a dysfunctional relationship with two major parts of identity and probably feels absolutely lost. 

This is why her hesitancy to end her friendship with Snape makes sense to me. Even though by fifth year he’s already well past toeing the line with the dark arts, Lily was willing to overlook some pretty egregious and troubling things in order to maintain the relationship. I kind of interpret that as her way of desperately clinging on to any sense of belonging she has left; her relationship with Petunia has already been poisoned, and now there are people who resent her existence as a witch; if she loses Severus too, what and who else does she have? And what tone does that set for her, if everyone and everything she’s come to hold close to her ends up turning her away?

It’s also important to note that not only is Severus one of her few remaining connections to the muggle world, but he’s also a wizard who grew up in the muggle world; he understands her, and I don’t doubt that he gave her some stability at times when she needed it (her finding out about her being a witch, her having trouble acclimating to the wizarding world, etc).

I see this as being one of her flaws and I can actually appreciate how relatable and realistic it feels. Lily is not a bad person; on the contrary, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone to describe her as such. Not to get all clinical and boring, but the interesting thing about (unhealthy) coping mechanisms is that it can actually be really hard to identify them in your own behavior. Unless you’re in therapy and/or are actively psychoanalyzing yourself, you likely don’t even realize how many of your common behaviors are born from self defense mechanisms put in place by your brain after past events.

To me, it makes sense why she avoided actually confronting the idea that Snape was too far gone. We know that she was aware of the path Severus was taking, but it almost seems like she was still convinced that she could save him, and could possibly steer him back in the right direction. It’s only when she becomes the target of his bigotry that she realizes that the Snape who called her a ‘mudblood’ was not the same Severus who was the one who held her hand and introduced her to this new, exciting world.

In a general sense, yes, it is selfish, to only take a stand when something starts affecting you personally. But I also think it’s important to note that it’s unlikely that this was a conscious decision on Lily’s part. In my eyes, it was easier to delude herself into thinking she still had a chance to save him before it was too late when she was able to separate him from his actions (considering, a lot of the time, she was only hearing about them after the fact, rather than seeing them firsthand). But the elusion is shattered once she sees that the Snape she grew up with– her friend, Severus– is, in fact, the same person who’s out there calling other students slurs, dismissing the malicious use of Dark Magic on others as just “a laugh”. There we see a Lily who is actually revealed to have been somewhat aware of Snape’s involvement with the darker side of magic, and genuinely feels pretty ashamed about her inaction.

Also, this is in no way me being a Snape-anti, and I actually could do an entire separate analysis on his character alone and why I find him so interesting.

Anyways, that moment in SWM is probably somewhat of an epiphany to her. It’s like a dam that’s been broken, and now she’s overwhelmed with the realization of exactly how much she overlooked in order to keep their friendship afloat. And for someone like Lily Evans, someone whom we know is opinionated and unafraid to call others out on their bullshit, that can be hard to swallow and feel pretty mortifying and shameful. And I think this was a huge turning point for her- at that point, she doesn’t have the luxury of avoiding uncomfortable truths anymore and now that she’s getting closer to graduating and being thrown out into the world on the brink of war, this was probably a really sobering discovery.

This is where we don’t have as much info to go off of, and a lot of it is up to interpretation. But we actually have little crumbs to go off of following her graduation and leading up to her death.

One of my favorite little tidbits isn’t in the books, and @seriousbrat's post reminded me about it. Here's the actual entry on Pottermore for anyone who's interested, but I'll summarize: after James and Lily began dating, Lily brings James to meet newly engaged Petunia and Vernon. Everything goes downhill, because Vernon is a smarmy asshole, and James is still pretty immature and can’t help but mess with him (which… fair, I guess). Petunia and Vernon storm out after Petunia letting Lily know that she had no intentions of having her as a bridesmaid, which causes Lily to break down into tears. I mention this because I also think it’s a pretty important aspect of her character; like we’ve seen in her past friendship with Snape, Lily seems more than willing to forgive others most of the time. Petunia is a bit of a complicated character herself, but she was objectively very cruel and unfair to Lily once it became obvious that she was a witch and Petunia was not.

Something that always stands out to me is just how desperate Lily is to earn Petunia’s trust and approval again. Even up until her death, she was more than willing to mend the relationship, were Petunia ever to consider. 

This is a detail about Lily that I feel is misunderstood quite a bit. I’ve seen a lot of instances of her character being reduced to a one-dimensional archetype with little to no complexity. And often, that archetype is “know-it-all, prudish, self righteous bookworm who is also a goody two-shoes with a stick up her ass”. What annoys me is that the reason for this is most definitely the scene in which she blows up at James in SWM for bullying Snape, and hurls quite a few insults at him directly after an extremely devastating and overwhelming situation for her. This frustrates me because we know for a fact that she’s the polar opposite of this archetype I’ve seen her reduced to. 

In actuality, she’s referred to as popular, charming, witty, bright and kind. From flashbacks we also are shown that she’s opinionated, bold, and not afraid to challenge others. With other context, like her interpersonal relationships, we can also see that she’s pretty emotionally driven and wears her heart on her sleeve. 

(I know Remus didn’t mention Lily much in the books, but I really love how he described her in the movies. He tells Harry that the first thing he noticed about him was not his striking resemblance to his father, but his eyes, the same eyes Lily had. He also calls her a “singularly gifted witch” and an “uncommonly kind woman”.

“She had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even and perhaps most especially, when that person could not see it in themselves.”

I know there are mixed feelings on whether or not the films count as canon source material, so take it with a grain of salt, but I personally cannot see a world in which Lily and Remus didn’t become close friends.)

Here we have a direct description of what she was like and who she was, corroborated by recounting of memories of her, and yet for some reason, this feels like the thing that is most commonly lost in translation.

I don’t think I can say why I think that is without mentioning the dreaded M word (misogyny- it’s misogyny), but I also don’t want to get too off topic so I’ll be brief: female characters are typically not given the same grace as male characters. When we have an undeveloped male character, he’s awarded the assumption that despite his lack of depth, there still exists a complex and multifaceted character– it’s merely just potential that hasn’t been tapped into. Whereas when we have underdeveloped female characters, they are taken at face value, meaning that not much exists beyond the little information we have of them. They are not presumed to have a life or a story that exists beyond the surface of what we know like male characters are. That’s why I think characters like Regulus, Evan, or Barty (just to name a few) are more popular than Lily, despite being less developed than she is.

(Before anyone gets defensive, no, I don’t think it’s an individual problem that you alone need to be shamed for. I think it’s the result of a deeper issue regarding misogyny in media as a concept; these are things that we’ve all unknowingly internalized and while it’s not our fault, we still have to do the work to deconstruct those learned prejudices.)

What I find really cool about her character is that despite how much she’s been hurt, she’s also still known as one of the most loving, kind, and considerate characters. There were so many times in her life where the love she received was conditional and ripped away from her– and I think that’s what makes her sacrifice even more poignant. She was able to protect her infant son from an extremely powerful dark wizard, wand-less, knowing that her husband was just murdered in cold blood, just from how much love she felt for Harry. Her love was a force of nature on its own, and I just think that’s such an amazing thing about her. 

I know I’m biased, given that she’s one of my favorite characters, but even upon delving into this, I still just find it so incredibly hard to understand how anyone can actively hate her (not indifference, but actual dislike). In my opinion (again, no one is unbiased, and she is a favorite character of mine, but trust me when I say that I’m trying to be objective as possible when I say this), she’s probably one of the most likable characters of the Marauders Era. I think perhaps a lot of people haven’t given her a chance or really taken the time to learn about her character, but it could be a myriad of other reasons that I’ll never understand. 

There's so much more I could say but this is long enough and I will stop myself

Lily Evans, u will always be famous to me

[two-white-butterflies]

the butterfly and the tree | thranduil

Description: Theradis has always been fascinated with the rivers and rocks, cursed with the burden of foresight. This is the story of Thranduil's doomed queen.

Warning: Angst. Slight OC x Annatar if u catch my drift.

Word Count: <5k

A/N: A longer version of my fic 'Cassandra' and 'How Long' this fails the reverse bechdel test. canon diveregent ik but we do it for the plot.

There were things in the darkness that remained unseen. A darkness has been plaguing Theradis’s dreams, it watched her; watched the events unfold, but remained silent. When she was younger, the dreams were tame – one of her brothers breaking their mother’s favorite vase or her sister scraping her knees while running down the halls. 

As she grew accustomed to the darkness, the dreams turned grim. 

It played in her head repeatedly: Greenwood marred by darkness, and the elves fleeing to Valinor. It left her haunted. 

“My child,” her father places a hand on her shoulder, he knew the burden of foresight too well. “Darling,” he whispered again, seeing tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

Despite his attempts in reviving her from the drown, her trance does not break. Theradis remains inside of her dreams. Father’s eyebrows merged together, able to see both fear and sadness in her features. Theradis – Luthien incarnate, and in tears. “Does she wake?” Elladan breaks the silence, both father and son share a knowing glance. 

This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is at its peak, and the members of House Elrond are in deep sleep – Theradis wakes, and dreams of the future. “Return to your room, my son. There are things that should be beyond your concern,” Elrond forces a smile on his face, but it does not reach his eyes. 

A sigh escapes the younger twin’s mouth. 

Theradis will always be his concern. His older sister, who had a gentle disposition and a kind smile. He takes a step forward, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded Theradis' body. The mattress shifts to accommodate their shared weight. “When the rain comes we’ll prepare barrels, but do not forsake the sun.” He pleaded, reaching for her clenched fists. 

He unclenches them gently. It hurt him to see her like this, haunted by the inevitable, a future that she has no control in. 

Almost instantly, her eyes open. 

Father tries to calm her from the drown, but it is clear in her features that she is haunted. “Theradis,” Elrond repeats her elvish name. She takes ragged breaths,  playing with the hems of her nightgown. She tries to speak but neither a croak or a whisper comes out of her mouth. The darkness was preventing her from speaking – preventing her from unfolding the future. 

She claws at her forearm, tears flowing out of her eyes. 

“Naneth,” she forces herself to whisper. 

Soon after the prophecy, Lord Elrond called for all of his soldiers to follow the path that Lady Celebrian traveled on. Elladan and Elrohir tried to ask her questions, but the words refused to escape her mouth. 

She tried to speak, tried to open her mouth – but no sound wanted to escape. She was a prisoner in her own mind – aware of what was to come, yet unable to do anything about it. Everywhere she went, every warning that she was able to muster out, it was useless, for she already found herself there. 

Lady Galadriel entered her chambers, a light aura following after her. “Theradis,” Galadriel’s voice echoes throughout the closed chambers. “- you must fight against the darkness, you must tell us where your naneth is.” She added, her eyes focused on her granddaughter. 

Theradis knew exactly where Celebrian was, but she could not say. 

“I,” the younger elleth opened her mouth to speak, but all breath exited her lungs. Eru Illuvatar, why give me the strength to see the future, if you will not let me save the one that I love the most? “I cannot begin to imagine the sadness that you feel, there is a reason that the Valar make you unable to say, but as your grandmother – I beg of you.” Galadriel breathes. 

Galadriel cannot stomach the thought of her daughter sitting inside of a damp cell, starving and stolen the right to bask in the warmth of the sun. All her sufferings, her tryst with Halbrand, the loss of her family – it will all be for nothing if her daughter is unsafe. 

“I want nothing more than to tell you, but every time I do – all breath is robbed of my lungs.” Theradis cried, her hands on her chest. She grabs her grandmother’s forearm. “Please make it stop.” She begged, seeing the visions flash through her head in uncontrollable flashing lights of torture. 

Galadriel silences her with an embrace. 

A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived in Rivendell – both carrying the shell of their mother. All remnants of self control evades Theradis’s body, she traps herself inside of her room – not allowing anyone to enter. One night, Lord Celeborn is able to slip through – due to her forgetting to lock the door. 

“It is not your fault,” he says, the only thing that she wanted to hear. “Celebrian will heal, and all will be fixed.” He adds, but they both know that it isn’t the truth. She burrows deeper into the warm floral sheets. “There are scars that cannot be healed here,” her voice is partly muffled by the sheets. 

Celeborn does not reply. 

She removes the sheets that cover her head, meeting the eyes of her grandfather. She sees the same fear and sadness behind his eyes, his pain is unfathomable. What does it feel to lose a child? Unbearable torture, is the only appropriate reply. To raise someone for thousands of years, only for an unworthy hand to pry them away from your hands, is disrespect. 

The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She didn’t leave any letters, but Lady Galadriel says that she visited the children’s chambers in the middle of the night – pressing a kiss to their foreheads, and she left. Father escorted her to the shores, and it will be a long time until any of them are able to follow. 

“You must eat.” Lady Galadriel encourages, her voice filled with tenderness. Theradis’s eyebrows merged together, memories of her mother’s imprisonment – and her appetite was ruined for years to come. “I’d rather not,” Theradis responds sharply. 

It would be easier if these dreams left her line of thought, but it is impossible. These dreams have been plaguing her sleep, until the very thought of sleeping made her want to vomit. “You must learn,” Celeborn says – his tone mirroring her sharpness. The others were treating Theradis like a babe, customizing every movement so as to not cause her sadness, but Theradis needed to learn. She needed to tolerate her dreams, it is the only way. 

“You don’t understand, adadar.” She whispers, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth. Every child thinks of their parents as indestructible, to see Celebrian in that manner – it broke her. “In any society there must be tolerance, you must tolerate your dreams, only then will you survive.” Celeborn’s voice turns rigid, a reminder of his past. 

His granddaughter needed to learn how to tolerate madness, it is what he has been doing all of these years. Shaking hands with the Noldor, shaking hands with the descendants of Feanor – even when they are the cause of his family’s demise.

“I wish I could tell you that it will get better, but it will not. Life is filled with tragedies, Theradis. Luckily, we are elves and have the opportunity to go to the Grey Havens. Your mother is healed, there is no sorrow in her. When will you heal, Theradis? Will we lose you to the Grey Havens too?” He inquired. 

Theradis begins to understand. 

“I’m sorry for refusing to eat dinner, adadar.” Theradis apologizes. “I blame myself for naneth’s departure, I should have fought against the darkness. I've been victim of it far too long, falling into the illusion of Annatar, and now the dreams.” She whispers, her voice always sounded like a whisper – like a little mouse suddenly gaining the ability to speak. “You are strong, but there are things that you are yet to learn.” Celeborn says in a gentler tone now. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“I often ask Illuvatar why he gave me this gift, I am not the strongest of my siblings – nor am I anything like my father.” She admits, always insecure about her capabilities. “You remind me of Luthien, my child.” Celeborn remembers. 

His cousin from so long ago. 

“Luthien was able to bring the Dark Lord to his knees,” he chuckles at the memory. “Then I am nothing like her then, for I am unable to even open my mouth and reveal the location of naneth.” She breathes, not seeking approval but stating the obvious. “You look like her in some lights, she was exactly like you when we were elflings. Her nose was up in some book, refusing to participate in her father’s council until her thousandth name-day, where she finally was interested in the workings of King Thingol’s court. She would have made a wonderful Queen, but alas – she is for Beren.” Celeborn smiles bitterly. 

Doomed and blessed Luthien. 

“This meekness and gentleness of yours is not a bad trait. Do not blame yourself. I doubt that even if you had the ability to tell, that it would change anything in the future.” He comforts. He’d do anything to lift the boulder of foresight from his granddaughter. 

“What a troubled life I must lead, then.” Her eyebrows relaxed. 

“Come with us to Lothlorien, your grandmother will cast an enchantment – you won’t be able to remember those wicked dreams.” He suggested. 

Lord Celeborn was right! 

Lothlorien filled her with tranquility, a feeling of safety that she had previously lost. It felt like a warm blanket, a mother’s embrace, protecting her from the fall. “Thank you for letting me stay here, nananeth.” Theradis smiles, feeling warmth enter her body. “Lothlorien is your home too,” Lady Galadriel answers. 

Happiness was beginning to return, starting from her stomach – to her shoulders – to her cheeks, the warmth invading her cold. “- you must rest, it has been a long journey.” Galadriel covers the younger elleth’s body with a blanket, mirroring their routine from when she was an elfling. “The dreams?” Theradis inquires, as it has been nagging her for a while now. 

“They will not bother you,” Galadriel asserts, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight,” Theradis whispered – closing her eyes and falling into deep sleep before her grandmother could reply. 

“Look at them, they are precious.” Her husband muses. 

Erynlas and Legolas, the twins. 

Erynlas inherited her mother’s raven-black hair, and her striking resemblance to Luthien. Legolas, however, inherited his father’s looks – although his mother’s gentle disposition. “A perfect mixture of us,” Theradis smiles, feeling her husband press a kiss to her neck, inhaling her scent of roses. “They are the better versions of us, meleth.” Thranduil breathes. 

As if she is aware that this is a dream, Theradis turns around – meeting his amber hues. He has a perfect face, and both masculine and feminine features. He is beautiful. He looks like everything that she has ever desired, and in her heart – she could feel love. A love that does ask, or get jealous – but exists because it can, because it is second nature. 

“Theradis,” he whispers her name like it is his breath. “- is all well?” he inquires, and she reaches for his cheeks - cupping it with her cold palms. “Yes.” she answers with a smile. 

What more could she ask for? 

A few decades later, her dream came true – and a man by the name of Thranduil arrived in Lothlorien, for reasons that she does know. All that she could remember was that she loves him, and has been waiting for him for all her life. “You are fascinated with nature?” Thranduil inquires, seeing her sitting on the riverbank – inspecting rocks and watching the river bend. 

“I have always been,” she replied, patting the empty space beside her, inviting him to sit. Thranduil wonders if this is what Beren felt when meeting Luthien, entranced by Theradis’ blue gown, her hair moving to the power of the wind. More akin to Yavanna than elf or men. “- I’ve always dreamed of visiting Greenwood. It must feel good to live in a place where nature is unmarred by war,” she ponders placing the rock down and reaching for a caterpillar. 

“It is indescribable, my lady.” He finds that he cannot take his eyes off her. “My grandfather visited once and he says that it reminds him of the first age, where everything was good, I assume.” She made an assumption, causing a chuckle. 

Her eyebrows merged together, “Have I done something?” she asks and he shakes his head. “I would prefer to live in this age instead of the First,” he admits. His naneth was still alive then, but the gruesome torture – the fall of kingdoms. It was too much to bear, and he would rather live in solitude in Greenwood than face that again. 

“The Valar were in this world, you could feel their fea in every rock and tree, but there was also carnage. Melkor seeking​​ to tear our realm asunder. I find peace now, I believe.” He confesses, the first time that he has told anyone about this. 

Behind Theradis’ eyes, he could see kindness – she was the type of elleth who had no meanness, or jealousy. Theradis is good, and Thranduil has spent a lot of time with people to understand their nature. “I feel happy for you…?” she pauses waiting for him to reveal his name, although she already knows. “Thranduil,” he smiles, shaking her hand. 

“I am Theradis, daughter of Elrond.” She introduces herself. 

He takes a look at the caterpillar that she is holding, “She will turn into a butterfly soon. A big blue butterfly.” He informs. “Really?” She asks, happiness flooding her features. “Yes, when they are at that size, it will only take another day for them to make cocoons.” He explains, moving a bit closer until he could see the caterpillar closely. 

“If I could be any other creature, I would be a butterfly.” She admits. 

“They only live for a day,” Thranduil frowns. 

“What a glorious day to be alive.” She breathes. 

She tilts her head, meeting his eyes. “What animal would you be, Thranduil?” She questions her first time uttering his name yet it felt normal. “I would not be an animal. I would be a tree, watching as everything grows – a wise mind that shall live forever.” He answers. 

“Oh, how different we are.” She observes. Theradis wanted to live for one glorious day, while Thranduil wanted to live forever – unchanged, unmarred, but wise. “That is not such a bad thing, my lady.” He responds, and thus begins their friendship. 

Theradis looked lovely in all the lights, each time that he glances at her, he finds himself taken aback by her beauty. “The trades between our kingdoms will be for the betterment of both realms,” Lady Galadriel explains – oblivious to the Prince unable to pay attention to her words. For he was staring at the lovely Theradis. “ – I hope that we find a middle ground, my prince. Lothlorien needs the fruits, and your kingdom needs grains.” Galadriel breathes, only beginning to realize that the person that she was talking to was not paying attention. 

She turns around to look at the object of his attention, and to her surprise, he sees her looking at Theradis. A sigh escapes her mouth. “My prince,” she says much louder. “Lady Galadriel,” the man responds, mouth dripping with respect. “I hope that you convince your father to approve trading between our kingdoms.” Galadriel put it in simpler terms. 

“Yes, my lady. I will make sure of it,” he promises. 

Thranduil places a hat on Theradis’ head. 

“Where did you find this?” She takes the hat off her head, holding it with the tips of her fingers – lest it come from somewhere disgusting. “On the ground,” he responds while nestling on the bottom of the tree branch beside her. “On the ground?” She raises an eyebrow. 

Thranduil was a peculiar fellow, he seemed to reach levels of crazy that she herself is unable to reach. “It’s yours now,” he said and a chuckle escaped her mouth. “What if the owner accuses me of stealing this hat?” She queries, placing the hat on the ground. “I asked around and no one claimed it. Celeborn says that I should keep it, but it is unkingly to wear a hat.” Thranduil plays with the tips of Theradis’ hair. “- but you are not a king, and this hat is wet.” She rolls her eyes. 

“It came from me! You are disgusted with me.” He accused. 

“Yes, I’ve seen you eat something that fell on the ground.” She points out. 

“Not on the ground, on the table and it was an orange. An orange that still had a peel on.” He argues with a smile. “Peel or without a peel, I’m not wearing that hat.” She crosses her arms in a huff. “I’ll give it to someone else more thankful,” he taunts. 

“I don’t care.” 

“You don’t care?” 

“Not a single bit.” 

“Pfft,” 

“Pfft.” 

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Fine,” she teases. 

“I’ve not heard the sound of a harp for a long time,” Theradis admits, sitting on the ground beside Thranduil. He was playing with his harp, allowing the soft music to fill the garden with tranquility. “Really? It must be horrible living in silence,” He teases. 

He freezes only when he sees that look in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes and she forces a smile on her face. “My mother liked playing instruments. I assume that is where my aversion comes from.” She tells, and he remembers the story of Celebrian’s abduction. Theradis is her daughter, and the pain of losing a mother – is a pain that he knows well. “I cannot remember her, I’ve forced myself to forget.” She continues. 

It was a horrible thing indeed, to forsake the good memories just to forget the bad ones. “I lost my mother to the war, and until now I cannot bear to look at her portraits.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “- there will be a day where we long for our mother’s warmths,” She adds. 

“And we will receive it in due time.” Thranduil’s hand rests on the arch of his harp. “Would you like to learn how to play the harp?” he suggests, and she answers with a nod.

They were wedded a few years later, in the light of Greenwood with their families as a witness. Their marriage was special – for now the branches of Elrond and Oropher were united. A marriage of love – love that allowed them to just be. 

“You know how singers sing other singer’s songs?” Theradis says, and he smiles. “Sounds like a tongue twister,” he mumbles – burrowing deeper into her embrace. “Yep, but what if writers had the chance to write other writer’s books but in their own words.” She states, always able to bring the most unique level of thoughts. 

“Like, translators?” He grins, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I hate you,” she groans. 

He places a hand on her stomach, “Yes, you hate me so much that you have allowed your stomach to swell with a child.” He teases, their love not mellowing to the tune of time. “Not like translators, but remember that poem that Glorfindel wrote with a really good idea.” She reminds and he nods. “The Lament of Winter?” He squints, barely remembering the poem. “Yeah, he made really good points but the words that he used were … juvenile?” She struggles to find the right term to describe it. 

Yes, Glorfindel has spent a substantial amount of time complaining about that poem. “He says that if anyone else were to write that poem, they would deliver the message better.” She recites his words verbatim, and Thranduil agrees. “What are we talking about?” He chuckles, walking between a thin line of sleep and consciousness. 

She giggles, “I don’t know – random thoughts?” 

“Speaking of random thoughts, you were mumbling something in your sleep last night.” Thranduil remembers, and her eyebrows merged together, having long forfeited the ability to remember her dreams. “Is there something that requires my attention? Are those dreams bothering you again?” He asks, his voice gentle and filled with love. 

“Speaking of random thoughts, you were mumbling something in your sleep last night.” Thranduil remembers, and her eyebrows merged together, having long forfeited the ability to remember her dreams. “Is there something that requires my attention? Are those dreams bothering you again?” He asks, his voice gentle and filled with love. 

“I have long forfeited my ability of foresight, meleth. I cannot remember any dream.” She confirms, and his face momentarily relaxes. “But you’ve earned my curiosity, what was it that I was talking about?” She asks, he pulls her body closer – allowing his warm body to bring fire to her cold one. “You said that we’d have twins, a boy and a girl.” He informs. 

“What a wonderful blessing it would be then,” she smiles, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Indeed,” he agreed. 

And her dreams were right, again. 

Theradis gave birth to twins: Erynlas and Legolas. 

In her dreams, she saw their faces clearly – Erynlas’ inheriting her features and Legolas inheriting his father’s. For a moment, everything was well. There was nothing in this world that could stop their golden family, there was nothing in this world unreachable to them as scions of both Lady Theradis and Prince Thranduil. 

“She looks exactly like you, my child.” Lord Elrond smiles, seeing his own eyes stare right back at him – through Erynlas. “It may seem that way but she’s inherited her father’s disposition, it is a good thing that Legolas is calm, always sleeping, else we’d lose our heads trying to keep both of them in tact.” Theradis breathes, watching Erynlas play with her grandfather’s gold-encrusted robes. 

“Remember your brothers?” Elrond reminds, and she answers with a laugh. 

“I’m thankful that my twins are nothing like them, I never understood how you were able to do it.” She remarks, her parents were undoubtedly strong. “Nana,” Theradis cooes, walking towards her mother’s direction, “Yes!” Legolas answers. “Yes yes yes,” Legolas babbled. 

Yes, was Legolas’ first word – something that Thranduil did not appreciate. (Erynlas’ first word was Naneth) but Theradis promises that their third child’s first word would be Ada. Both of her twins were in her arms now, talking to each other in a language that only they could understand. “You were right, Ada. In all of it.” Theradis smiles. 

Life did not end the day that her mother died, nor did it end when her dreams became uncontrollable. Her life began again, with her husband and her twins. 

“You were dreaming last night.” Thranduil wraps his arms around her, filling her body with warmth. “You were mumbling words that I could not fathom, none except the word ‘no.’ I am worried, meleth.” He reports, concern evident in his features. It was clear that her dreams were born from something sinister, and as her husband it was his duty to protect her. 

She tries to remember the dream, but it is no use. 

A familiar tightness returns to her chest, constricting her lungs and preventing her to speak. “What if something were to happen upon us?” She asks a question of fear. She feared for her children, what if something were to happen to them? “I will not allow that,” Thranduil insists. “- I will add more guards. I will ensure that every movement of our family is monitored closely.” He took active actions against the inevitable. 

She reaches for his arms, pulling his body closer until she meets his eyes. “If I have dreamed about it then nothing can prevent it.” She whispers. She has tried to change the future a thousand times, to no avail – for when it is written upon stone, no water can erase its mark. “When it comes between the future and my family, I will exhaust all options to prolong danger.” Her husband promised, and she believes him. Thranduil would move the very mountains, if it meant keeping his family safe. 

That is love.

The dreaded day has come. 

Theradis awakened in the middle of the night, she lifted the covers off her body. She frowns, not seeing her husband inside of the room, so she decides to visit her children’s chambers. A groan escapes her mouth, feeling a horrible headache form at the back of her head. Could this be? She asks herself. 

Is this another one of her dreams? 

She walks through the empty hallway, seeing no guards in their posts. Matter of fact, there wasn’t anyone in the entire wing. “Hello?” Her voice echoes through the halls, but she is greeted with an eerie silence. 

She takes a mammoth stride towards her children’s chambers. A million thoughts ran through her head, they could be hurt – or starving – or crying – or getting bitten by ants. All the worst possible scenarios brushed through her head, and a sigh of relief exited her mouth when she saw them sleeping soundly. 

She presses a kiss to their foreheads. 

A mother’s anxiety, she tells herself. It is normal, she reminds. 

If this was a dream, then it was a pleasant one. 

But she should not have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. Her eyes trail away from her daughter’s sleeping body, and to the attacker. He had long brown hair that reached his shoulders, blue piercing eyes, and a face filled with scars. 

“Who are you?” She asks, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand stars. “I have many names,” he answered. “You are a man, you should not be here.” She tries to warn him. A man is no match for Theradis, a seasoned warrior. “You do look like her in some lights,” the man mused – still unwilling to reveal his true identity. 

“What is it that you require?” She places a hand on his dagger, carefully directing it away from her face but in a swift move – the man cuts her cheek, allowing the blood to trickle down her face. “Still as beautiful as the day I left.” The man adds. 

A gasp escapes her mouth. 

“You may leave, Theradis of Lindon. My arrival here is not for you.” The man’s grip on her arm does not soften. This scene has already played before, in her dreams but she cannot remember, no matter how hard she tries. “Your arrival is for nothing, for I would rather die than surrender my children to you, Gorthaur.” She breathes, remembering bits and pieces of her dreams now. 

Gorthaur lifts his hand and suddenly all fades to black.

Annatar was addicted to her presence, not because of love – no. 

Every time he lays his eyes on her, a grand orchestra plays, akin to the orchestra of Illuvatar creating the world. Theradis has so much light inside of her, it reminded him of his home. It tempted him in ways that would lead to the world’s ruin. Is this what Melkor felt when he laid his eyes on Mairon? The deliciousness of innocence, and the temptation to ruin all of it. 

“Walking amidst starlight,” Annatar hums, his eyes not taking a second off hers. 

“Your compliments do nothing to dissuade my grievances,” Theradis taunts, reminding him of the time that he ditched their meetings in favor of meeting with Celebrimbor. “Allow me to make it up to you,” his eyebrows merge together mockingly pleading with her. “Why do you know so much of this world? I’ve always wondered why you are so informed with dealing with matters of nature and geology,” she asked out of the blue. 

Although, it was with reason – as she could not keep up with the other elf’s banter. 

“I am an emissary of the Valar, and I have spent the majority of my life studying the happenings of this world. There is a vast amount of knowledge stored in the back of my head, and I am willing to share it with you, as my scholar.” As my wife. As my servant. 

“The Valar has always kept to themselves. Sometimes, I feel as if they are slowly beginning to take away the magic of this earth, piece by piece. Since the departure of Melian, since the mortality of Luthien – great sorrow has washed upon these shores.” Theradis laments. 

His hands snake down her waist, oblivious to the audience watching them. 

“There is great sadness in this world,” he repeats a phrase previously uttered by his master. A phrase that began his defiance, his rejection of Illuvatar’s music. “I was born to serve the Valar,” he lies – but he does it so that she’d begin to understand his side. 

He twirls her around again, their bodies pressing close to each other. 

“I’ve bared witness to them, watched them create animals and plants – and everything that covers our world. I’ve also watched them create discord, injustice, and pain.” He rambled, staring deep into her eyes – reading her mind like an open book, softening her resolve.

“I’ve thought to myself sometimes, are these the people we worship? Imperfect gods who refuse to blink an eye when entire populations are genocided, when children are pried away from their mother’s hands? I think I would like it better if they never existed, then, I’ll only have myself to blame when something goes wrong.” He chuckles, her eyebrows merge together. 

“We cannot measure their goodness or badness in measurements of elf and men.” Theradis breathes, but she is starting to believe his words. “It would be hard to blame them if we didn’t,” Annatar responds with a deep breath. When Melkor tortured him, corrupted his soul, the Valar did nothing, Eru Illuvatar did nothing. He wonders if they ate, and drank, and fucked while he was in agonizing pain. He wonders if they blame him for the corruption. 

His power wanes. 

Theradis pulls on his collar. 

Pulling his face closer to hers so that he’d be the only one listening in to their conversation. “Are you truly an emissary of the Valar, Annatar? I'm beginning to believe that you are not. ” She interrogates. 

Theradis opens her eyes to a battlefield. She sees the entire field engulfed in flames, but something shines against the darkness. "Erynlas," she whispers. She was holding the ring in her hands.

But even the ring corrupts the kindest of minds.

"You must take it Frodo," Erynlas opens her mouth and the hobbit nods. "Destroy it," she insists raising a hand and using her powers to fend off the darkness, to fend of Sauron's darkness.

She is his doom. One of the reasons of his fall. That is why he is here.

She wakes up minutes after his enchantment, a mother's love breaking even the tightest of spells. "Annatar." She exhales seeing him lift his dagger but she stops him with a hand. He was weaker in this form, easier to fend off. "She is your doom, I have foreseen it." Theradis states.

He pushes her away, this time his dagger on her neck. Mayhaps, he was beginning to realize that nothing could prevent his fall, and thus decided to aim his anger at her. He takes on another form - from human, he turns into a face that she knows well. Annatar.

She's beginning to realize his resemblance to her husband. Did he use that as a means to control her?

"You are not the only one burdened with foresight, vilvarin." He presses it closer to her jugular, until Theradis had to stop breathing - in fear of death. "I would have stopped at nothing until the entire world has bent to the light of its queen, but you have forsaken me. And that creature from your very womb shall be my doom," he yells.

"It will change nothing." she whispers.

It will change nothing.

[goldenasirpa]

The thing about Ekko seeing other-timeline Powder is that, critically, she isn't all that different from Jinx.

Ekko spent his later childhood years convincing himself that Powder was gone, that Jinx had replaced her, and that she was an evil force. Of course life isn't so simple, and Ekko still can't kill Jinx when the time comes- something that is probably eating away at him even when he is thrust into another timeline.

But Ekko also knows that only Jinx can help him build the machine to send them back. As much as he was focused on how this Powder was different from his, he had to focus on their similarities in order to get home. Any incidental differences they have beyond that just proves, over and over, that Jinx is a product of circumstance, not some entity that was formed completely separate to Powder.

Because Jinx is Powder.

And that's why Ekko goes right to her when he returns to his own timeline, too. If he could believe that some part of Jinx was in (a completely different) Powder, so too he had to accept that some part of Powder was still in Jinx. It's interesting because, in a way, Vi has to come to terms with this same thing, in a different way. She also desperately wants to believe that her sister is gone, and that only Jinx remains, because it would make things easier for all of them. It would definitely make killing Jinx easier, anyway. But she can't do it. Because she knows that deep down, no matter what anyone says, they are the same person. But in accepting that, Violet is forced to confront how she contributed to creating 'Jinx' in the first place.

I don't think we talk about it quite enough; but Ekko is the reason that ALL of this happened. Ekko followed Jayce home and gave Vi and Powder the info that led to robbing him. Which led to the Hextech explosion, which led to the manhunt, which led to Vander and Milo and Claggor and Benzo's death, Vi's imprisonment, and critically, the creation of Jinx. Ekko is just as responsible for Jinx as Vi or Silco, and I truly believe that has been eating him up for years.

But when he goes to this other universe, he has to face an even more difficult reality; that these events were, in a way, also completely random. Because in this other universe, Ekko's actions were the exact same, but the outcome was different. Sure, he was guilty of Violet's death, but he also could see the direct path between that random tragedy and a significantly better future. What paved the path to this better future? What was critically different between these two worlds? Just Vi's death? No.

Forgiveness.

Silco forgiving Vander, sure- but also, presumably, Powder forgiving Ekko for the part he played in Violets death. To me, this is what their 'romance' story is about beyond any genuine feelings that Ekko may have for Powder. Ekko receives unconditional forgiveness, something he isn't expecting. And he goes back to his home timeline with the truth sitting right in front of him; that only forgiveness can save them now. And he knows that it must start where he is hurting the most, so of course, he goes straight to Jinx.

It's less that Ekko forgives Jinx, more that he forgives himself the responsibility for all that death. He let's go of his guilt, his anger, and he embraces... Well, love is the wrong word. Ekko embraces duty, and knows now that this duty includes compassion for those at the very fringes of society; in this case, Jinx (who represents the most mentally ill and traumatized among us, but my essay about how every character in Arcane is actually just a social archetype is an essay for another day).

But it literally saves everyone. Ekko, and his huge heart, spares their future.

[bananayuyu]

Heart Burn

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: You and your boyfriend have been planning this fun little scene for weeks now. Unfortunately your stomach has other plans.

Warnings: suggestive stuff, established relationship, reader has bad gut pain, (no smut but they are playing out a fantasy scene in the beginning kind of)

A/n: My tummy hurts and I want him to love me :(

All you'd wanted was for the scene to go well.

It had been in your calendar for three weeks now. You'd finally told him, in the cold comfort of the night, that'd you'd had this fantasy ever since you met him. Ever since you met him at his old law office, when you went with your friend to be moral support.

The suit really did it for you, you can't lie. You'd visited him at work many times just to see him in it. God did you wish he could take you right there, right in his little office, only unzipping his pants enough to fuck you.

But today as you stand in his apartment, the cool stone of the countertop hitting your lower back, you just aren't in the mood.

Your stomach is fucked, has been all day, and you don't know what it is. You haven't eaten anything you shouldn't, haven't done anything different. You've taken all your meds, like you always do. You even rested today in preparation for this, making sure your schedule was clear. But you haven't been able to eat since the late morning, and you're exhausted despite the rest.

"Hello, can I help you?" Yunho quips, stepping out of his tiny home office to greet you as if you were a perspective client.

"Hi, sir, I'm here to meet with Mr. Jeong," you say, bowing your head to him.

"Ah, you must be y/n," he smiles, bowing in response. "I'm ready for our meeting, if you'd like to follow me." He holds out his arms towards his office, waiting for you as you step past him through the door. He's moved the setup of the room around a bit, to accommodate the night's activities, so his desk is now in the center of the room, and one of his dining chairs has been placed in front of it. "You can have a seat in this chair here," he says, pulling it out for you. You sit down gently, trying to remain focused, trying to get into the scene, into the right mindset. But you just can't.

Yunho walks around to the other side of his desk, sitting down in his chair and ruffling with some papers. He plays the part so well, so easily, and you know if you weren't in so much pain that you'd be eating up every second of it.

"So, we're here to discuss your grandmother's estate, is that correct?" You just nod along, letting him lead you in the made up story. "What exactly has been the problem?"

"It's my mother, sir. She is determined to keep the money and assets away from me and my sister, even though my grandmother stated she wants it to be split between us. I just wanted to make sure we had the right legal protections in place," you say, hoping it sounds plausible enough to suffice.

"It's good you're getting ahead of this. Or I'm assuming you are, your grandmother hasn't passed yet, has she?"

"No sir, but her cancer has returned and she's decided she doesn't want treatment this time. She's on hospice. We probably still have a few months with her, but we don't know exactly," you say, sighing.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope my help can ease some of the stress you must be feeling. Are you feeling okay?" Yunho cocks a brow, looking straight into your eyes. He's a bit surprised with the direction you're taking the story; it's much darker than he expected, and your sigh sounded all too real. He knows you're not that good of an actor.

"I'm fine, sir," you respond, but tears are brimming a bit, and you're clenching your arms around yourself because of the pain in your guts.

"Are you cold? I apologize, the heat isn't so great in this room," he says, staring at you now with extreme concern.

"A- a bit, sir," you nod, staring down at your crop top, depressed by the bloated look of your abdomen. You'd planned this outfit weeks ago, just like you'd planned his, but your body didn't really feel fit for it this afternoon when you put it on.

"Let me grab you something," he says, stepping up from his desk and leaving the room, returning not long after with one of his zip up hoodies.

"Here, you can take this. I keep it here in the office in case I need to work late and it's cold," he smiles, the words tumbling out of him with such ease. You snake it around you, wrapping it tightly instead of zipping it up, curling up into a ball on the chair. "Can I help you zip it?" he asks, looking for an in to touching you, and finally getting this scene more underway.

"Sure, thank you," you say, and he fixes you with a look that you know all too well. "Thank you, sir," you correct yourself, watching as his expression changes and he squats down in front of you, zipping up the hoodie for you.

"There, does that feel better?" he asks, rubbing a hand down your upper arm, smiling up in such an endearing way. But just as he does that a sharp pain snakes up your esophagus, and you can feel your whole gastrointestinal system is on fire. You wince, but try to hide it, nodding your head to answer him.

Suddenly his face changes, and his body language too.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asks you, his voice different, not in character anymore. You just stare at him wide eyed, confused. You hadn't used your safe word, or said anything else to break the scene. Even if you maybe should have.

"I'm taking us out of the scene for good tonight if you don't tell me what's wrong," he says, voice stern but loving.

"My stomach," you sigh, looking beyond him, tears brimming again.

"It just started hurting?" he asks.

"All day," you shake your head, frowning.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, taking your hands in his.

"We'd been planning this for a while," you pout, still not looking at him.

"Baby, we have all the time in the world to do these things together. If you're not feeling well then we should reschedule. How you feel is what matters most," he says, and the tears start flowing, your breaths getting shaky. "Shh, come here," he coos, bending forward to pull you into a hug, tucking your head into his shoulder and holding it in his hand.

"I'm so sorry you're not feeling well, love," he says, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"Only breakfast," you mumble into his shoulder.

"Poor thing, you must be feeling exhausted," he says, and you nod into him. "Can I run you a bath?" he asks, and you mumble mmhm in response.

A few moments later he's off to start it, returning to carry you to the bathroom, slowly taking off your clothes. He knows the scene won't be happening tonight but he still loves getting to see you naked, even when you're feeling so shitty and constantly telling him to look away.

"You're so pretty," he says, and you whine in response, staring down at yourself. "I wish she'd fucking behave," he points to your stomach, leaning down to place a gentle kiss just to the right of your belly button. "She needs someone to punish her and make her get in line," he jokes, and you laugh too.

He then starts stripping off his clothes too, his beautiful suit taking a while to fully unbutton. You watch in awe from the bathroom, as he stands in the hallway, gently placing his suit back on it's hanger in the closet.

"What?" he asks you, quirking a brow jokingly. You roll your eyes, looking away briefly, but not able to keep your eyes away from his naked form for long. "You can't stop staring," he says, smirking, finally moving back in to join you. He helps you gingerly step into the tub, stepping in along with you. He sits himself behind you, his strong legs stretching out along the bottom of his large tub, and he carefully places you on top of him.

You whine and lean your head back, another pain striking somewhere in your small intestine. But the heat of the water is very relaxing, making things feel like they're moving in the direction they need to be, in the direction of feeling better.

"Come here, my love," Yunho says, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you say, closing your eyes and letting your body completely relax against his.

Soon you're out, the warmth and comfort lulling you out of this reality, and finally you're getting the rest your body really needed tonight.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HEIRESS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

Pt.1

I hope you like it

In 131 AC, a bloody war was fought between the divided Targaryen house, at the end of the war, the daughter of the previous queen Rheanyra took the throne, the girl tried to return the whole kingdom to peace and tranquility. Unfortunately, the peace that the new queen tried to establish did not last long, as the greedy eyes of a powerful man focused on this very planet. And Harkonnen always got what he wanted.

The kingdom was recovering from a bloody dragon war, and all eyes were on the new dragon queen, Learys Targaryen. The young, barely nine and ten -year-old girl has already proven herself as a strong leader of armies, but also as a protector of the innocent in the cities, which were attacked by the green armies. Although she was a beloved ruler and wanted queen, she did not smile unless she was in the presence of the rest of her family. She kept her brother and cousin close by her side, refusing to let them out of her sight. Many servants recall how the young Prince Aegon sought comfort in her arms when the night terrors seemed all too real, or when the queen was found braiding little Jeaheara's hair into an intricate hairdo which she then decorated with flowers, it was also a rare case, when even the little princess smiled. Although many advisors recommended that Jeaheara be taken away from Kingslanding, the queen retorted firmly that the house of the dragon would no longer be divided according to the past war and that she would not send a daughter to suffer for the sins of her father.,, Jeaheara is of my blood and will therefore remain by my side where she will be granted shelter and welcome.” announced the queen to settle the issue once and for all.

 The peace that the kingdom needed was disturbed by the arrival of three harkonnen warships, which like shooting stars fell to the surface of the planet, which the ruthless na-baron was tasked to conquering and adding to his uncle's empire.

"My queen," the guard rushed into the gardens and called for the queen, who was trying to convince her little listeners that she had really flown to the sun on her dragon. "What's the rush?" asked the queen with tension in her voice.,, Three harkonnen warships are approaching, lord hand wishes to discuss strategy in the throne room.",,Take the children to one of their rooms and keep them inside." she ordered in a commanding tone as she made her way to the throne room with her guards.

 Once seated on her throne, the Queen was presented with information that Harkonnens are about to land near Storms End, and that from the equipment they were carrying, it looked like they were ready for war.,, When will they land Grandsire” she asked her grandfather and the lord hand, Corlys Velaryon.,, Over the next three hours." the girl just nodded and then shouted at the guard.,, "Prepare my dragon." The guard just bowed down and rushed to fulfill his order.,, Your Grace you can't be serious, you can't..” began one of the lords but was immediately silenced.,,I am the queen, and as queen I will protect this kingdom with my life. My dragon is the fastest and strongest in the kingdom. We will end it with the Harkonnen as quickly as possible so that they do the least amount of damage and there is no one to change that because if they try to take this planet they will meet nothing but fire and blood.” the queen finished her battle speech.,, Now if excuse me my lords, I must go prepare for battle.” All the men in unison bowed to the departing woman and lowered their eyes to the floor in respect to her.

Learysa was fitting the last piece of her war riding armor when there was a knock on her chamber door. Thinking that it is her servant, the queen gives permission to come inside. What she didn't expect, however, was her brother with tears in his eyes. "What happened my sweet boy?" his sister asked him. Instead of words the young prince ran into her arms where he nestled like a little bird. "I don't want you to go, I don't want to lose you like the rest of our family ." Aegon cried. Learysa gently stroked his hair and whispered to him,, You will never lose me my little dragon, I will always come back to you, but right now I really need you to stay with Jeaheara and take care of her, would, you do this for me my brave knight.” The prince just snorts and nods. The siblings share a last moment before a servant comes in to say the dragon is ready.

 Feyd-rautha had just been informed that contact would be made with the planet's surface in ten minutes. He couldn't wait for his new blade to taste new blood. He looked forward to the conquest, war and bloodshed as he planned. There was no way the little princess who called herself queen would manage to get an army together. This planet was theirs. Just as his planning was peaking the ship landed and the na-baron rushed forward to start the whole thing. However, he did not expect that when the door of the ship opened, that the only one figure would be waiting for him. He didn't even count on the fact that he wouldn't be fighting against a princess or a queen, but against a fucking dragon.

[justmeinadaze]

Nothing's Gonna Change My World (Steddie X You) (Regency Era Universe)

AN: This is my first time writing for an era like this so bare with me. I think I could have done better with the details but alas! Please enjoy :)

Warnings: Steddie X Fem Y/N, In universe Regency Era Lords Steddie X Lady Fem Y/N, SMUT and FLUFF, established friendship in alternate universe, Friends to Lovers

ANGST, we learn more about these experimentees, both men talk about their parents and Eddie elaborates a bit more on how Steve treated him in school. Y/N talks a bit more about her family and status. At the end, she talks a bit more about her sister who has died. In the alternative universe, Steve's father is a dick who feels like he isn't measuring up. Calls Eddie and Y/N names (bastard & whore). Reader has a run in with someone who physically hurts her (no elaborate; just the after math), guys defend her.

Word Count: 5335

Series here/ Donate to Me <3

“You were definitely one of the lucky ones.”, the doctor exhales as he continues to make notes without looking your way. “A lot of the participants were either injured or experienced something they’d rather forget.”

Remaining silent, you press your lips together as you nod just wanting this to be over so you can go have a cigarette (and check on Eddie).

“Was there anything that stood out? People you knew or anything like that?”

“Uh, no. A group kidnapped me and wanted to use me for leverage. I was rescued and then went back to a compound where I was talking with people till I woke up. I did have memories of my sister still dying. Obviously not in the same way.”

“Huh.”, the doctor hummed as he made notes. 

“What?”

“It’s just interesting to have two participants experience a kidnapping. Another participant said he saved someone from being taken. Did you see Mr. Steve Harrington there?”

“No, I didn’t.”, you growled, annoyed at the man’s stupidity. 

“Ok. It’s not that outlandish in an environment like that so I’m not too concerned about it.”

“If we had seen each other would it be? Something to be concerned about I mean.”

“Hmmm… not really. It would be interesting to dissect, metaphorically of course. To meet someone you’ve only met through this avenue in an alternate reality, I mean, that would be so fascinating.”

“What if you saw them in more than one?”

The doctor chuckles as he leans back in his seat. 

“Theoretically that’s impossible but, if we’re speaking in theory, to meet the same someone in all different universes including this one? That sounds more metaphysical…like fate.”

“If that’s true…then it implies my sister was meant to die…no matter what universe we both lived in.”

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper causing the doctor to scan you over as he says your name but you promptly ignore him, rising to your feet as you power walk out of the room. 

While walking down the hallway, you hear people still sniffling as they continue to regale people with stories of the other universe and how terrified they were about moving forward. You were so focused on the sounds of sobs; you didn’t even notice you passed by Steve who leaned out of his bedroom when he noticed you walk by and followed quietly behind you. 

Eddie’s door was open but when you poked your head inside you realized he was asleep and still looked incredibly pained. As you tiptoed to his bedside, you noticed a little bruise starting to form where the nurse must have given him a shot to help calm him so he could rest. The other boy watches you with amusement as your sad eyes take in the man in front of you before you turn to the wall behind you, tapping your fingers gently against the light illuminated panel, and waiting for only a moment before a small door opens providing you with whatever it is you had purchased. 

Sitting beside him, you carefully opened the tube you bought, squirting a bit of gel on your palm and rubbing it along his purple wound.

“What’s that?”, Steve murmurs as your eyes flick his way. “That you’re putting on him.”

“Healing gel for bruises.”, you respond while tossing him the bottle so he can see. “That brand is good at soothing swelling and aches. Definitely needed some of it a time or two.”

When you giggle, he can’t help but smile at the sight.

“May I ask why? Why you’re doing that for him? You just…you seem a bit guarded.”, he clarified when you flashed him an annoyed look. 

“Yeah…Comes from years of bullshit. Plus…he was right. I’m terrified to let people in because something always happens. My sister was always there for me through the bad stuff but when I lost her… I just thought it was best to keep people at bay.”

“I can understand that.”, he nods, smirking when your quark your eyebrow his way. “Just because I’m an asshole doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”, Steve laughs. “I’m, um, sorry if I’ve come on to strong with my personality or been rude… It’s just my defense, you know?”

“I can understand that.”, you recite back making both your smiles grow. “I should go back to my room.”

Even as you say your words, your body doesn’t move. You know you should leave but something in your gut keeps tugging you towards the sleeping in man in front of you. He was in so much emotional pain and all you wanted to do was make it go away for him. 

Sighing, you curl up behind Eddie’s back, pressing your face into his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his waist.

***

When the long-haired boy woke up the following morning, he was completely confused when he felt a weight against his body until lifting the blanket and seeing a hand resting lazily against his stomach. 

As carefully as he could, he rolled over coming face to face with your sleeping frame. He should have been confused or annoyed even that you just crawled into his bed but for reasons he couldn’t explain he felt like this was completely normal. Like he had spent the last few years waking up to you already. 

Eddie wondered if maybe the experiment was leaving imprints him as the memories stayed. In the first universe, he hadn’t met you yet but he felt incredibly comfortable with you as that version of himself had already begun hoping for a long future with you by their side. In the second, he and Steve had been with you for a while and even now he could picture some of that Eddie’s memories as if they were his own. 

Memories of meeting you and being skeptical as his friend insisted on bringing you back home. Taking you out to the field near the high school to practice shooting with you and allowing you to try his sniper rifle which he had conveyed to never let anyone before you do. The immediate fear he felt when you didn’t come back and the anger that followed when he found out someone took you. 

As he reached out to caress your cheek, those protective feelings inside him increased and he wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. 

The current reality came rushing back as his eyes glanced at the discounted jewelry on his fingers. He was lower class and would always be labeled that way. Whatever class you were didn’t matter because even he knew he was at the bottom of the society rung.

After crawling over you out of bed, he quietly covered you back up and headed to the bathroom to get ready for breakfast. 

***

“He’s not eating with you?”, you ask as you take a seat in front of Steve and glance towards Eddie who was nibbling on his lunch by the wall.

“Uh, no, not today and I kind of understand why. If I saw what he did I would want to keep to myself to.”

“Is…are your parents…how they are in the other realities?”

The man pauses for a moment before his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Yeah, they are especially my father. I’ve been conditioned to take over his company since birth.”

“Conditioned?”

“Yup. Luckily my dad got a boy on his first try with my mom so…yay me.”, he sasses making you smirk as you exhale at the heaviness behind his words. “What about you? What are your parents like?”

“My parents and I haven’t spoken in a while. I, um, after my sister died…it was like the glue that held us together melted.”

“I’m assuming they’re assholes then?”

“What are we talking about so intensely?”, Eddie asks as he throws his body down next to Steve and continues to eat. 

“Parents.”

“Oh that’s a fun topic.”

“Y/N was about to tell me more about hers.”

They both stare at you with wide, focused eyes as they wait for you to go on and on impulse you cross your arms as your wall begins to go up. 

“Uh, yeah, you can say they are assholes. My father is a judge and my mom is a lawyer. Like you said, my great grandfather has the school named after him because he did a lot within congress. Careers of that degree kind of run in the family so I’m…noted as the failure…”

“You’re not a failure.”, Steve tries to comfort as your eyes become glassy before you hastily blink any tears away. 

“I also don’t believe in my families class system so that’s a point against me.”

“Not really anything you can do about it though, right sweetheart?”, Eddie sighs. “The Harrington’s basically swear by it.”

The other man exhales as his head hangs.

“I was raised to believe that the higher class…were superior…”

“Yeah. To push low level people like me and my uncle aside. Part of the reason our school allowed people like me in was to add to the arrogance of the upper class so they could push us around.”

“I never hurt you, Eddie.”

“Physically, no.” 

At that, Steve’s head jerks towards the boy beside him as anger and shame fills his heart. 

“I’m sorry, Munson.”

As you watch their exchange, you can’t help but feel the pain as well from your seat across from them. This is why you and Kallie hated the class system. From the videos you saw, your great grandfather touted it as a way of motivation and peace. 

“So the higher classes feel safer and the lower classes can aspire for greater.”

All it did was cause pain and no one did anything to counter or abolish it. It was so engrained in society that it was just common at this point but no one in the upper class did anything that made them better people. They continually belittled anyone beneath them and made sure to remind them there was no point in “aspiring for greatness” because this is where they belonged; under them.

Maybe Kallie could have made a difference…

“It’s ok—”

“It’s not. I’d…like to start over…maybe. If we can.” Steve’s hand hovers in the air as Eddie’s beautiful eyes take in the gesture with a glimmer of hope reflected behind them. 

“Alright, Harrington.”, the man smirks as he smacks his palm into his and shakes it making you grin their way.

***

The following morning, Steve woke up in chair inside Eddie’s room with you both asleep in the long-haired boy’s bed and him sitting up against the wall while his palm rested on your bicep as your head slept comforting on his lap. 

You three had spent the evening together getting little tidbits about each other and just getting to know the other more. 

As you spoke, he couldn’t help but study you as your lips moved and your eyes focused as you listened to one of them speak. It was in his nature as an upper-class businessman’s son. He was taught from an early age to read body language and listen to inflections in words which he always found amusing because his father did none of that. 

Bill Harrington did everything with selfish motivation and if someone questioned him or seemed to be disloyal, he attacked whether the person was indeed being nefarious or not. 

In school growing up, Steve was the same but a bit more calculated. He punished people for being weak and quite frankly never even noticed they were always the lower-class student. He should have been more observant and empathetic. He just wanted to belong. 

Lord knows his parents never made him feel wanted. 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder how he would have treated you had you grown up together. He would like to think he would have been kind but the fact that he wasn’t sure broke his heart. Maybe you would have made him want to be a better man. 

He felt that in the last universe he was in; that strong need to be better. The memories that still lingered had him wanting to continue that philosophy. He desperately wanted to make the world better for you and Eddie but the current version of himself was struggling.

He didn’t know how to begin and definitely didn’t want to cross a line. 

Truth of the matter was…he was scared…

***

“What do you think? Three for three?”, Eddie jokes as you guys head towards the pods for you next session. 

“I’m not sure. It does comfort me though…to know you both might be there. I aways get nervous before hand at what we might see.”

“Yeah. We understand the feeling.”, Steve sighs under his breath before giving you both a soft smile as you all separate to go to your areas.

“Alright Miss Y/L/N, here’s your shot…good. And I must insist that when you wake up, please remain in the vessel so we can do our jobs.”

“No promises.”

The nurse narrows her eyes at you as the door slowly slides closed. 

“Dropping down in 3…2…1…”

#########################

“I will not tolerate this insolence anymore!”, the man screams on the other side of the door causing you and Edward’s eyes to lock from your places as you continue to listen in. 

You had known Eddie and Steve since you all were children and it was killing you to hear the latter man’s father scream at him in such a manner. 

Steven did everything he could to appease his parents including taking a woman he deemed boring to a dinner date in an environment he detested. He went with his dad on business ventures overseas to learn more about a company he did not want to inherit, sending you both long winded letters about how drab the whole affair was and how his father belittled him the entire ship ride back home. 

All he wanted to do was spend time with his two best friends like he had always done. 

“You need to get your act together, son. I won’t be here forever to keep you afloat. You can’t make a living running around with the bastard Munson and that whore Y/L/N.”

Your hand reached out to take the boys beside you as he flashed you a small smile and delicately kissed the back of it. 

“Don’t call her that.”, Steven growled. “They are my friends.”

“Pfft. Then explain to me why she’s been seen with every Duke and Lord in the county?!”

“Her father wants her to settle down and marry—”

“She needs to! She’s way past her prime!”

Eddie snickers as you lift your eyebrows as if to silently agree with your friend’s father.

“AND Edward is a respectable gentleman—”

“Whose father ISN’T in the prison for thieving jewelry from castles like ours?”

“That doesn’t make him a bastard.”, Steve whispered under his breath causing his father to stomp forward and hit his son hard in the cheek. 

“It’s too bad you don’t have this kind of fight in you when it comes to a work ethic.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m fighting for something I care about.”, his son spits back before turning and powerwalking out the door running into you both as you lean nonchalantly against the opposite wall. “Oh, that’s inconspicuous.”

You giggle as you run to keep up with him as he continues walking down the hall, your olive-green gown flowing behind you as you do. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll survive.”, he replies a bit curtly before pausing at a set of double doors and grabbing your bicep. “Why don’t we skip this affair and spend some time in the library.”

“Steve.”, you smile as you reach up to move some of his loose hair away from his face. “We all got dressed up to come to your father’s idiotic dance. The least we could do is make an appearance.”

“I think she just wants to impress William.”, Eddie teases making you blush as you reach forward and lightly punch his arm making little to no impact against his black suit jacket he looked incredibly handsome in. 

“Look, your father may be a rude but he’s right.”, you shrug. “If I don’t get married soon—”

Steve’s soft palm extended towards you to cup your face as his thumb slid across your lips to silence you. Touches like this were not abnormal and even you had flirted with the idea of taking your friendship further but shame overtook you when you realized you cared about both men. 

You could care less about your parent’s approval or how society would view you. They did that already with the many men who tried to court you but you did care about them. Eddie was already demeaned for being “new money” since his family didn’t come from wealth. Add in the fact that he rarely behaved or dressed in a manner they found suitable but all that mattered to you was his kind demeanor and how he always made you smile. 

Steve was constantly judged by high society because he struggled to follow the “proper etiquette” of someone in his status. He just wanted to live his life the way he wanted and you encouraged that. He was incredibly smart and protective which is something you enjoyed on late nights when he would sneak into your room and you two would lay together talking about the future. 

A relationship with one of them let alone two would bring undo trouble their way and you loved them too much to allow that. 

“Fuck my father, honey. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Grinning, you loop your arm through his and gesture towards Edward so you can do the same with him. 

“As long as I’m with my two best friends, I’m happy.”

***

“What do you think? Has she finally found the one?”, Eddie asks as he passes his friend the bottle of scotch they stole from one of his father’s many offices. 

“Please…William Hargrove isn’t the kind to settle down but…who knows. She’s an amazing woman.”

“Yeah she is.”

This was one of Steve’s favorite spots in his large family estate, the garden out back. Since he met you two, he would bring you out by the fountain where you would play games and make him laugh. As you three grew, it because a place to gossip and talk about anything that came to mind. You had made a plan to meet here within one hour’s time so the gentleman could be seen before disappearing but you were late which was making your long-haired friend nervous. 

“You don’t think something happened right?”

“I’m not sure but if it’s something good I know she’d kill us for interrupting.” As Steve chuckles, Eddie can’t help but force a smile before letting out a long-winded sigh. “I know…”

“Maybe we should finally tell her how we feel…say something…”

“Say what?”, you asked with a happy sounding high pitched tone appearing in front of them.

“What took you so long? Talking with William?”

“Oh, yes, I was but he is just so intellectually draining.”, you tease, mimicking your voice to sound like Steve’s parents. 

“Your hair is pulled back differently. Some of the strands are loose.”, Eddie notices as he rises to his feet but at the action however you take a step backward. “Where did you get that shawl?”

“Oh, um, I stole it from Lady Bradberry. That’s what she gets for always calling me a harlot.”

As you chuckle, your eyes become glassy as your voice cracks. Both boys take a step forward and once again you back away. 

“Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here. We can go to my estate—”

“Let us see, Y/N.”

This time when Steve extends his hand out you don’t pull away, allowing him to slowly pull down the garment covering your shoulder exposing the slowly forming bruise.

“No, no.”, you scold as you watch their eyes cloud over in anger. “I took care of it, alright? William won’t be a concern anymore. Edward! Steven! No!”, you hiss as you try to pull on their arms to stop them as they begin stomping towards the castle. “No! I won’t let you ruin your reputations over me.”

Abruptly, Eddie turns around and cups your face in his palms as his lips passionately press to yours. You had tasted him before on many a lonely night but this felt different in the best possible way. 

“You don’t seem to understand, my lady. You…mean more to us than any reputation…”

This time you allow them to continue forward, following close behind as they reenter Steve’s home and make a beeline for the study where you had last been. To your surprise, William wasn’t far but to his surprise you weren’t back to reconsider his offer of becoming his mistress. 

Steve’s fist flew before any words were exchanged and your breath caught in your throat as you watched the men you cared for defend your honor. 

“Steven!”, his father shouted as he tried to pull his son off the unlucky man now bleeding on the floor. Friends of the Harringtons and Hargroves ran in to separate everyone but while everyone crowded around the man who had physically hurt you, your best friends backed away to make sure they were front of you, shielding you from everyone. 

“What is wrong with you, you imbecile!”, Mr. Harrington scolded as he pointed his finger towards Steve. “William is set to be married next month to Lady Cunningham. Everyone will be talking about this.”, he gestures towards the man’s bleeding face. 

“That filth put his hands on the woman I love.”

Your hopeful eyes widen at his words and to your relief Eddie doesn’t flitch or hiss at his friend. 

They both care about you to. 

Reaching out, your fingers cling to their formal jackets causing both men to stand up straighter. 

“I’m DONE with all this nonsense! You are no longer allowed to be friends with those two. End it now.”

“No.”

“EXCUSE ME!?”

“He said no.”, Eddie defended. “Y/N and I have known your son since we were children and thankfully he’s nothing you or that scum.”, he growls as he gestures towards William. 

“Get out of my home!”

“With pleasure.”

At Steve’s final words, they both grab your hands and power walk out the double doors into the garden. 

***

Your eyes follow them as they maneuver around the Munson bedroom; Steve roughly hurling off his jacket and Eddie doing the same before gathering some supplies in his lavatory. 

You three had spent many an intimate night here. The first time either of them kissed or touched you was on this floor or in the big comfy bed. You all made a vow that this would never be anything more but never elaborated on why. You knew your reasons but…

“Why didn’t you say anything before? About how you feel?”

Edward smirk salaciously as he kneeled in front of you and placed a cool rag with ice against your now prominent, purple bruise.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because of this.”, you gesture towards your other friend who was now facing you both with his hands on his hips. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you both lost everything.”

“Sweetheart…”, Eddie cooed in a soothing tone. “You ARE everything.”

Smiling, you run your fingers through his hair as your lips tenderly kiss his till you feel a dip in the mattress beside you. 

“You’re not a…harlot or a whore…”, Steve conveys, wincing at the negative as if he’s disgusted to even say them. “I remember when we were children, your mother would let me sleep over when my father would scream at me and my own mother. You and Kallie always made me smile.”

As he turns to face you, the other man continues to kiss your neck as he reaches behind your back to unlace your gown. 

“I can’t picture my life with you, Y/N. I’d give up everything, my name, status, and reputation… just to have you here with us.”

Your palm caresses his cheek and in return he tilts down to bring his lips to yours. Soft kisses turn heated as they undress you and then themselves. 

“We can go anywhere we want to.”, Eddie breathes into your ear as you lay on your back between them. “We can take one of the Harrington’s many, MANY ships and run to someplace new.”

They smile when you giggle as their palms roam your soft skin. 

“Maybe we can build our own estate where we can be together and happy.”, Steve added as his hand slid between your legs.

“We can grow our own supplies and I can play my music.” 

As the other man speaks his fingers spread open your pussy lips making you moan as he begins to rub circles against your clit. His friend joins him as he guides two of his own into your dripping hole. 

“Oh…my…”

“I can become a businessman and own a shop in town. Maybe you can come work with me and sell things at the counter with that gorgeous smile. Fuck, I love seeing you smile.”

“Would…would we have any…children?”, you ask as you feel that knot steadily building in your tummy. 

“Of course, sweetheart. We’d have so many we’d have to build more rooms in our home till it’s as big as a Harrington Castle!”

You and Steve chuckle at your friend’s exclamation; yours more of a pant as both their rhythm hastens. 

“I love you both…so much…I-I should have said something—mmm—before but…I was scared.”

“We know, honey. We know.”

“Just like that. Fuck, I’m coming.”

Both sets of lips attached to your throat as your body trembled and you came undone. 

“Listen to you trying not to scream.”, Steve teased. “You can here, beautiful.”

You giggle as the other man flips you on to your side and pulls your back to his chest. While kissing your cheek, he lifts your leg in the air and you both groan as he guides his cock into your entrance. 

“Oh god, Y/N.”

“Fuck, Eddie. So big.”

His mouth falls open as his humid breath warms your face and his large palm cups one of your breasts. When your hand covers his, you realize his knuckles still have remnants of dry blood. 

“Thank you—mmm—for protecting me.”

“Of course. Fuck—fuck that self-righteous son of a bitch.”

“You’re safe with us, honey.”, Steve smiled softly as he leaned forward to capture your lips. 

“Always have been. God, you feel so good. Say my name, sweetheart. T-Tell me again you love me.”

“Ahhhh—I love you, Edward. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. Please, make me cum.” Locking your eyes with the man in front of you, your body shakes and you scream Eddie’s name repeatedly as you cum. “Please…please… cum inside me.”

The long-haired boy’s rhythm falters for a moment before his fingers grip your cheeks forcing you face him. 

“Are you sure? We’ve never…”

“I’m sure. I want to have a family with you…both of you.”

“Fuck—”, he grunts at your confession as his eyes squeeze shut and he clings to your sweaty form as he pounds his release into your cunt. “H-Hearing you say that…that you really do want a family with a…commoner like me—”

“You’re not a commoner, honey. Your uncle worked so hard to get where he is.”

“I love you.”, he whispers and kisses your lips. 

Grinning, you focus on Steve and circle your arms around his neck as he tugs you under his large frame. 

“Thank you for defending me to.”

You can’t help but giggle as he trails kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, and along your cheek to your neck.

“I’ll always protect you and defend you. No matter what.” Your eyes roll back as he gradually pushes his length into your slightly sore pussy. “Fuck—I love you, Y/N.”

###############

“And there she goes. Why do I even bother?”, the nurse sasses as you promptly climb out of the pod and run to your room.

You were having so much trouble catching your breath having been pulled out in the middle of your intimate moment. You could still feel the intense want and need of having Steve inside you but more than anything your current reality was mixing with that one as you started to sob, feeling heartbroken that you didn’t hear yourself tell this man again that you loved him. 

A rough palm grabbed your bicep and turned you around as lips crashed to your own. 

The second you recognized the taste, you allowed Steve to push your back against the wall as his arms held your waist as close to him as possible. 

He tastes the same as the other universes. How can that be?

Neither of you willing to separate, you listened to him grunt in your ear as he sloppily pulled down your sweats before tugging at his own enough to free his hard, leaking cock from its confinement. 

“Oh f-fuck.”, you mewled as he stretched your tight pussy open and set an aggressive pace as he slammed his hips into yours. 

Your fingers threaded through his soft hair as you bit into his shoulder to stifle the continuous moans that wanted to break free especially when he took hold of one of your thighs to wrap around his waist as he hit your g-spot at a much more precise angle. 

As you opened your eyes, you were met with Eddie’s soft chocolate ones in the doorway and that was enough to allow the coil to snap as you whimpered Steve’s name repeatedly into his ear. At the feeling of your cunt quivering around him, he dropped your leg and quickly pulled out, pumping his cock in his fist till you felt his spend hit your thigh. 

“I-I love you.” At your words, Steve tilted back to look at your face. “I said it to Eddie again. Y-You said it to me but I didn’t get to say it back. I didn’t get to say it back. I did the same with Kallie. I didn’t say it back and then she died.”

Your arms clung to him tighter as he slid with you to the cold tile floor. A blanket was wrapped around your lower half before you felt another set of strong arms circle around you. 

“Sweetheart, just like that Steve in the other universe, I’m sure your sister knew you loved her.”, Eddie whispered as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”, you murmur back. 

“In every universe my father hates me including this one. He wants me to be someone I’m not. Feeling that in every universe so far… it’s heartbreaking but I know I’m ok because of you two.”, Steve sighs and when you pull back he quickly wipes the tear that escaped down his cheek. 

“In all of mine my mom is dead and my dad abandons me leaving me with my uncle. I…I feel them all…all the memories those other versions of me have with my mother being a loving woman and my father being an abusive piece of shit. I feel what I feel for you and Steve; my best friend and the woman I care for. I get overcome with this strong need to protect you.”, Eddie follows as his voice shakes.

“That has to mean something. If whatever you did in those universes didn’t affect us there…”

“Then it won’t affect us here.”, the metalhead finished. 

Shaking your head, you push yourself away from them and pull up your sweats as you head for the door. 

“You’re safe with us, Y/N.”, Steve called giving you pause. “That’s been the same in every universe to…including this one.”

@baileebear @jasminelafleur @twirls827 @dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @starboygf @alba8688 @crybabyddl @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @utterlyinsanity @hardladyheart @yesimabratandwhataboutot @chelebelletx @season4steve @fic-lover-29 @micheledawn1975

###############

[slaybestieslay946]

can i request luke trying to get dionysus reader who’s close with their dad to join him and kronos? :3

thanks for your request! This one was kinda short coz i just focused on the scene where he tried to convince her, so i hoped i added enough like stuff about reader being close with her dad for your liking!

Betrayal

word count: 1100

pairing: luke castellan x dionysus!reader

warnings: angst! not a cute happy ending

MASTERLIST

You were woken up from your peaceful night's sleep by Annabeth Chase, standing by your bunk and shaking you quickly awake. 

“You need to come with me.” She said sharply, her voice urgent. 

“Wha- Annabeth? What are you doing here? What’s going on?” You asked, immediately concerned. 

“There’s no time to explain right now, you just have to come with me.” 

Of course, you trusted her implicitly. She was the little sister of your boyfriend, after all. And so, you immediately threw your cargo pants and camp t-shirt on, and followed her out of the Dionysus cabin. 

It was only as she began to lead you into the forest at the edge of camp that you began to wonder what she had called you out for. Annabeth was smart, and no-nonsense, so you couldn’t imagine that it was some kind of dumb prank. And she seemed pretty on edge, her breathing and walking pace both faster than usual. 

It could be something to do with Luke. He could be in trouble. 

No, it couldn’t be. He could handle himself perfectly fine on his own, he was the best swordsman in 500 years. No, it must be something else. 

You decided to probe her a bit further, “Annabeth?” You called softly. 

“Yes?” She answered quickly, not halting her progress into the woods. 

“If somethings wrong I can always wake up D, y’know? I know he can be kinda belligerent, but you won’t get in any trouble, I promise.” You bargained, hoping that if she was worried about getting told off, you wouldn’t get her back up. 

And it was true, as much as your father was seen as kind of a scary asshole to the average camper, you knew him better than anyone, and the truth that he was honestly a good person. Probably the best of the Olympian parents. 

After all, he had taken care of you your whole life, ever since you were dropped off here by your mother at the ripe age of 5. He was a lot more caring than most would normally expect. 

“No.” She snapped, her voice anxious, “We can’t get him involved, not right now. Just come with me, ok? And stay quiet.” 

You didn’t press her any further after that, staying silent for the remaining duration of your walk.  

Soon, you began to hear voices coming from deeper in the forest, and then, the talking ceased, and all you could hear was the louder clashing of swords. 

Annabeth grabbed hold of your hand to lead you closer, before donning her invisibility cap. You followed where she led you, a sinking feeling in your stomach growing more and more painful with each step you took. 

And it all came to a head when Annabeth brought you to the edge of a clearing, where Luke and Percy were engaged in a not-so-friendly looking ‘spar’. 

“What’s going on?” You whispered, although you weren’t sure who to.

“Luke, he’s…” She trailed off slightly. 

“He’s what.” You asked, your voice suddenly cold. 

“He stole the master bolt. He’s working with Kronos to overthrow the gods” She said, and her words were like an icy bucket of water being poured over your head. 

“You’re joking.” You said, a strained laugh coming from your throat. 

Annabeth didn’t reply. She was serious. 

And suddenly his strange behaviours over the past few months made perfect sense. He’d been so secretive, so calculated. Like he had to carefully think out every word he said to you. 

You whipped your head back to the two teenagers, and you were unable to stop yourself from dashing forward as you watched your boyfriend aim a particularly harsh blow at the 12 year old child. 

“Luke! What the fucks going on?!” You yelled, your face contorted in a mixture of confusion, anger, and hope. Hope that you and Annabeth had misinterpreted everything. 

But as Luke turned around to face you, his face torn with guilt, you knew she hadn’t. The daughter of Athena was right yet again. 

“What are you doing here?” He breathed out, partly from the physical exertion of the fight, but you could tell he was also affected by seeing you here. 

“You know why I’m here. Tell me it’s not true. Please, Luke.” 

He hesitated for a moment, before beginning to try and plead with you, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, just let me explain-”

“Explain?! There’s no explanation for this! You’ve betrayed us Luke, you’ve betrayed me.”

He paused again, seemingly stunned by your reaction, your willingness to condemn him.

“I would never betray you. I love you, you know that. The gods are the ones who betray us. I’m fixing things, returning things back to the way they should be. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

You gaped at him in complete and utter shock, “D is the only one who has never betrayed me. And I know he’s one of the few godly parents who gives a shit, and I know the rest of them treat us like shit, but that doesn’t mean whatever you're doing is right!” 

His face fell, and it was like he realised appealing to your logic hadn’t worked, so he tried your emotions. 

“You said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth? What happened to that, huh? I thought you loved me?” Luke’s voice was strained, taut with emotion like he was trying not to cry. 

“I didn’t think that would have to include following you into tartarus to resurrect a titan lord. And I do love you, but that doesn’t mean I agree with what you’re doing!” 

“C’mon, we can talk about this. Just come with me, I can explain everything, you’ll understand if you just come with me and let me explain.” He pleaded, taking a few steps towards you. 

You stepped back away from him, “No. I’m not going with you.” You said, trying to make your voice sound firm, but you were well aware of the way it wobbled slightly as you spoke. 

He turned back to Percy, who was still lying on the ground watching the exchange, “Last chance, Jackson. Last chance.” 

The 12-year old shook his head, his face harsh and cold against the boy he had once called a friend. 

And then Luke was looking at you again, as if trying to memorise your face, before rushing towards a portal Backbiter had created for him. 

Then he was gone. One of the few people you never thought would betray you was gone, never to return. 

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 6 - Total Annihilation

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

You meet with the queen every day for the next three days.

Her favourite Cyvasse board is in her private garden, under a white stone arbour which is covered in burgundy roses, and that is precisely where you are sitting when the hunt returns. 

You can hear the fanfare announcing their arrival all the way from the bronze gates, and the noise must be ear splitting to those closest to it, but you’re far enough away to enjoy the tune, thinking how fun it would be to have your arrival marked with such ceremony.

You stand, expecting the queen to do the same but she remains.  

“We should continue our game,” she says, in no hurry to rush and welcome the men back to court.  

"Will they not expect you?” 

“Of course. But we cannot always give men what they expect,” she replies a little wickedly and you laugh, returning to your seat.

When Aemond arrives in the garden sometime later, he struts into the arbour in his usual arrogant manner. His dark outline looking decidedly stark against all the white stone and delicate flowers.

Stupidly, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he might come to the queen like this, and you curse yourself for not leaving when you had the chance.

Your only saving grace is that he doesn’t seem to notice you, his attention is entirely focused on his mother and, with your red gown, you’re trying your best to blend in with the roses.  

“Welcome back,” she says cheerfully, holding out her hand.

Aemond bows, offering a soft smile and a light kiss across the back of her knuckles. 

“Did Aegon kill the stag?” she asks, and a conspiratory look flashes between their eyes. 

“Naturally ,” he replies, and you don’t have to ask to know that Aemond did everything but take the killing blow.  

You wonder if you would be so kind to Cassandra, doing all in your power to make her look like the better sister, then again, there’s little you do which outshines her.  

She is tall and graceful with impeccable manners and so many accomplishments. She can sew, sing and play any instrument she turns her hand to. In fact, Cassandra would basically be perfect if she wasn’t so shy, not that shyness really mattered here. Most men in Kings Landing seemed to prefer a woman who had little to say, and you could never be accused of that.  

Still, you don’t really want to say much right now and you’re wondering if you can somehow sneak away. Yet before you formulate any sort of a half-hatched idea, Aemond’s attention turns to you. His smile quickly receding and, from the look in his eye, he seems surprised indeed to see you sitting in such private company with his mother.

You have to admit, you’d silently wondered if it was Aemond who had somehow orchestrated your friendship with her. Though you were not sure to what end.  

However, from his furrowed brow and the tight line of his jaw, you can see that it was certainly not his idea. Nor is he pleased to see you.  

“You know the Lady Baratheon,” Alicent says, gesturing to you. 

"We may have spoken once or twice.” 

You meet his eye. Once or twice. An interesting answer for a man who has seen you nude, but you welcome his restraint wholeheartedly.  

“Well , are you going to make your move or not?” Alicent asks and your eyes snap back to hers, then to the Cyvasse piece hovering in your hand. 

You place it down and Aemond moves to stand behind his mother, so he can see the board from her angle.  

"She’ll kill your king in three turns,” he says quickly, as though he’s been studying the game for a while, yet he’s only given it a moments glance. 

Alicent’s eyes dart around the board. 

“He’s right,” she admits, meeting your stare, “you’re getting better.” 

"Your Grace is an excellent teacher.” 

"Then you should play Aemond,” she says with so much pride, craning her head to look adoringly at her son. 

“Perhaps another time,” you reply a little curtly and with far less enthusiasm than she’s expecting.  

A well born lady should say ‘yes, of course, I would love to play with the prince’.  But you’d rather spend an entire afternoon embroidering cornflowers than say something like that. 

“It won’t take long,” Aemond decides with so much confidence that the queen gasps. 

Perhaps his arrogance should have stood as a warning, but it only seems to bait you into doing exactly what you didn’t want to do. Play .  

Biting your tongue to keep yourself from saying anything inflammatory, you move the pieces back into their starting position while Aemond swaps places with the queen.  

It's your move first and you play your favourite opening, one you have won with a few times before. And you’re feeling quietly confident for at least two whole seconds, before Aemond makes his turn, bringing his dragon right out into the middle of the board.  

Your heart jumps, confused, yet you play on, sticking to your original strategy and wanting to force him into a game you can recognise.  

Yet Aemond has a strategy of his own. Total annihilation. He steals your dragon with his second move, and you stare at the board a little blankly, feeling as though your legs have been swept from under your feet. 

The next two turns are the same. Fast and aggressive, forcing you to play more defensively than you’re used to and giving you little time to think. At least it feels like you don’t have much time.  

In reality, you have all the time in the world. What you don't have, is a shield from the way he’s looking at you. Or rather, studying you. Face to face and so close his leg brushes with yours beneath the table.  

You hold your breath, shifting away from him, your hand dallying between two pieces.  

You decide on the Heavy Horse and, just as you’re about to pick it up, he leans closer, catching your eye.  

“Interesting choice .”  

What does that mean? Your heart drums in your chest, your palms suddenly slick with nerves. Should you change your move? Or is he trying to trick you?  

Deciding to not let Aemond get too far into your head, you move the Heavy Horse and immediately regret your choice. But how are you supposed to think under such circumstances?  

With his leg brushing against yours for a second time, his eye grazing along your face, your neck, the soft v of your dress and right down to the tips of your fingers.  

The queen never looked at you like that , nor did her leg ever brush with yours. 

You meet his eye with as stern expression, but Aemond isn’t unsettled by stern looks, there is a dark smile pursed on his lips, and he seems to take great pleasure in stealing another piece, just as he is stealing all logical thought from your head.  

You sigh sharply, frustration clawing at your skin and, though he has seen you naked, this somehow feels worse. As though your very intellect is bare before him and he’s besting you at every turn. The most unpleasant part is, you can see yourself falling into the trap he’s setting, but it feels unstoppable, inevitable .  

Is this what it is like to spar with him? Does he look at his opponents with the same intensity, so they forget not only how to fight, but how to move altogether.  

If the queen wasn’t watching, you would walk away and never look back. Instead, your heart still racing, you move again, and again you regret it.  

He claims your Trebuchet and then your Light Horse.  

You meet his eye, and his face is the same, dark and satisfied. 

You decide right then, that if nothing else, you will take his Dragon and you do, sacrificing everything to claim it, right before he kills your King.  

You’ve lost track of how many turns it's been, but it can't have been many. Ten? Twelve? It felt like a hundred, yet it was certainly the shortest game you’ve ever played. 

“You are cruel,” Alicent scolds him, laughing softly at your expense, and you try to join her. Try to pretend it doesn’t matter that he won so easily. But it does.  

Why did he have to be so good at everything?  

Why does he always seem to have the upper hand?  

“You’ve spent too much time playing with my mother,” he says as though you care for his opinion. "You need to learn other styles, be more unpredictable.” 

"Then perhaps you should teach her,” Alicent suggests, and your heart stops just as Aemond snorts out a laugh of derision. 

“What makes you think I would want to do that ?” 

His words are so clipped and infuriatingly rude that your temper forces you to your feet, yet you remain in control of your tongue. 

The Queen doesn’t reply, she smiles, giving you both one last long look before she walks away. 

When she is gone, Aemond meets the stare you have been burning into the side of his face. 

You really shouldn’t let him annoy you as much as he does, but you can’t help it, your reactions feel completely out of your control, just like the game.  

“Did you ask her to say that ?” he says, and his tone is not exactly angry, but his eye is narrowed, as though you’ve done something wrong. 

“Ask her to say what ?” 

“For me to teach you.” 

You laugh, wondering if the question is a serious one. Wondering if he truly believes you’ve spent the last few days coaxing the Queen to force you into his attention.  

Is he completely insane?  

“Your Grace must have a very high opinion of himself if he imagines every lady in the Red Keep is begging for his company!” Maybe that was true for some of the others, but it certainly wasn’t for you.  

“So, you just happened to be here playing with my mother?” 

You huff, pushing the chair back so you can stand where there is more room for your temper, “how was I supposed to know the hunt would return today? And she invited me !” 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” you practically demand and, when he doesn’t answer, you continue. “Your grace should be rest assured that I would rather eat glass than spend another moment in his company.” 

Such harsh words should certainly not be exiting your mouth, and they should definitely be making him angrier. But the look in his eye only softens as he moves to stand beside you, a little too close for enemies.  

“Will you attend the concert tonight?” he asks, his tone much kinder than before but not kind enough to ease your temper.  

“Is that an invite ?” you say tartly. 

A smile escapes onto his face and, for once, he looks as though he’s not sure what to say.  

“My mother...” he begins, clearing his throat, “is not always as discerning as I, when it comes to... the ladies of court.” 

This seems a difficult truth for him to admit, but you have no sympathy, and laugh, pleased to imagine him pursued by desperate ladies and their Mama’s.  

“Perhaps she believes you need all the help you can get?”  

He huffs out a noise which almost sounds like a laugh, yet the dangerous look in his eye is anything but amused as he shifts closer, pinning you between the Cyvasse board and the inch of space which snakes between your bodies.  

“You think I don’t know how to seduce a woman?” he asks in a low voice, inclining his head as though he might brush his lips with yours. Yet he stops short of kissing, so only his breath inches across your lips, and you can almost taste him. Sweet, rich, like mead or honey cake.  

Your heart is stuttering as you lean back, practically sitting on the board, your gaze only daring to fix on his chest, where the Targaryen Sigil is emblazoned in black and gold.  

“Lucky for his grace, I believe your name will do all the seducing for you...” you say a little meekly before forcing yourself to meet his eye, “even if your manner might make a lady want to hurl herself from the highest tower of the keep.” 

His face, which had been so tight with tension, softens and he laughs taking pleasure in your criticism instead of offence. “But my name does not seduce the enigmatic Lady Baratheon?” 

“Should it?” you ask, instantly regretting the question. 

Aemond steps back thoughtfully, allowing you a little more room to breathe, though it doesn’t feel like enough.  

“I can think of nothing worse,” he says, and you feel a little bolder.  

“Then you will be pleased to know I dislike you, name and all.” 

When he smiles again, you think it might be quite impossible to offend an ego as large as the one he must have, and you know you should leave before making any more attempts. 

“So, which one is it?” he says, keeping in time with your steps as you move towards the door which leads from the garden. “Does my company make you want to eat glass or hurl yourself from the tower?” 

“Well ,” you faulter, laughing nervously and thinking you really should keep a better handle on your remarks. Cassandra would never say such a thing. “Since I shall be leaving court in less than two weeks, and I have no intention of ever returning. I believe I shall be forced to do neither.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” he concedes as you both wait for the guard to open the door. 

When you step through it, he remains in the garden but calls after you, “you didn’t answer my first question...” 

You turn back. “About the concert?”  

Aemond nods and the way he’s standing is so relaxed, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword, his foot braced on the stone step. It's as though you haven’t spent the past ten minutes telling him just how much you cannot bare him. 

“Hm ,” you say, as though you’re pondering a decision, when you already know that you have zero intention of attending the concert, just as you have zero intention of giving him a straight answer.  

Instead, you turn back towards the hall, leaving him to wonder and, though you really want to leave without looking back, you can’t resist one last glance.  

He’s still standing in the same way, watching your retreat, a slightly devilish smile inching into his cheeks at the return of your attention.  

You curse yourself. Stupid . You should have never looked back!