#wouldn’t expect any less from alice

[sweet-little-dude]

just finished reading alice oseman’s book, i was born for this.

no words, as usual

i’m surprised i didn’t cry to this one honestly

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: In Omnibus Aequitas

Summary: Agatha isn't the only witch with a force of nature trailing after her.

AO3

A/N: oh my god i can't explain how excited i am to post this! so much thought and careful crafting went into this!! actually begging someone to ask for the TED talk on my planning process for this because hooooo boy

this is my first time writing Lilia, so apologies if the characterization is shaky at all!

also to give credit where credit is due, the idea for this Reader was prompted by a post from the brilliant trickofthelights, whom i admire greatly. i'll attach the post here

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

Shadows often linger in the periphery of Lilia’s vision; this she has grown to accept, on the basis that they are gone when she turns to face them. And she is glad of it each time. The twisted shapes and figures of the primordial horrors that linger are not made to be witnessed, even by her eyes.

So when a figure lingers, she turns with the expectation of seeing the silhouette vanish, but she’s not the only one who turns.

It strikes her as odd that Rio should see whatever she does. This thought occurs to her mid-ballad, fire licking at the back of her neck. When she looks, though, the figure does not vanish, but neither is it a horror to behold.

You are as beautiful as she remembers. The memory, coupled with your eyes on her, nearly trips her up. But Lilia holds strong through the rest of Lorna’s ballad—even as the burns on her shoulders ache, even as your eyes dart away and meet the curious gaze belonging to Rio, even, even as you watch her with that unerring devotion she had once craved.

When Alice tilts her head back, singing with the full force of her soul, Lilia’s eyes leave you. She watches the curse burn to ash above Alice.

You’re gone when Lilia glances back.

---

Sharon, human she may have been, was right about one thing—no witch can be expected to traverse the road without rest. So, the coven opts to take turns keeping watch around the little fire they’ve built.

Lilia volunteers for the first watch, restless, feeling the weight of eyes on her still. She should’ve known you wouldn’t stay away long.

Your entrance comes when the rest of the coven has fallen asleep; Jen and Alice on one side of the fire, propped up against the rock they sat upon, Agatha furthest from the fire, back to it, while Rio—if that is her true name—sleeps near enough to lay a hand on her waist. Teen, she assumes, remains in the makeshift bed they made for him.

She sees your shadow at the edge of the clearing, hesitant. Looking over her coven one last time, she stands, and walks to where you wait outside the light.

“What do you want?”

You reach out, a hand on either side of Lilia’s face. She doesn’t shake you off. Yet.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I left.” You murmur.

Lilia’s lip curls, “Are your brutal truths meant to be endearing?”

“No. They’re meant to be nothing more than what they are.”

Against all odds, Lilia has yet to throw off your hold. You run your thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. Everything in you wants to kiss her—has dreamt of it for over a century—but you know it won’t be welcome.

Her curls are frayed and wild around her face in an endearing picture. Mess suits her just as well as refinement; though that could be your bias talking.

“Why are you here?” Lilia asks.

“Because you’re here.” And because your job brought you here, but that’s less romantic.

She seems to sense the omission. Any warmth drains from her expression, her hands removing yours from her person. You miss the closeness immediately.

“A truth and a lie. Which will come next?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Then go there. But leave the coven out of this.”

“I have no choice, Lilia.”

Lilia scoffs, “You had a choice when you vanished for a century!”

You close your eyes against the reminder. Hurt flares through you. The ache from years of longing, feeling that veil between you exist so thin, yet being unable to reach through. You hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse.

It was torment. A century should have been easy, but a life without Lilia felt like clawing your way through. If you tell her, will she believe you?

“Please.” You whisper. You’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Goodnight.”

You hear her walk away, can’t stop yourself from blurting, despite the consequences, “Please, don’t put yourself in harm's way.”

Her jaw is tight, eyes wary. She looks you over as if something about you will give away what you know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. You recognize it as both a way to keep you out and support herself. You ache to be let back in.

“This whole Road is a death wish.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger than normal.” You say, then, smaller, “I can’t protect you.”

“Are you asking for my sake or your own?”

“Whichever you’ll listen to.”

“Why ask at all?”

You step forward, hands outstretched to take hers, but you stop short, “Because I love you, Lilia.”

The admission makes her flinch. Her eyes water and she swallows hard. For a fleeting moment you see the startling vulnerability behind her eyes—the loneliness you should have quelled—before she locks it away.

“You can’t love.” Lilia sneers, “It would tip the scales too much.”

“That’s not true.” You defend.

“Oh? Then who, in this wretched universe, have you decided to hate?”

You bite your tongue. Lilia takes your silence for its own—incorrect—answer. Bitterness creeps into her smile.

“Goodnight.”

---

“Here to watch the big show?” Rio asks, lagging behind while the others move forward.

“Just doing my job.”

“Really? I’d say things were pretty square when you showed up.”

You eye her, despising her knowing smile, “Why are you here?”

“My job.”

“Hm. And how many bodies have you collected, again?”

Her smile is wide, but her eyes are cold. She’s always despised that the two of you are equals; that she can’t add you to her menagerie of bodies. Just the same, you’ve despised that you can’t write her name down.

Agatha looks back and tilts her head. You know she can’t see you. Like nothing has happened, Rio turns that grin on Agatha, skipping back to her side.

You catch Lilia’s eyes on you and ignore the question in them.

---

Lilia watches. She follows you in her periphery, makes note of where you are at all times. Her eyes always dart to your hands. Every time she finds them empty, she relaxes.

She’s taken watch, again. You read the weariness in her posture.

Against your better judgment, you lay your hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off.

“You need rest as much as they do, beloved.” You murmur.

She stiffens at the old endearment, “We’re splitting the time. I’ll manage.”

You run a hand through her hair. The curls are still loose, wild. You untangle a few of them. Squeezing her shoulder, you place a kiss to the top of her head, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, your hand quivers. You still it. Your punishment was endured with grace, you must endure the distance with the same.

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Lilia scoffs, “Right.”

The weight of her mistrust is like a knife in your chest. You do not endure the pain with grace; you flinch, tears springing unbidden to your eyes. Lilia’s eyes close in regret.

You wonder if your presence is more of a burden than blessing. Had you mistaken her intent all those years ago? Love is not an emotion that’d come to you naturally. Perhaps, in your learning, you misunderstood, and Lilia’s kind heart wouldn’t allow her to break your illusion.

She had loved you once, hadn’t she? You could swear she had.

“You have to know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Unless the greater universe calls for it.”

Her tone is honest, but sadness lingers within it. All you want is to see her face.

“If I thought it would do you any favors, I’d throw it all away.” You admit in a whisper.

Lilia turns, then. Her brows are furrowed as her eyes search your own, frantic, swimming with fear. In another time and place, you’d follow the statement with a smirk; but you cannot bring yourself to summon the facade now, not with her.

It isn’t a lie—your admission. If not for the overturning of the world without you, you’d forsake the job on your shoulders. You’d unmake yourself in a moment for her. For the younger witch who sang freely and lamented her gifts. For the wizened witch who eyes you with trepidation, mind rife with your betrayals and shortcomings.

“Where are your lies?” She asks.

“I tell them to myself, so you can have all my truths.”

Lilia smiles then, but it’s bittersweet. A warm hand settles on your cheek. You can’t help it—grace be damned—when you press yourself into the contact. They’re still there—the callouses you remember, rough against your flesh. She still smells of smoke.

There’s a rustling of fabric across the space. Alice shifts, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Lilia’s touch is gone from you. You settle next to her as she rests, not brave enough to lay another hand upon her.

---

You watch the knife fall as if time has slowed; absently, you think it might be, Time always did love her cruel jokes. It falls with Teen in the direct path. You feel the pen heavy in your hand, the paper near-weightless and yet the heaviest thing you’ve come to bear.

But then Lilia moves. The one moment you need time to slow for you, it’s returned to normal. Lilia shoves Teen out of the way and takes his place in the dagger’s path.

You fall to your knees, “No!”

Throwing your arms out, you aim a burst of magic for the dagger. Consequences be damned. Alice is faster, though, and moves Lilia from the dagger’s path before your magic can make contact.

Rio’s eyes are heavy on you. She can’t do anything—you didn’t technically break any rules, but the intent is damning enough.

“Now this is going to be fun.” Rio purrs.

You stare at the pen and blank paper you dropped in your haste to save Lilia. Your purpose. How close you’d come to unmaking yourself and yet… yet, a part of you is ambivalent to this. The larger part is freaking out, though.

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You flinch. They shouldn’t be able to see you.

Checking your mental list of active charms, you realize you’ve made an error; in your grief-induced act of heroism, you dropped every single charm on your person and directed the energy toward Lilia. The cat’s out of the bag, it would seem.

Lilia is the first to recover, moving out of Alice’s protective hold, “Do you ever think?”

You bristle, yet to stand from your kneeling position. It gives her an advantage over you this once.

“Well and often.” You defend.

“Well?” She questions, beautiful in her terror and rage, “You call that thinking well? You could’ve been killed!”

“You were in danger, Lilia.”

“And you’re not allowed to interfere.”

Ignoring all the eyes on the two of you, Lilia turns and storms through the exit that opened. You watch the road-conjured costume melt back into her normal visage as she gets further away.

It’s then that you recognize the silence.

All of them are staring at you save for Agatha, who eyes Rio with a mixture of trepidation and understanding. You stand as gracefully as you can manage. Smoothing down your clothes, you try to smile, but the action feels slippery on your features. How long has it been?

“What is it with you witches and beautiful mysteries?” Jen asks, “And where can I get one?”

You flush and fidget. The weight of their attention is so much less pleasant than your beloved’s.

Alice tilts her head, “Who are you?”

Holding out your hand, you speak your name. Rio laughs. You blush, remembering that mortal creatures don’t comprehend the original language, not like the two of you. Lilia once said it sounded like botched latin. The coven exchanges various looks of confusion.

“Lilia just calls me—”

“A pain.” Lilia’s voice cuts in, “A very severe, persistent pain. Are you all coming?”

You’re the first to follow, which prompts no shortage of grumbling. You find yourself grinning.

---

“Well, at least we have extra help on The Road.” Jen shrugs, later.

“She can’t help.” Lilia and Rio say in unison.

The two share a look. You can read the distaste in Lilia’s eyes. She doesn’t seem to think much of Rio, not that you do either—and you actually know her.

“Seemed pretty eager to help you, Lilia.”

“A foolish, misguided mistake on her part.”

You flinch at the statement, staring down at your hands. With the charms gone, you witness their true appearance; one completely dark, as if left to char in ember, the other so pale-white it is near translucent.

The beauty of a mortal body with a mortal heart is a range of emotion you’d have never felt before. Though lately, the gift feels more like a burden. Pain is your ever-present companion these days. Even when you look at your beloved, the love that overtakes you is laced with poison; with the reminder of what you had to do.

You can’t bring yourself to wish away the heart in your chest. But you do wish Lilia would be a bit more gentle with it. You’re hardly in the position to make requests, though.

“I can assist in small ways. Taking a watch at night, tending the fire.”

“No.” Lilia shuts you down. You freeze, “You are to do nothing but observe. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, beloved.”

You ignore the look between Alice and Jen.

---

The end of The Road is so near you can practically taste it. It tastes of rot and chaos, but you put that down as a symptom of your disposition. You watch Lilia and the rest of the coven relax, inhaling deeply.

A smile teases at Lilia’s lips.

“What do you smell?” You whisper.

The smile doesn’t vanish as you expect. Rather, it extends to her eyes as she regards you.

“Your perfume.”

You melt. Knees like jelly, you take her hand in your own, and press a kiss to the back of it, ignoring the eyes on the two of you. The Witches Road will give you what you most desire at the end. And before the last trial, it gives the traveler a taste of what their prize is. She can’t reach the end without knowing the truth.

“This body wasn’t mine, did you know that?” You ask. Her expression shifts as she grows a bit more tense in your hold. You hold tighter, “The witch before me had a little over a century left in her when I came. As payment, I had to serve out the rest of her years without the one thing that made it feel like living.”

The words are tumbling from you faster than you can comprehend them. You watch her face, hoping that what you’re stringing together makes enough sense for her to see. Even if it takes some other force whispering the facts into her ear for her to understand, you’ll just be happy that she knows.

Lilia’s the brightest witch you’ve ever known. She’ll figure out what you’re saying, but you just can’t stop; you need to say the words you’ve been dying to say for all these years.

“I never wanted to leave you, beloved.”

There’s no privacy on this cursed road, but you don’t care. If she asked it of you, you’d tell every soul you met how you love her. Lilia Calderu owns your heart, but even more than that, she owns your soul, and you have no desire to take it from her hands—even if she decides to rip it to pieces as repayment.

Let the coven know how you lived a century-long prison sentence to be with her. Let Rio and the greater powers know. You have no shame.

Lilia sneers, “You foolish woman.”

Her hands fist in the front of your shirt and pull your lips to hers. It’s messy; a clash of teeth and lips and noses, a poor imitation of the world-tipping kisses the two of you have found in one another. You’re both horribly out of practice. Never let it be said, however, that passion does not make up for tact. The near-quivering of Lilia’s grip and the force of intent behind her kiss makes up for any clumsiness.

The time on The Road has left her lips chapped, bitter with the remnants of lipstick, and never before have you known something so utterly perfect. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close enough that not a breath can exist between you. She sighs against your lips.

A curse of a mortal body is the functions that a higher being like yourself wouldn’t deem necessary; in this case, the need your lungs have for oxygen. Your heart is beating out of your chest and not from desire.

You pull back, panting, forehead resting against Lilia’s.

Breath successfully acquired, you tilt your head and press your lips to Lilia’s cheek, her temple, her forehead—anywhere you can reach, murmuring, reverent, “Lilia. My Lilia.”

“Darling.” She whispers with every kiss, voice hushed with devotion.

A lifetime apart seen to its end. Your fingers still itch with the pent up desire to hold her despite doing so. You were shameless before, but now… Gods help her.

Rio watches the entire display with shameless interest. Her eyebrows are high, a small, curious smile on her lips. Teen had been the first to turn away and busy himself with watching The Road. Somewhere mid-kiss, the remaining three found something more pressing to devote their attention to.

The lack of seeing, however, does not stop Jen from sighing, “When will it be my turn?”

Alice laughs at her side.

---

“Did you know all along?”

Lilia looks up at Agatha’s hushed question. She takes in the messy, haggard, but satisfied look of her fellow witch. She also catches the look Agatha throws your way. You sit across the clearing, Teen at your side, listening with rapt attention as you explain something about the moon.

“I had a suspicion when you mentioned my fortune.” Lilia admits.

A suspicion. A burgeoning hope she hadn’t let herself acknowledge.

“Oh?”

“What is fortune if not a lack of balance?” She shrugs, unable to look away from you, “To change it meant the end of my pain.”

“Enter, your solution.”

“Solution and problem.”

The two share a wry laugh. Lilia’s careful not to ask any pointed questions about Rio, though curiosity does eat away at her. Is anyone better suited to appreciate her experience?

Rio, while polarizing, is beautiful—and seems to have attached herself to Agatha in a way best suited to the witch. There is a beauty in it. Though she admits she’ll always prefer your well-meaning brutality over that which Agatha receives. To each their own.

“The Road seems to play favorites, giving you your prize early.” Agatha muses.

“Having her isn’t the prize,” Lilia corrects, “keeping her is.”

Agatha hums, eyes contemplative.

You’re aware of the eyes on you from across the clearing, but pay it little attention, instead devoting yourself fully to the question Teen has asked you. Gesturing with your hands, you weave similarities between the First Coven and their own. He watches you with a starstruck expression.

Something in your conversation prompts him to tilt his head. He fiddles with the little spellbook attached to his hip. Your musings come to a natural close and he speaks up.

“Can I ask—why Lilia? I mean, she’s great, but I guess I don’t understand.” Teen changes the subject.

You smile.

“Do you know the average person’s response to upsetting the state of the world?” You ask. Teen thinks, then shakes his head, “There isn’t one. It doesn’t matter what they’ve undone in the grand scheme, they’re painfully ignorant of what they’ve done. And what’s worse, most don’t care.”

It’s an old grievance you have with the greater universe. You recognize the necessity of it, but will never deny how it grates on you.

“Lilia… Lilia spent a large part of her life as a harbinger of tragedy. She’d travel through villages and upturn their worlds with a prediction.” You sigh, chest aching with the pain you know she suffered, “But when she did, she always sought to fix it. There were times she leveled the scales so completely that I didn’t have to do a thing. Few had ever considered me in such a way before.”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to Lilia. Her eyes are already on you. The warm, steady weight of her gaze makes you melt.

“And the others, well, none of them were her.”

Teen nods, “That’s sweet. I think.”

You chuckle. In a moment of fondness, you ruffle the curls on his head. He rolls his eyes but allows the contact; how do you tell a force of nature no?

---

You stare back down The Road with the coven. Though the return journey will be without any of the usual hassles, you curse the greater powers for not just providing an exit door. Your feet are killing you.

Lilia looks weary despite having rested. You rub a hand over her back, working out the knots you find with a skilled hand. She sighs.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks.

You raise a brow, “Back to the start of The Road.”

Lilia glares, though it lacks significant heat, “Us, darling.”

Ah.

“Wherever you lead, beloved.”

“That’s a lot of control.”

“Give me a century or so and I’ll start making decisions again.”

Her fingers lace through your own. Lilia stares down the length of The Road she has traversed and conquered, yet the greatest battle lies beyond. The world will never again be the same for her.

You raise her hand to your lips. You press gentle kisses to the knuckles.

“To the return of your glory.” You murmur.

Lilia looks at you for a long moment. Using your hold, she pulls you down, into a short but mind-numbing kiss. You hold tight and sigh, content.

She corrects, “To the return of balance.”

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile XIX

<- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: Well, well, my dears. I enjoyed writing this chapter, knowing it’s going to be Alastor’s Point of View next… It’s going to be very interesting and exhausting to go inside our favorite psychopath’s mind. Once again, beware; Blood, Killing, Gore. Please, tell me your thoughts and of course, enjoyed this chapter.

“ That’s how you want to seduce them? Girl, you would have to pay me for me to fuck you. You can’t seduce just with your sweet doe’s eyes. Don’t you agree?”

You tried to contain your anger, knowing that if you didn’t, your eyes would turn red. 

After your delicious weekend with Alastor, you have learned that just like him, you could keep your spirit, if it wanted, so you didn’t have to ask for Papa Legba each time. You talked about it with the old man and he agreed, saying the spirit was eager to stay by your side. It was great, you could feel the spirit near you, but when you were feeling strong emotion, your eyes would turn red. 

Alastor contacted Mimzy so she would teach you how to dance like the women that would be on stage. You didn't really know Mimzy, you knew she was a friend of Alastor, but nothing more. She was a great dancer and a great singer and would be your teacher for a week.

It’s been three days since you started your training and you were wondering if killing Mimzy would be a bad thing.

You stood up from the chair, where you have been sitting with your legs wide open. At the beginning, you would blush as soon as you had to do vulgar movement. Now, if you happened to be red , it was because of anger.

“ What is wrong this time, Mimzy?” you sighed.

“ You need to feel like a woman ! Ask your friend, there is no desire to be fuck in you.”

You stared at Alice, which you asked to come with you to have some courage, and waited for her answer, you face without any trace of feeling. You needed to stay calm or you would project Mimzy out of her club, even out of New Orleans.

“ I think she is doing great, she is just not feeling comfortable.” she looked at you with an encouraging smile. “ Maybe with some music, it would be easier for her?” 

“ I didn’t need any music to learn the moves on the dancefloor, but if it makes her less shitty.” she said before leaving to search for her radio.

You sat next to Alice, playing with your necklace.

“ Killing her would only bring trouble, wouldn’t it?”

“ I think it would.” she said, tapping your back. “ But trust me, my friend, you have amazing moves!” 

You smiled at her, tired. You’ve been going to Mimzy club every day from 8 am to 7pm, trying to dance like she wanted you, trying on dresses that would make your father faint and singing songs that made you want to wash your mouth with soap.

“ You know what, let’s try it without Mimzy here!” she pushed you on stage once more with a big smile. You laughed as you sat on the chair, feeling comfortable. Alice was in front of you, acting like a fangirl saying things like: I want your baby or I love you.

You didn’t know why but you began to sing, even though there wasn’t any music, without feeling any stress. You began to move your hands on your body, going up into your hair while moving your hips on the chair, like you were grinding into it. You threw your head back, letting your hair free themselves from the ribbons that kept them in a ponytail. 

You danced and sang, maybe not like you were used to, but you did remember every step Mimzy had teached you. You would drop on all four, moving toward the edge of the scene, making obscene gestures, keeping your voice steady.

At the end of your performance, you were sitting on the chair, your legs spread with your hand on your chest. You were breathing hard but looked at Alice with a raised eyebrow. 

“ Oh..Doll, what… you.. You were like a succubus…” she said, her eyes wide open before clapping hard in her hands. “ Bravo !”

“ Finally ! I thought you were a lost cause.”

You turned your head toward Mimzy who was looking at you with a satisfied smile. You frowned as you closed your legs. 

“ Now, you need a little more confidence and you will be perfect ! Again. 1,2..!”

You sighed as Alice was cheering for you.

—

“ You look… obscenely delicious my dear.”

You looked at Alastor through the mirror in the hotel’s dressing room you were invited to stay in. He was behind you, his arms behind his back, staring at you with a deer mask, only hiding his eyes, with big antlers. It seemed like it wasn’t only the dancers and singers that were masked. You stared at yourself in the mirror, you had deep black eyes shadows and a bright red lipstick. You were wearing a long dress, with a corset, jewels around your wrist and neck and high heels, higher than you were used to. You sighed, trying to calm yourself.

You were going to dance and sing in front of men that would just look at you  like you were a piece of meat. Even if they were in high society, you shouldn’t feel nervous because of them. 

“ Darling?”

You looked at Alastor who was helding a … Doe’s masks? You tilted your head before smiling. You looked at Alastor as he put the mask on your eyes, hooking it behind your head.

“ Am I supposed to be a doe, Alastor?”

“ My Doe, dear. Now, do you remember the plan? I’m your ‘manager’, if you need a name, call me Victor, I found you in the street and thanks to your beautiful body and entrancing voice, I have decided to take you here, to gain… Money.” you laughed at his disgusted expression. “ Thanks to Mimzy, you will be in the best spot for them to… observe you.”

You laughed as you saw how tense his body was. You stood up, giving him a hug, feeling his suit’s material against your breast. The corset was pushing up your breast, making them look delicious but mostly almost naked. Half of them were hidden by the clothes you were wearing. You were scared that if you made a bad move, your nipples would be shown.

“ Are you going to be okay?” you asked him, caressing his gloved hands. You know you were nervous, but you would be okay. Normally, no men or women would be able to touch you, you just needed to seduce the pig, whose name was Larry but who cared? You were more worried about Alastor, who kept smiling like usual, but you could see his eyes twitch when you were talking about your performance or the dress you were going to wear. 

“ Of course, darling ! This is nothing I can’t handle, do not worry your adorable head about it. I won’t stay far away from you.”  He kissed the back of your gloved hand with a straining smile. You grimaced but didn’t push it, you didn't want Alastor to think you didn’t have faith in you. “ Are you ready?”

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror. Marie had braided your hair so the wig could stay in place on your head, of course she didn’t know why you needed a wig in the first place but she didn’t ask any question. You really didn’t recognize yourself. You nodded at yourself, looking at Alastor through the mirror’s reflection.

“ Let’s give them a show.”

You clinged to his arm as you went to the hall entrance where everyone was chatting. It kind of reminded you of Alice’s party. Everyone was dressed up nicely with expensive jewels and chatting with a big smile on their face. Alastor was his usual charming self, using his deep voice. If he were to talk like he was on the radio, everyone would recognize him which would be problematic.

 You stayed silent, playing your part of the young innocent girl who didn’t know why she was here. You could feel Alastor's body tensing each time someone laid their eyes upon you, commenting on your smooth skin, or your divine body. You would always press yourself against him to calm him down but how would he react once you would be on stage… That was worrisome.

You waited until the butlers of the hotel invited you all to go into another room. The singers needed to go backstage. You looked at Alastor, trying to calm him with your eyes. You couldn't kiss him right now but you wanted him to know you were his. Even dancing and singing for others, it was all a show. You put his hand near your chest, where his mark was still surprisingly here.

He kissed the back of your hand before letting you go backstage. You looked at the other women who were trying to change their makeup at the last minute or changing dresses. You took a deep breath, you haven't gone on stage since Alice’s Christmas’s Eve’s Soirée. You were 16 at the time. Now you were almost 22, you could do it. You would do it.

Someone came to you and gave you your numero. You would be the last one to pass. You nodded but wanted to groan. That meant you would pass after all of the skillful people. You sat on a chair, meditating.  You could still feel your spirit going around you, invisible to all eyes. You smiled, you weren’t alone. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you were calling to go on stage. You walked behind the man who introduced you as the “ Hunter’s Doe.” You smirked when you heard it, Alastor ready did choose a fitting name…

You walked to the stage, going near the microphone. You could already hear some whistling which made you cringe. You really respected those women who could manage it every night. You tried to find Alastor in the crowd but you didn’t have the time as the music began.

You held the microphone in your hand as your enchanting voice began to be heard around the room. You almost smiled in delight as you could feel everyone's eyes on you. Everyone was focusing on you thanks to your voice and you didn’t take off one of your clothes yet. You moved around the stage, showing a little bit of your ankle en tugging your dress a little higher, showing off your legs.

You could hear some men whistling and asking for you to look at them but you were looking for one in particular. You threw your head back, showing off your cleavage, arching your back just like Mimzy had taught you. You moved your hand around your chest before sliding into the wig, tearing off the ribbon that held them in a bun. 

Your eyes almost flashed red when you felt a cold touch on your ankle, who dared? You relaxed when you saw Alastor’s shadow on the ground, with his hideous grin as usual. You walked on the other side of the stage, still dancing and singing and it was still following you. It was one with your shadow.

You smirked when an idea struck you.

As the song kept going you dropped to your knees, just above Alastor’s shadows,rubbing yourself on the floor. You knew that for all the eyes on you, it was just a part of the show, you knew that as the crowd was cheering for you to keep going.  But for you, it was to reassure your fiancé. You stared at the shadow, grinding into the floor where its pelvis was supposed to be. You didn’t know if Alastor could see from his shadow’s eyes but you hoped he could see your message.

You were his.

You rolled on your back, your head hanging from the stage where you could see everyone. You spread your legs as you moved your hand on your body, singing with more vigor as you moved your behind against the floor, where the shadow was still waiting. You didn’t feel embarrassed as your legs were open toward the backstage, where no one was watching. You could play your little performance and then leave.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you felt something touching your legs. You flushed while the cold touch was moving around your thigh. You gasped as the lights were flickering, making the guests worried before everything shut down, enveloping everyone in darkness.

You couldn’t see anything. You tried to stand up but you couldn't move. You were trapped. You felt a cold touch on your intimity and you bit your lips. What was Alastor’s shadow doing..?

You put your hand on your mouth, wanting to choke the moan that almost came out as you felt a cold touch on your buttocks. You could feel the shadows wrapping itself around your neck, your breast and your legs, caging you on the floor. It was squeezing you so hard you couldn't breath but you enjoyed it nonetheless. You could feel yourself beginning to get wet, your body shaking with excitement.

Your eyes rolled back as your vision was beginning to be blurry but before you could faint the lights were back on and Alastor was standing at your side, grinning at the crowd.

“ Well, well, it seemed like we had a problem, what a shame you couldn’t see my little doe’s performance. But oh well, I know a lucky man who will join her and will be able to see it for himself.” he smiled before helping you standing up as you were still lightheaded. The men were asking for an encore as they couldn’t appreciate all of your performance. Alastor guided you backstage with a happy grin.

You fell on your chair, looking at him as you took off your mask. He was locking the door, humming to himself while you were fanning yourself.

“ Did someone try to sabotage us ? Who cut the lights off ?”

“ The same person who caged you on stage.” he sang before walking toward you, taking off his mask showing his red eyes. 

“ Alastor, what if–”

“ Don’t.” he smiled widely at you, holding his hand in front of you. “ We are going to forget what happened today because if we don’t, I might kill every man that looked at you tonight.”

“ There are too many, Alastor.” you chuckled, jokingly.

“ 124.”

You stopped laughing, staring at Alastor, your mouth wide open.

“ What..”

“ 124 men were looking at you. And guess what darling, I know more than 124 methods to kill someone. How lucky !” he smiled as he loomed toward you. You shivered as you saw pure madness swirling in his eyes. You could see a cut on his lips, he must have bit his lips so hard it bleed. 

You caressed his cheeks, looking at him while standing up. His eyes were never leaving your figure. You kissed him softly, conveying all your emotions for him. 

“ You don’t need to worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“ When did I say I was worried?” Alastor tilted his head with a menacing grin. You shivered, he looked perfect, so confident, so full of himself, in his mind you wouldn’t leave him. He was so sure of that..

You were ready to jump on him before you heard a knock at the door. You put your mask back as Alastor went toward the door, his mask already on. He opened the door with his charming smile.

“ Yes ?”

“ Oh hello dear gentleman. I’m Sir Larry’s butler. The monsieur would like to rent your employee for the night, would it be okay for you? He is ready to pay a lot.” you heard the man say as Alastor hummed. He looked at you, you could see his fist clenching around the doorknock. You nodded at him, smiling encouragingly at him.

“ Well of course my dear fella! I shall take her to his room. I guess I’ll have the money there.” he held his arm for you to take. You slid your hands around it as you walked in the stairs, going to the top of the hotel.  You were looking at the people who were having fun, unaware of what was happening behind locked doors. You even saw some policemen making you nervous. You knew your father wasn’t attending, he was having a weekend with your mother.

Maybe John?

Once you were in front of the door, the butler knocked before entering the room, introducing you to the man.

“ Ah! The brightest star has blessed us with her presence.” you looked as Larry stood up with difficulty. He was clearly overweight, you wondered how he wasn’t out of breath after just standing from his chair. “ Now mister… Victor, was it ? Here is the money, I will take good care of your jewel.”

You felt Alastor tense but then he relaxed. Before you could wonder why, you felt an icy touch on your back, sliding toward your ankles. You subtly looked behind you and smiled as you saw Alastor’s shadows becoming one with yours.

“ Please, enjoy this night as if it was your last.”

“ Oh, trust me, I will!” Laughed Larry. 

Alastor kissed the back of your hand before staring at your eyes. You nodded at him before watching him leave with the butler. 

“ Well, don’t be shy, my sweet, come here.”

You looked at the man, who was sitting on his armchair, patting his thighs, clearly inviting you to sit on laps. You walked toward him but stopped at a respectable distance. 

“ What song do you want me to perform, sir ?”

“ Ohoh, what a naive little bird. The only way your mouth is going to be of use, is by sucking me off.”

You could feel Alastor’s shadow buzzing with anger. You looked at the pathetic man in front of you. You knew the walls of the hotel were thick because there were horrible things that were happening in those rooms. Which meant nobody would hear the pig scream for help.

You looked around the room as you gracefully took off your heels. You couldn't find anything that could be used as a weapon so… You walked toward the man who spread his legs eagerly.

“ Alice sends her regards.”

“ What–?”

You plunged your heel in the man's eye. You smiled sweetly, he screamed louder than Alastor’s father did. You tore off his eye, removing it from your shoe. You knew Alastor would want to keep it. You put the eyeball on the table as the man was screaming from pain, holding his head in his hands. You wondered if your shoe could kill him, if you plug the heel in his throat?

“ You bitch !”

You held your hand toward you with a satisfied smile already raising your shield. The man ran toward you, wanting to tackle you on the ground,  but as he rushed toward you, his body passed through your shield, crashing into you, making you feel a huge pain in your eyes. You screamed as you were pinned on the ground, fuzzy.

What happened? You felt like your shield had broken into a million pieces, making you feel a pain like when you were forced off your trance. You opened your eyes as he took your mask off and stared down at you.

“ You little cunt ! You are that bitch’s friend, aren’t you!” 

You saw him raise his fist, ready to punch you but you held your hand in front of you, one more time. His fist crashed against your shield making you feel the same pain in your eyes. You squinted, trying to hold your shield but as the man was looking at his hand, confused, you saw Alastor’s shadow wrapping itself around the man, trying to get him off of you.

You tried once more to push the man off you with your shield but it was like carrying a fucking bear off you. 

You sighed in relief as you managed to get off from under the man as he was struggling with the shadow. 

“ You witch !”

You watched as the shadow came back toward you, frowning. The man was too big for it to hold him on the floor. You bit your lips as the man stood up, still groaning in pain. You weren’t a hunter like Alastor, you would have to win with your own talent. 

“ That’s not how you are supposed to treat a lady, you irrelevant prick.”

You turned your head toward his voice as Alastor came from a dark corner of the room, his red eyes the only thing that could be seen before he stepped in the light. Larry looked at Alastor.

“ Victor ! What..? Just, take care of your woman ! She is crazy, look at what she has done!”

Alastor hummed as he walked toward the wounded man, his arms nicely settled behind his back. He took a look at the man's face who let him. Did he really think Alastor was on his side?

“ Oh, it does seem terrible, you shall excuse my woman, she only has done it once. She will get better!” he smiled at the man before taking out a knife from his pocket and plunging it in the chest of the man. You could see Alastor’s grimace, it seemed like the blade wasn’t long enough to hit any vital organs. 

The man tried to tackle Alastor on the ground but he gracefully avoided it with an excited smile. You watched as his shadow came back to him with its hideous smile.

“ My bad, it’s also my second time. I’m still not used to killing pigs.” he laughed as he played the blade with his fingers. He kept making fun of the man as Larry tried to catched Alastor . After a few seconds Larry fell near the sofa on all fours, breathing hard. You walked toward Alastor with a smile, it would be easier than with his father.

Alastor pecked your lips before looking at the man.

“ Come on, we only die once, you should smile more!”

You freezed as Larry took a gun from under the sofa’s cushions and pointed it toward you. 

“ You son of bitches,” you saw Alastor flinched at the insults but he kept his smile” I’ll send you back to hell!”

You needed to protect Alastor.

You held your hand in front of you as he shot, your eyes buzzing with energy. You felt like you weren’t the one moving your body, the bullet stopped in front of you but this time, you didn’t just stop it. The bullet was still in the air, not moving. You pointed toward the man's direction and the bullet flew, like it had been shot from a gun, right into the man’s thighs.

You just telekinesised an object.

You stared at your hands with a euphoric feeling in your body. 

“ Fuck, what was that !” you heard the pig scream. He shot once more and you did the exact same thing, under Alastor’s fond gaze. You pointed toward the gun, the bullet passing through the weapon, destroying it.

“ Haha ! What a show, folks! That’s the show I wanted to see!” he laughed as he passed a hand in his hair, walking toward the man who was laying on his back, screaming agony as Alastor’s foot dug into the wound you made with the bullet. “ Isn’t it much more interesting that poor ladies who don't have the choice but to be here?” He nodded as the pig screamed once more. “ You are right ! I’m relieved you’ve finally reached the voice of reason.” he crouched above the man, holding his chin with his gloved hand.

“ Now, give me a big smile~!” he said before carving a smile into the man’s flesh. You bounced toward Alastor with a big smile, not caring about the pig’s screams.

“ Alastor, did you see? Did you see what I did? Did you?” you beamed as he stopped working on his living canvas, staring fondly at you.

“ I did, dearest. You looked delicious.” he smirked as you leaned toward him, asking for a kiss which he gladly gave you.  You looked at him as he finished carving the big smile into Larry’s face, the man crying from pain. “ Perfect, now, I just need to let out some steam.” you tilted your head at his words. “ Come on Larry, don’t die on me yet!” 

You lay on the sofa, kicking your feet in the air as Alastor began to stab Larry multiple times. You were almost sad to not have taken a camera with you.  You counted in your head how many times Alastor stabbed the man while encouraging the poor soul to stay alive. Sometimes you would ask Alastor for a kiss because you were getting bored and hearing a pig's screams wasn’t very interesting in the long run. 

Alastor would stop his stabbing on the pig and tug you toward him, kissing you as Larry was begging you for life. He stopped begging Alastor for his life at the 20th stab. Now, he would look at you, pleading with his eyes. But you would just ask Alastor for a kiss each time, kissing him deeply, stroking his bloody cheeks and tasting the blood on his lips. 

Sometimes Alastor’s shadow would tickle you to entertain you. You would clapp with the same rhythm of Alastor’s stab, encouraging Larry to stay alive. 

“ If you stay alive, who knows, maybe Alice will marry you! Come on Larry!”

You think the pig died at the 87th stab. You whined, disappointed but Alastor didn’t stop. He kept stabbing him even as the body was beginning to be cold. 

He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.

124.

He stabbed the man 124 times.

He threw his head back, his face all bloodied.

“ Aahh. I feel better!” he smiled at you, his eyes glinting with madness and fondness. You sat up, stretching yourself with a big grin. You couldn't wait to go home. He stood up and tugged you toward him, kissing your cheeks.

“ What do we do with the body?”

“ We leave it.”

You looked at Alastor with wide eyes. Leaving it here ? He kissed your lips, chuckling at your expression. You shook your head, trying to clear your head.

“First of all, how did you come in? The door was locked.”

“ Well, let's just say I’m working with interesting spirits… Now! I’ll set the room on fire, we need to find a solution on how you could leave…” he looked around.

“ Can’t I pass through the shadows like you did?”

“ Unfortunately, I don’t think your spirit would like that.” he tilted his head with a sorry smile. You looked at the windows.

“ I could pass through the windows and enter another room?”

“ We are in the highest part of the hotel, light of my life. What are you trying to do?” He raised an eyebrow with a mocking smile. You stuck your tongue to him before walking toward the windows, being mindful of not stepping into the pig’s blood. You opened the wide windows and looked around. You smirked, bingo! The room next to you was open ! You looked at Alastor with a teasing expression.

“ No.”

“ We don’t have a choice, Alastor.”

“ Of course we have, you just decided to make this choice because you want to be a brat.”

You winked at him before passing through the windows, putting your feet on the balcony. You would just have to jump on the other balcony and that would be it. You turned toward Alastor who threw you something.

You almost let it drop when you saw it was the pig’s eyes.

“ Alastor !” you seethed.

“ Put it in the other room. See you downstairs, dearest.” he winked at you before lighting a match and throwing it on the bed. You looked as the fire was beginning to be bigger, just from one single match. You jumped on the other balcony and entered the room where a couple was sleeping. From all the bottles of alcohol on the floor, you supposed they had fun… You put the eye on the table, next to an empty bottle.

You undressed yourself, your dress was all bloody. You opened the closet and took a dress, knowing you would have to make it disappear. You took the mask the lady was wearing, you supposed.You took off your wig and hid it in the closet. You undone your braids that Marie has made, making your hair wavy. You dressed up before leaving the room, hurrying to go downstairs. You walked, trying to look confident with your rabbit mask.

You almost freezed when you felt an arm around your waist. You turned your face and recognized Alastor, even if he was wearing a wolf mask. He grinned at you before going toward the buffet and gave you a piece of cake. You smiled at him, eating the delicious cake. You turned your head toward a policeman who was urging everyone to go outside because a fire had started. Alastor guided you outside, but as you were running with everyone, you saw John passing next to you in a rush, going toward the stairs. 

It seemed like he was doing his job well, playing the heroic policeman. 

Alastor and you walked to Alice’s home while chatting about what just had happened. You took off your mask,sighing in relief.

“ It was clever of you to change your outfit knowing the old one would be destroyed by the fire or used to put the blame on the sleeping couple. But, now darling, we are never following your plan again. You will never be a bait, I’ll just do it my way.” said Alastor as he took off his own mask. You pouted but he didn’t let you open your mouth to replicate. “ No.”

You entered Alice’s mansion and sat on the sofa in the living room waiting for your friend to come, which she did, almost tripping on the armchair.

“ Are you okay? I heard there was a fire not too far from here? Does it mean the… the plan is delayed ?” she asked in her pajamas.

“ We know something you don’t know~.” you sang at her. She looked at you, confused. “ The pig is dead, trust us.” you smiled at her and beamed even more when she relaxed in her chair.

“ Thank God… But, the picture..? Is it destroy?”

Fuck, you didn’t think about that.

“ No worries, you ungrateful pest. I took care of it.” Alastor took a picture from his coat and threw it at Alice. “ This is the only one, I looked everywhere.” You looked at him, perplexed.

“ What if he had others in his home?” Asked Alice.

“ I’ve looked everywhere,” said Alastor with a wicked grin. “ So, unless you want to worry about nothing, which would amuse me so please do it, there is nothing that can be used against you.”

Alice sighed in relief, thanking you and Alastor multiple times. Alastor seemed uninterested, looking at his nails before looking at you.

“ I can not wait to talk about it on my broadcast, tomorrow.” you laughed as he began to tell the tale of how a deer and a doe killed a pig because an annoying bird couldn’t do it itself.

“ Am I the bird?” asked Alice, frowning.

“ Of course, you are as noisy and useless as them.”

“ You–!”

 You laughed as Alice and Alastor kept throwing insults against each other. What a good way to end the week.

Tag List: @lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @sodavizz @boogiemansbitch @tessemerick @slytherin4ever @kammsinn @alastorssimp @t0xic1vi @diamond-almond @fangirlbitch02 @saccharine-nectarine @thenorthnightingale @bibliophile-yomna @itzjustj-1000 @mothraantics @yourdoorisunlocked @phamtasic @karmakillz @holographicage @sarcastic-sourwolf @akuraluna2468 @everwolf-20 @thesunandmoons-blog @songbrita @noraunor @fandomsbookclub @hokkaido97 @catticora @gasiacos

[seohwang]

XXXX.

First kisses with Ateez - Jongho ver.

Genre: fluff

Word count: 755

Warnings: none, Jongho is just too smooth for his own good, that's all

A/N: While working on my other bigger projects, I've decided to post another member's part of my First kisses with Ateez reaction series!! This time, the member of choice is Jongho, as I've been especially focused on him lately. Hope you enjoy and see you again soon! ♥

A/N 2: Btw, this is part of a small event I did on both this blog and my other, more nsfw one, @kp-alice! Go check it out if you're interested in some fun sub!yeosang smut ♥

Now, I think Jongho is a simple man

Not in a bad way, of course not!!

He just likes to take things at a slow, comfortable pace, especially when it comes to relationships

So he would definitely be one of the less nervous members when it came to your first kiss

He wouldn’t worry about it much, deciding that he’d stress about it when it actually happened

And in the meantime, he'd want to get to know you as much as possible, resulting in many relaxed, quiet dates where the two of you would get to hang out and talk, or even just vibe silently in the other’s presence

Whether it would be at a park, at home, or at some cute and cozy café - much like right now

You were just planning on taking a short walk around, wanting to enjoy the unexpectedly pleasant weather today

But then you saw this cool hand-made artisan shop, and this beautiful public art display, and-

Before you knew it, you strayed way off your original starting point, walking through unknown streets and exploring your new surroundings

Had it been just you walking around, you would have been a bit worried by now, pulling out your phone to try and find your way back

But with Jongho, you knew you had nothing to be concerned about

He just held your hand and pulled you along, a small smile never leaving his lips as he did so

And really, this did help you relax and allow yourself to roam freely

Until you noticed the sullen, grey sky looming above you, warning the two of you that the weather wouldn’t be staying nice for much longer

You told Jongho right away, making him reluctantly agree with you to call it a day just to be safe

But not even a few minutes later, rain started falling from the sky, growing in intensity with every street you passed

This alone would have been doable, but once the freezing wind picked up as well, you were starting to question your life decisions

Noticing your wet shirt, Jongho offered you his jacket to warm yourself up, but you quickly refused, not wanting him to get sick

But Jongho obviously didn’t want that for you either

And so, after a second failed attempt at convincing you to just take the jacket because he’d rather catch a cold himself than have you suffer, he thought of a different plan

Before you knew it, you were being pulled into the nearest café, a small bell chiming above your head as you entered

You tried to protest, but Jongho just gently shushed you, tugging you with him to a cozy table tucked in a far-away corner

There, he helped you get seated before taking off his jacket and sitting down next to you

“Jongho, we really don’t have to stay here, we’re not that far from-” “Of course we’re staying. I’m freezing cold and I was wearing more layers than you. No way I'm letting you out there before the rain stops,” he quickly retorted before reaching for the menu on the table

“But,” you tried again, nervously biting on your lip as you continued, “I didn’t even bring any money, I didn’t expect us to order anything today…”

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, silently scolding yourself for leaving your purse at home

The entire day was going great, but now you were going to ruin it with a small, stupid mistake

You wanted to apologize, to try and maybe save this situation somehow, but then…

???

Before you could say anything, you felt Jongho’s lips on yours, effectively shutting you up

Instinctively, you closed your eyes, resting a hand on his thigh for support as you leaned in for more

Shortly after, Jongho pulled away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear

“And who said I’d let you pay?” He retorted with a smile, lowering his hand to cup your cheek, “I chose to bring us here so it’s my treat. All you need to do is warm yourself back up and stop worrying.”

And with that (and a light blush blooming on his face), he turned back to the menu, skimming the drinks to find something for the two of you while you still sat there, shocked

Needless to say, thanks to Jongho, you did feel a lot warmer already.

Thank you so much for reading! And remember, feedback is always appreciated!! <3

[alicentflorent]

Do Condal and Hess really think Alicent ever had the same level of privilege as Rhaenyra? That Alicent just chose to do what was expected of her and be dutiful because it made life easier?

Alicent was a daughter of an ambitious second son who’s love was conditional whereas Rhaenyra on the other hand, she was the princess of the realm and the only child of the king, who despite his many flaws loved her and would go to great lengths to protect her and her children. Who would send her moon tea if she needed it but never forced her to drink it. She also spent a couple of years touring the realm looking for a husband of her choice. Even when she married laenor, it was an open marriage where they each took a lover with the support of their partner. Alicent couldn’t push the boundaries the same way that Rhaenyra did. She would be more likely to get cast out of society if she was rumoured to be having sex before marriage but Otto had instilled enough fear in her to know she wouldn’t disobey him or hurt the family image. Alicent was given more power as queen yes, but it was power she gained through her husband who could take it away at any moment. Alicent did not want to marry Viserys, he announced their marriage without asking her first. Do you think she could have refused? Maybe if he had spoken to her privately and asked her but no young girl is going to insult the king by turning down a proposal in a feudalistic medieval society. Unlike Rhaenyra, Alicent had even less reproductive rights because she had no access to moontea because no maester in his right mind would give it to her unless it was requested by Viserys himself. Going behind the kings back to provent a pregnancy would likely be considered treasonous.

Don’t get me wrong, Rhaenyra is still a westerosi woman with a claim to lose but she is also still a targaryen princess and heir who was protected when her father was alive. Alicent was a lady who never had any freedom, who went from being controlled by her father to becoming the property of the king. Maybe she was jealous of Rhaenyra’s position, if her freedom but I do not like how it was implied that Rhaenyra pushed the boundaries whereas Alicent chose to be a dutiful, perfect lady as if they were born with the same privileges.

[presidenthades]

Can you please give your headcanons on the Alicent & Daemon marriage. It'd be NUTS. We know what Daemon does to a wife with brown hair brown eyes no matter how pretty she is 👀

Also how would TargBros™️ turn out in that family in your opinion? (Aemond would be such a daddy's girl lol) Sadly Daemon doesn't interact with his children at all on the show and Baela even said sometimes she hates him. What would Daemon do with a neurodivergent daughter (Helaena)? Would he dismiss her or would he realise she has dragon dreams?

I believe Daemon is snobby about being Valyrian, and he prefers a Valyrian wife. He also simply does not like Rhea as a person. From what little we saw of Rhea, she’s very headstrong. But so are Laena and Rhaenyra, whom Daemon does like.

The difference with Rhea is that she’s brutally upfront about not liking Daemon, and she verbally cuts him where she thinks it hurts. Meanwhile, Laena and Rhaenyra actually like Daemon, and their headstrong qualities are more akin to flirtatious sassiness than Rhea’s blatant dislike. So Daemon has a certain degree of attitude he will accept from his wife/the women in his life, but he won’t tolerate someone who’s just mean to him (which is fair, although he gives as good as he gets).

I also think Rhea being non-Valyrian AND headstrong is even worse in Daemon’s book. He could justify Laena and Rhaenyra with “they’re Valyrian ladies of the noblest birth, they deserve to be prideful.” But Rhea is of First Men blood and proud of it, without any drop of Valyrian blood. I think Daemon would like (or at least tolerate) her more if she were meeker.

That’s all setup to explain why I think Daemon/Alicent’s marriage could actually work. They wouldn’t love each other, but they could have children, share a household, and fulfill various spousal duties without killing each other.

Alicent is of First Men and Andal blood (some readers theorize the Hightowers also have Valyrian blood due to Oldtown possibly being a Valyrian outpost, but I’m going to ignore that theory in this post). That counts against her in Daemon’s book. However, Alicent as a young girl has a very different personality from Rhea (and Laena and Rhaenyra). She’s demure, courteous, and obedient. She is willing to adapt to her husband’s expectations and tastes, as we can see from how Alicent dresses in Targ colors before the Green Dress scene.

She isn’t whom Daemon would choose, but if he had to marry her, I think he would learn to be content with his marriage. He has a wife who listens to him, takes care of household stuff he isn’t interested in, and publicly presents a united front with him/his house. Although she is the daughter of his hated rival, this might eventually become a positive for him, because he can gloat about bedding Otto’s daughter on the regular. 💀

On Alicent’s side, she seems genuinely pleased when Daemon asks for her favor in S1E1. I think she shares many young ladies’ view of Daemon as a dashing (and roguish) knight. That, plus the fact he’s a Targaryen prince, makes him an excellent marriage prospect for her—on paper at least.

In private, Alicent would probably disagree with a lot of Daemon’s actions/decisions. If she tries to talk with him about it, she would have even less success than with Viserys. She may feel like Daemon looks down on her too much, whereas Viserys at least appears to consider her input (sometimes) when she offers it.

The marriage would almost certainly cause friction between Alicent and Rhaenyra, especially if Daemon continues to push boundaries with Rhaenyra. That’s probably the riskiest part about the marriage. Alicent grew up in a society where highborn women ignore their husbands’ dalliances, but it’s hard when the potential dalliance is her best friend/husband’s niece.

In general, it’s a bad idea to count on kids to save a marriage, but I think it would help Daemon/Alicent. Daemon would be thrilled with four kids—three of them sons—who look extremely Valyrian. Alicent in this AU can focus more on her immediate household and children, without also worrying about duties as queen. She also isn’t stressed about Aegon becoming king, because her children being Daemon’s are definitely behind Rhaenyra according to standard Westerosi succession norms. Also, with Daemon as the father, she isn’t worried about Daemon murking them on Rhaenyra’s behalf.

With Westeros being a deeply gendered society, Daemon would be much closer to his sons than with daughters. He’d be more hands-on than Viserys, and he would personally teach them sword-fighting and dragon riding.

Aegon greatly benefits from an attentive father, a less paranoid mother, and less uncertainty over his heir status (or lack thereof). He probably goes on a lot of Flea Bottom trips with Daemon, but Daemon, who wants his sons to reflect well on him, can make sure Aegon doesn’t go too crazy.

Aemond is probably the favorite child. As the second son of a second son, he bonds with Daemon over that. Lots of father-son bonding in the training yard. I could see Daemon telling Aemond he’ll get Dark Sister one day, but he has to earn the sword first.

Daeron probably keeps the same dynamic with Daemon as in the Handbook. Way too chipper for Daemon’s preference, but Daeron is the baby so Daemon puts up with it. Daeron is definitely not being sent to Oldtown.

It’s normal for daughters’ education to be presided over primarily by their mother, so Helaena ends up being the least close to Daemon. I think he does like having one girl, just to break up the boy litter a bit. He probably has a similar relationship with her as with Rhaena. Distant, no idea how to bond, just leaves her with his wife. Maybe throws her a bug-themed present once in a while. I don’t think Daemon would figure out the dragon dreams on his own, because it he doesn’t believe in such things/disdains them.

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 18

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Eighteen: Brown Eyes

Daemon has never looked at his niece differently, in their years of being together - warmth still flooded his eyes when she was in the room. “It is a shame that Ser Harwin was not present at the children’s birth.” Viserys cleared his throat, causing his brother’s attention to sway. 

“Ser Harwin was occupied with the festivities of Princess Rhaenyra’s second child.” Alicent explains, glancing at her husband - hoping that her slight insinuation would wake Viserys from his long slumber. 

The King ignores his wife again, because Rhaenyra was his favorite daughter - and he’d excuse even the darkest of crimes if it meant saving her. He turns his body to Saera, who was attempting to calm her firstborn.

She smiles, offering a small bow to the three of them. “Father, uncle, Queen Alicent.” she greets, her father offers his open arms to carry the little dragon. 

“And where is Alyssa?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss on his grandson’s forehead. “She’s with Ser Laenor and Prince Jace - she seems to be taken with the sea,” she replies - smiling at her daughter’s fascination with the sea. 

Daemon frowns, not seeming to remember allowing his daughter to go for a swim - but he keeps his frustration to himself. “You could’ve asked for me. Ser Laenor is occupied with his own litter.” he corrects, taking a sip of his wine. 

“Ser Harwin is with them too.” Alicent pipes, already bored of the conversation. 

Viserys turns to his family again, keeping the child close to his chest. “Which reminds me that they need dragon eggs,” he reminded himself. Out of all his grandchildren - the ones from Saera are the ones that look Targaryen. “Thank you, father. I’ve been meaning to give them some,” she smiles - staring at her son who was fascinated with his grandfather. 

Her eyes softened - holding a little hope that her father loved Daegon more than his cousins. “Daemon - I dare say that he looked like you, when you were a babe.” Viserys chuckled, the frown was familiar.

He pressed another kiss to the child’s forehead - seeing the face of his stillborn son in his eyes. 

—

Harwin holds his daughter near his face, pressing a million kisses on her tiny cheeks. Alyssa lets out a loud laugh - earning a smile from her father. “I love you, Isa.” he hums, hearing the door open from behind him. His wife enters the room, carrying three heavy things on her arms. 

Two dragon-eggs and one babe. 

“What is that?” he rises from his chair, switching the babe to his other hand. “My father has gifted them to us, for the children.” she smiled, placing it down on his bed. On her right laid a beautiful red dragon egg - it was small but she knew that it would grow once hatched. It reminded her of Balerion’s skull, and she knew that it would be perfect for any of her children. 

On her left was a blue egg - the largest she’s ever seen, and its color held the ocean and skies. She smiles, it reminded her of Alyssa. Harwin settles on the bed, waiting for Saera to choose an egg for his children. 

Alyssa begins crawling towards the blue-egg. Harwin chuckles. “Of course, she’d choose that one.” he smiles - watching as his daughter began to touch the dragon-egg. 

Saera holds her breath - not expecting it to hatch right away. Some eggs don’t hatch at all, and that wouldn’t make her children any less of a dragon. 

The egg crackles - Harwin’s eyes twinkle with joy. 

It cracks for the second time, and a gray head pokes underneath the broken shells. “A dragon,” he gasps - waiting for it to fully open. Daegon lets out a small cry, hearing the sound of a dragon’s growl. Saera rocks him gently, drowning out the sound of his sister’s giggles. 

“A dragon indeed,” she hums - the gray dragon begins roaring at Harwin - sending him back. The dragon opens his wings, trying to fend off anyone that wants to go closer to his rider. Saera reaches out her hand - the dragon slowly begins climbing her, settling atop her shoulder. 

“Gevie,” she compliments - seeing that its underbelly was blue. 

— (Time Skip: 9 Years) —

Daegon holds his egg by the fire - trying to see if there was a dragon inside of it. There was a seed of doubt in his mind, he didn’t believe that he was a dragon - that’s why his egg didn’t hatch. “It will hatch in due time.” Daemon whispers, placing a hand around his son’s shoulders. The boy rolls his eyes. He’s been patiently waiting - but the gods wouldn’t grant him a dragon. 

“I was a man when I claimed Caraxes - mayhaps you are destined to claim another dragon.” he hums, placing a hand on his son’s chin. “My muña claimed a dragon when she was born - my sister hatched a dragon a few months after she was born. Why can’t I do that?” he huffs, crossing his arms - already forgetting about the dragon-egg on his side. 

Daegon craved a multitude of things - a dragon, his father’s love, and his cousin’s respect. His father favored his sister because she had Bluefyre. He spent his days with his cousins because they had dragons too, but what about him? He could barely ride a horse. “You are destined for greater things - bigger things.” Daemon comforted, his eyes shining with pride at the sight of his little boy. He’d give him the world. 

“I will be the Lord of Harrenhal after my father - how can I defend my people without a dragon?” he complained, earning a soft-glare from his kepa. 

“By sword, if that gives you enough motivation to not be late to your lessons.” his mother’s voice rings out from behind them. 

Daegon stands up with a shy smile. He scratches the back of his head - prepared to whisper another string of apologies. “I’m sorry muña,” he wraps his arms around her - thinking that it would save him from certain doom - but he was no longer a child, his eyes couldn’t melt rage anymore. 

Saera looks down at him with a sigh, placing a hand on his chin and a soft kiss on his forehead. “Ser Criston is waiting,” she points out, tilting her head to the door where Harwin was leaning on the frame.

“Be quick, Daegon - you are wasting everyone’s time.” Harwin replies with a brief and cold voice. He was strict when it came to punctuality. 

Daegon looks behind him - where his uncle was beginning to read a book. “Geros ilas kepa, (Goodbye uncle/father)” he waves, running to Harwin’s direction - not wanting to waste another second. 

Once they were both gone - Daemon rises to his feet, quick to maneuver his body to his lover. “He is too curt with him.” he complains, watching the figure of his son disappear from view. “I’ve been scolding him - but he refuses to stop. Somehow, he believes that it will make our Daegon stronger.” she agrees, wrapping his arms around her body. 

“It will make Daegon hate him.” he grits his teeth. 

He loved the idea of having his children to himself, but a child should never hate his supposed father. He didn’t want that - not even when the idea served him beautifully. 

—

Saera watches her son, nephews and brothers practice combat. It was clear that Ser Criston had favorites - she could bear it. It wasn’t like her son was missing his lessons - as Daemon teaches him too. 

“This is the perfect way of ensuring brotherhood between them,” Viserys remarked, walking alongside Lord Lyonel. Saera resists the urge to scoff, competition bred competition - not brotherhood. “I’m sure that they will use this knowledge in due time.” Saera hums. 

The children were joking around - in hindsight Viserys’ plan was working, but she knew better. Harwin enters the courtyard, watching them. Ser Criston was paying the majority of his attention towards Alicent’s children - something that her husband didn’t like. “We need more mentors - I fear that Daegon is not paid enough attention.” Lord Lyonel suggests his grandson was the apple of his eye. “My son should teach them,” he adds. 

Ser Criston took favor to the Hightowers, and Harwin took favor of his real sons - no one would pay attention to her Daegon. 

“One of the Kingsguards would be a better fit.” She tries to cast her husband a cautious look, but he ignores her. He begins walking towards Criston, her eyes widened as she realizes that a fight was about to go down. 

“You should pay attention to the boys equally, Ser Criston.” she could hear her husband complain, watching his eyes trail softly at Lucerys. 

“ - and you should pay attention to your son, or do you not know which one is yours?” Criston snides - the tension slowly builds. Harwin was a bull, and everyone slowly began to understand why he was called ‘Breakbones’ all those years ago. “Pardon?” he inquires, believing that he heard wrong. 

“Is it true, then? You could not be sated with your wife, and you found comfort in her sister.” Criston provokes, Saera’s grip on her gown tightens - walking down the small steps. One of her handmaidens tries to stop her, but she turns them away. 

The mud was beginning to stain her white gown. 

She looked at the men again, and they were exchanging fists with one another. “Shame,” she whispers - sprinting towards her son and holding him close to her chest. Fearing her husband’s fate at court. 

Her son flinches - watching his father land another blow to Ser Criston, his head bounces in agony. 

“Enough!” the King commands, and everyone comes to a halt. 

next chapter>>

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[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Targ oc

Warnings: Character death

3.07

Vaegon’s brows pull together as you walk slowly through the outer yard, your hand resting on your lower back. His eyes are full of concern. Your sons were of an age where they started to understand the dangers of pregnancy and labor but were still too embarrassed to ask you about it.

“My mother used to tell me discomfort is how we serve the realm,” you say softly. “I had no idea what she truly meant until I was pregnant with you and Aerion, but the discomfort is completely normal. It’s just our bodies changing to make room for the baby.”

“Is it painful?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, my sweet; besides, it’s completely worth it.” You squeezed his shoulder with your free hand, but Vaegon still didn’t look convinced. “If women didn’t endure childbirth, then we would never have our children, and I would be without the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Feeling light drops of water on your face, you look up. The ride over from Dragonstone has been peaceful, but since you landed, the sky has become much murkier, and the sun is disappearing quickly behind the thick gray clouds.

You glance back at the knight walking not far behind. “You don’t need to come in if you don’t wish to; the meetings can be rather dull.”

“No, I think being the king's cupbearer would be an honor.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Very well then.”

Holding your head high, you enter the same room you have been in countless times, yet you feel as if you don’t belong.

—

It was hard for you to read the expressions of the small council members, especially when they seem to be sleeping with their eyes open after rehashing the same issue over and over again. It was clear Alicent was the ruling force during these meetings, and although many times she was right when it came to saving money for the realm, she left no room for negotiation.

You attempt to hide a yawn with the back of your hand, but it is poorly done. Alicent narrows her eyes and asks, “Are the overcrowded cells not enough of a threat to keep you awake, princess?”

“I recall how tired you were towards the end of each pregnancy,” your father chuckles. “As is the case with most women.”

“I say cut their cocks off and be done with it.”

While a few of the lords nodded in agreement, Alicent scoffs, “That is the type of barbaric method I would expect to hear from Daemon.”

“It was Prince Daemon, the former commander of the gold cloaks, who suggested it many years ago; however, since his methods have stopped, the crime level has risen. And I don’t see how permanently taking away the weapon of men who commit the most heinous acts to stop them from repeating them is any more barbaric than cutting the hands of little children who only stole a loaf of bread so that they wouldn’t starve to death.”

Alicent grinds her teeth. “Then please, share what great solution to these problems you have conjured while sitting comfortably upon the throne of Dragonstone.”

“I don’t sit upon the throne; that is my sister’s seat. As will my fathers be one day.” Alicent rolls her eyes, and you tilt your head to look directly at your father, who looked less than impressed. “These men have been charged with being rapists and will remain a threat to the people of King's Land. Give them two options: they can have their cocks cut off and go north, or they can be put to the sword. The night’s watch is always looking for new blood, and the lords of Winterfell will be thankful for the extra men.”

You pause when Vaegon refills Alicent’s cup for her, and her hateful gaze burns into him. When he goes to refill the kings, your father smiles at him and says, “Good lad.”

“As for the children stealing, Lord Lyonel informed me that nearly all of them are from orphanages. If the crown isn’t feeding the poor, then it’s us who have failed.” Alicent opens her mouth to cut in, but you continue before she can. “Princess Rhaenyra has hired a stonemason to build ovens and will have fresh bread made every morning that will be delivered to the orphanages, and whatever is left will be given to the hungry living on the streets.”

“That is the most hono-”

“And how much will this cost the crown?” Alicent asks, cutting the lord who was speaking off.

“It will cost nothing, your grace. The stonemason did it in exchange for his daughter being allowed to assist the dragon keepers in the dragon pit from time to time. She is fascinated by our dragons.”

Alicent raises her eyebrows, challenging you silently.

“It will be the dragon riders on Dragonstone who will fly back and forth to the docks of the keep with the food from the bakery, and hopefully in the future, fresh fruit and vegetables as well.”

“Very well then,” your father smiles. “We will go forth with the ideas Princess Vaella has put forward. What is next?”

“The Stepstones are under threat again, your grace,” Jasper Wylde, master of law, says. “The pirates are taking root, and we must act as a matter of urgency.”

A sense of dread comes over you. “Many good knights died while defeating Craghas Drahar and his army. My king, you cannot allow this to happen again. Seasmoke and Varos are all familiar with the territory; I shall speak to Ser Laenor when I return home, and I will send a raven to my uncle.”

“Would you not fly out, yourself this time, princess?” The maester asks.

“Not while I’m with a child. Vhagar will most likely follow Caraxes, and hopefully the sight of the largest dragon in the world will be enough to sway anyone foolish enough to try and reclaim the stepstones for themselves.”

The council meeting continues until your father eventually ends it, after covering each subject brought up even though he didn’t seem fully satisfied with the solutions. Just as the lords were rising from their seats, a low rumbling came from outside, and a plume of fire was seen above.

“It’s Aegon returning on Sunfyre and Helaena on Dreamfyre!” Vaegon runs to the window and looks up. Excitedly, he asks, “Mother, may I go to the dragon pit?”

You wanted to say yes, knowing how disappointed he was when he never saw the other dragons when you arrived, but you didn’t feel it was safe for him to go alone, and the majority of the knights and you needed to speak to your father. “I’m afraid—”

“Forgive me, princess,” Ser Tyland says. “But I can escort my nephew to the dragonpit. I’ve been dying to see Nightmare and Ashwing.”

Ser Tyland looks genuinely intrigued as he walks to the door with your son. Just as the knight opens the door for them to leave, Alicent takes a gulp of wine and then asks, “Why those names?”

You weren’t sure who the question was directed at, but Vaegon answered. “I cannot recall why my brother chose that name for his dragon, your grace, but I named my dragon Nightmare because of Ser Harwin.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Ser Harwin?”

“Yes, your grace. My stepfather thought he was having a nightmare when he woke during the night and saw something black moving in my crib. He had never seen a baby dragon before and got a fright.”

You smile at the memory; it was one of the few times you’d ever seen Harwin look terrified. The look on his face when you insisted it was cute watching the dragon sleep beside your son and go back to bed was priceless. To you, it was normal, as you used to sleep with your dragon as a baby, but Harwin wasn’t convinced and spent the full night watching over the cribs, doing the same thing when Ashwing hatched.

The queen gives him a doubtful look. “Ser Harwin just happened to be checking on your nursery during the late hours of the night when your dragon hatched?”

“All my children sleep in my bedchambers until they have grown out of their cribs.” You look past her and smile at your son and Ser Tyland. “You better go now if you wish to catch your uncle and auntie before they leave the dragonpit.”

—

Your father makes small talk while the room is cleared, and when it is empty, he cuts straight to the point. “How are the king's hand and his son-in-law holding up?”

“They are both devastated. And I’m afraid Lord Lyonel might not recover from this, and you may need to find yourself a new hand.”

Visibly upset Your father sighs into his hand. “He is a loyal man, a good hand. Lord Lyonel will be difficult to replace.”

“I hope I’m wrong, and he does recover from this.”

“I thought he was no longer ill. The raven Rhaenyra sent suggested he was on the mend.”

“He is no longer physically ill, but mentally, I see him giving up. I hoped being around Harwin and his granddaughter would give him motivation, but he’s sinking deeper into depression.” You take a deep breath as the feeling of dread returns. “Father I… I saw the fire at Harrenhal in a dream years ago. That's why we never returned.”

His face crinkles with concern. “What? You never told me this before.”

“I saw my husband burning in the flames, screaming for his father. So I forbid Harwin from going back; that is why he and his father changed course and returned to Dragonstone. But the same night I had that vision, I had another. I believe it was a prophecy of some kind; on my Valyrian steel, it was written in our mother tongue that my son would be a bringer of blood and flames. I think there is war upon us.”

“Vaella…”

“I’ve been terrified all these years,” you admit. “I never told Harwin because I didn’t want to burden him; he loves those boys as if they were his own. He would gladly give them his house name. and I just never knew how to tell him. Every time I pray, I pray to see which son it is so I can change it and keep them safe.”

“Do you know when this war will start?”

“No, I don’t. This is why it’s so important that if Lord Lyonel doesn’t return to his post, you seek Corlys Velaryon to be your new hand. He is of our blood. He will help keep my children safe, as well as Jace, Luke, and Joff.”

“I think this is premature.”

You reach for his hand and say, “I believe there are vipers hiding amongst the grass, and we will most likely cut them off at the head before they can spread any more venom.”

“And what poison are you alluding to?”

Tears swell in your eyes; you could see it plain as day written on your father's face that he wants to listen to you. “Do not allow Otto Hightower to return to your council; this I beg of you. We spoke of crimes earlier, yet you haven’t addressed the crime of treason. What of those who call Rhaenyra’s sons bastards?”

He wipes your fallen tears away. “I will cut out the tongue of any man or woman who dares say such a thing.”

—

Walking down towards the dragonpit, you feel deflated, knowing your father was blinded by his devotion to his wife to see how the greens plotted against Rhaenyra. You speed up your steps as you smile politely to the lords and ladies you pass. The knight escorting you insisted you slow down; you just needed to leave the red keep.

When you reach the bottom of the staircase, you see Ser Tyland speaking with some other lords. You were confused as to how they made it to the Hill of Rhaenys and back so fast. “Ser Tyland?”

“Princess,” he says. “Prince Vaegon’s dragon is a lot larger than I believed. It must be true what they say about the magic in Dragonstone.”

“Did you travel to the dragonpit?” You ask, trying to catch sight of Vaegon.

“No, when we went outside to the courtyard, Nightmare was flying overhead, so we watched from there. A rare sight indeed.”

Nightmare usually comes and goes from the dragonpit in Dragonstone whenever she wants, so it was expected she’d do so in the keep. You quickly glance around and ask, “Where is my son?”

“With Prince Aegon. He returned shortly after we went outside and went off with him.”

“I just passed my brother in the hallway; my son was not with him.”

Your heart races as you frantically search for any sign of your missing son. Fear grips you like a vice, making it difficult to breathe as you call out for Vaegon. You rush through the different hallways, ignoring Ser Tyland as he calls after you. You feel this new terror could consume you until you spot the one knight in the keep you truly trust.

“Ser Harrold, Ser Harrold!”

He comes to an abrupt stop, as do the knights following behind him, “princess.”

“My son, Prince Vaegon, is missing.”

“You heard the princess; find the prince.” Ser Harrold waves a couple of ladies over. “See to it the princess is resting until we find the prince.”

—

You pace back and forth; fear and panic have a tight grip on your heart. You would not leave until he was found. Feeling a sudden heaviness, you sit with your head in your hands, rethinking your last conversation with Harwin before you leave.

“Stop,” you giggle, feeling your husband's hands roaming over your body. His hands move from your hips to cup your swollen breasts while kissing the back of your neck. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“I can work with that,” he laughs.

“It will take more than ten just to remove my skirts,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m afraid you’ll need to wait until I return, and then we shall have all night.”

“Oh, it shall be a long wait.”

You peck at his lips and say, “But you’ll survive it.”

Since the night you first kissed Harwin, your desire for him has never ceased, nor has his for you. Over the years, you have become more obsessed with each other. Hearing footsteps approaching inside your rooms, you turn to face your son and ask, “Are you ready?”

He nods.

“Have a safe flight.” Harwin kisses you on the cheek, then goes over to Vaegon and pulls him in for a hug. “Be a good lad and look after your mother, eh?”

He nods again, but smiles this time and says, “I will.”

Your sweet, precious boy, you should never have let him out of your sight. You’d never forgive yourself if anything happened to him. When the door opens, your head snaps up and you look at the knight, whose face is still badly swollen and bruised from Harwin. “Ser Criston, has my son been found?”

“The prince has been located; he and princess Helaena are in Godswood.”

Tears fall as you get to your feet. You brush by Criston, and the other knights mumble a thank you before going to the godswood.

—

“My sweet boy!” You kiss your son on the head multiple times, trying your best not to cry again. “God be good; you had me so worried.”

“I’m sorry, mother; Princess Helaena wanted to show me her bug collection.” His eyes were full of regret. “I told Uncle Tyland I was going with her into the godswood; I thought it would be okay.”

Bloody Tyland.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, my sweet,” you sigh. “I just didn’t know where you went and got a fright.”

You look around, surprised that there aren’t any knights nearby. You watch your younger sister, who was happily sitting on the roots of the tree, playing without bugs, and smile softly. “Helaena, don’t you have a sworn protector?”

She doesn’t answer you because she's caught up in what she’s doing. You were desperate to leave, but don’t feel comfortable leaving Helaena alone outside. You place your hand on her shoulder and ask, “Sister, did a knight come out here with you?”

The young girl flinches at your touch. Tilting her head up, she says, “He’ll always fly but never run again.”

“Okay…”

“Three rivers; three dragon heads; weaving the colors of blue, red, green, black, and white. But no, he will never run again.”

—

The adrenaline from fear and panic was still fresh when you stepped into the great hall. Food was still being brought to the high table, and your family was still sitting around it. When you got closer, you noticed Rhaenyra and your cousin's absence. But Jacaerys and Lucerys were sitting with Aerion and Ada.

You motion for your son to go join his siblings, then look to Harwin. “Are my sister and Laenor not joining us?”

Harwin wraps his arms around you in a comforting embrace. He kisses the crown of your bed; his touch offers a small measure of solace amidst the overwhelming feeling that something terrible has happened.

“Harwin?”

He whispers into your ear so that the children don’t hear. “Rhaenyra is trying to console Ser Laenor. A raven arrived from Pentos.”

“Daemon?”

“I’m afraid Lady Laena has died during childbirth.”

[thevampireslovelywife]

NightFlower fic- Narcissa x Alice -2765 words Based off the song 'Good Luck Babe' by Chappell Roan

Narcissa was a fool. She knew it full and well, yet her pride never let her admit that to anyone else. Especially not to Lily. No matter how much she wanted to. As she sat at the dinner table, sitting next to her new husband, all that she could think about was her. She knew what she did was for the best, it had to be. There was no way she could love Lily, it had just been misguided feelings those last two years. It took everything Narcissa had not to think about what she had been doing when she left Lily to return back home and marry Lucius. Lucius wasn’t a bad husband; Quiet, seemingly unfeeling, but he wasn’t a bad husband. He just wasn’t Lily. Everything that was wrong, was wrong because Lily wasn’t there. Lily was constantly on Narcissa’s mind, and she didn’t understand why. They were friends, that’s all it was. All it would ever be. That one time… that one kiss. It was nothing. Lily just wanted to try it out, surely it didn’t mean anything to Lily. Not that it meant anything to Narcissa– or so she told herself. Lucius stared at Narcissa, watching her get that far away look in her eye once more. She always seemed to be thinking of something, or someone, else. But, he left her to it.

This marriage was not out of love, the both of them knew that well. They never talked about it, that one time on the day of consummation, as Lucius finished, he called out someone else’s name. Narcissa was surprised he said a name at all, but he did not expect it to be her eldest sister’s name. She had looked at him with wide eyes at the time, not caring about the moment they were in at all. Narcissa would’ve said something but he looked just as horrified at himself. So, neither one of them said anything and just went to sleep. Narcissa was sympathetic about it, sad that she was the one to separate him and her sister. But she didn’t dwell too much on it. She couldn’t when her every single waking thought since getting married was about Lily. Lily would still be in school, Lily would be doing this, Lily would be doing that…  Narcissa just wanted it to stop. She knew her and Lily would never see each other again, and even if they did… They wouldn’t be friends like before. 

But all it takes is one little push for everything to come crumbling down doesn’t it? The monthly going out on a date with Lucius for “appearances” was one of Narcissa’s least favorite days. She wanted nothing more for their unloving relationship to stay within the confines of their home, so she could pretend she wasn’t married. That she hadn’t left the only person who mattered to her besides her sisters back at Hogwarts. That Narcissa wasn’t doomed to a life as a housewife with a husband who was in love with her sister. Narcissa knew this was what was expected of her. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. She would never let others see those feelings though, in that sense, Narcissa was a Black through and through. Never let any sign of weakness be shown, was a sentiment her father ingrained in her from a young age. He said it to all of his daughters, yes, but a lot more to Narcissa. Because she was different. She was the one with light blonde hair and dark eyes, standing out from her sisters. Narcissa was the one that truly couldn’t show any weakness. Lily though–Lily would be the death of her. Narcissa’s only weakness. Now seeing Lily at the art gallery that Lucius had brought them to, knocked all the air right out of Narcissa’s lungs. Lily. Lily. Lily. Lily. Lily. It was Lily, out of all the people in this world, right here in this gallery, there was Lily. The one who Narcissa spent every single waking hour and dream thinking of. Her best friend. Narcissa wanted nothing more than to go over there, to call out for her– but she couldn’t. A slap to her face would’ve hurt less than what she saw. Lily was there, dressed in her usual Gryffindor robes– as if that didn’t hurt enough, knowing she couldn’t even go to school anymore– but she was with another girl. The other girl was beautiful to say the least. She had dark skin and hair, her curls falling loosely around her face. She seemed kind and sweet, and Lily was smiling at her. The same way she used to with Narcissa. Narcissa could feel her heart breaking, and she wasn’t sure why. Lucius looked down at Narcissa, seeing the way in which she was looking. She always believed she wasn’t obvious– and most times Narcissa wasn’t– but right now, it was so painfully obvious, at least from Lucius’ point of view. Or maybe he was just more attuned to seeing those little signs of longing, after doing them himself for so long. 

Lucius, being who he was and knowing exactly what it was like to be in her position, acted outwardly kind for one of few times in his life. Leaning down to whisper barely audibly in her ear, “Go. Talk to her.” Narcissa whipped her head towards him, her face not moving an inch from its stoicness, but clear in surprise for Lucius. She shook her head, composing herself. “No,” She replied, her voice barely loud enough to be heard by Lucius, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We’re just friends.” Lucius raised an eyebrow at her, “When did I ever say you weren’t?” He knew he had insinuated it, but the response he had gotten was just too defensive for him to pass the opportunity. Narcissa realized she messed up. She revealed her weakness. Lucius could feel the internal panic radiate off of her, so he held out his arm for her, as he always did when they walked around. He was giving her an out– just as she gave him that night– to never talk about it again and pretend it never happened. She took his arm gracefully, trying to hide the way it shook ever so slightly. 

When they got home that night, Narcissa immediately took Lucius to bed. It wasn’t abnormal for them to have sex, whenever one seemed to be having a particularly bad day, it was their way to take their minds off of things. It was a thing of raw, pure desire. They wanted to forget that they were there with each other, to pretend that they were instead anywhere but there. Lucius always felt guilty, knowing he was thinking of her sister every time they did this, but knew Narcissa did not care. Narcissa was always crying, feeling guilty about a whole different person as she was pleasured. Lily always appeared in Narcissa’s thoughts, but times like these were the worst times. Narcissa knew she shouldn’t be thinking of Lily, that she should be focused on the ethereal man in front of her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t not think of Lily. The way Lily’s red hair fell beautifully around her shoulders and waist, the way Lily’s green eyes lit up when they had seen Narcissa, the way Lily looked at her after they had kissed for the first and last time…

Narcissa was now out by herself, needing to get some air and clear her head. Seeing Lily again had fucked with her head a lot, and after days of functioning around half sober, she decided it was time to go outside. It scared her, the thought of seeing Lily again. But she couldn’t stay inside forever. Walking through the array of shops, Narcissa began to have hope. That she could get through the day without tripping herself up because of Lily. That she could possibly, possibly, try to move on. Thought that just couldn’t happen though, could it? 

There Lily was again, in all her fiery glory, standing outside Olliviander’s. She was just admiring the boxes and boxes of wands, because she did not need another one, but Narcissa thought she looked so stunning. Lily’s head turned, and spotted Narcissa. It felt like the whole world had frozen and they were back in that moment. Narcissa telling Lily she had to leave and Lily, for once in her life, begging. Begging for Narcissa to stay, to not leave. Narcissa wanted to run– away or towards Lily; she wasn’t sure. But Lily made that decision for her. Lily began to walk towards Narcissa, and before Narcissa could even take a step, Lily was at her side.

“Cissa.” The name left Lily’s mouth as easily as breathing.

“Lily.” Narcissa returned, not trusting herself to say much more.

There was so much both of them wanted to say to each other but neither of them knew where to start. But they both knew the first to speak would be Lily. “How… How have you been? It’s… been so long.” The last part came out as almost a whisper, as if she was remembering the last time they saw each other. Narcissa nodded, still unsure as to what she should say. Deep down, the only words she really wanted to say were, “I’m sorry”

Lily looked at Narcissa in disbelief. Narcissa wanted to crawl into a hole and die, she had said that out loud. Lily was left speechless. She knew why Narcissa did what she did, why she left. Even if it hurt, Lily understood. But Narcissa never apologized. The middle Black was never in the habit of saying “I’m sorry” to anyone, as apologizing meant you did something wrong. Had a weakness. So the fact that those words had left Narcissa’s mouth at all, especially in public, left Lily stunned. “You…just. Come with me.” Lily grabbed Narcissa’s hand, causing her heart to leap back into her chest. They moved over into a small alleyway, which winded around to a door. Lily took out a key and opened it, leading them inside. “Where are we?” Narcissa questioned. “My flat. I have it for when I don’t want to stay in Hogwarts during the holidays but don’t really want to go back home either.” Narcissa felt her heart break for the hundredth time since seeing Lily again. She used to be the one Lily stayed with at Hogwarts over the Holidays when most everyone went home. It had been hard to convince Cygnus to let Narcissa stay. In fact, the reason she was able to stay then is the reason they’re here now. Her father made her promise that in return for staying at Hogwarts, she would return home to get married before the end of her sixth year. Narcissa agreed then, not anticipating the pain it would cause them both in the future. Lily gestured for Narcissa to sit, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I’m fine standing.” She waved Lily off. Lily sighed, knowing Narcissa well enough to know she wouldn’t budge from where she was, so Lily moved over to her. 

Silence hung over their heads like a guillotine, one that would be let loose at any moment if either of them said a word. Both of their minds were racing, so much was left unfinished between the two. Lily knew if this went on any longer, it would end with nothing being said at all, and them becoming strangers once more. There was just so much to say, that she wasn’t sure where to start. The apology? What happened last year? How Narcissa truly felt about her…

“Narcissa–” Lily started but stopped when she saw Narcissa slightly flinch, immediately switching her words, “Cissa.  What’s… what’s this?” Lily motioned between her and Narcissa, “There’s no way we’re just friends. You can’t play all that– as just friends.” Narcissa’s heart stopped. They were. They were only friends, there was no way they were anything but. Narcissa didn’t like girls. No– she couldn’t. There was no way her feelings for Lily were anything besides platonic. But the small flutters in Narcissa’s heart meant something, she knew this. She wouldn’t believe it though. 

“No. We’re friends Lily. We always have been.” Narcissa dismissed promptly. There was no room for love in Narcissa’s heart. Especially not for a girl.

“We’re not. We kissed.” Lily looked at Narcissa head on. It was time they faced this. 

“Because you asked me to Lily. I only did it because you asked.” Narcissa refuted. 

“You told me you liked me, Cissa. And I know, I know you didn’t mean it platonically.” Narcissa wanted to dissapear. Lily didn’t understand. She didn’t like girls. She didn’t…

“Tell me honestly Narcissa,” Lily continued, not even minding the fact that she used her whole name once more, “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave. Tell me you feel nothing and I’m gone. Forever.”

Feeling more than she ever had in her whole life, Narcissa was scared. She needed Lily, more than the air she breathed. Lily was her life, her flower, hers. Narcissa couldn’t imagine a life without Lily, not after experiencing it for the last year. It was excruciating. Every single day, Narcissa could not stop her thoughts from wandering back to her friend. She was always in Narcissa’s head, even when she isn’t around. Placing it out in front of her, Narcissa couldn’t deny it anymore. She didn’t like girls. She liked Lily. She loved Lily. More than anything else in the world. More than her own life. But they couldn’t be together.

“I’m married, Lily. This isn’t fair.” Was all she could respond with. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell Lily she loved her too. 

“That wasn’t the question,” Lily’s voice began to crack, tears spilling down her cheek, “Do you, or do you not, love me?”

“I don’t like girls, Lily.” No, I like you, resounded in the back of her mind. 

“That wasn’t what I asked you!” Lily was now sobbing, taking shaky steps towards Narcissa until they were less than a foot away. Instinctively, Narcissa wrapped her hands around Lily’s waist as Lily grabbed onto Narcissa’s dress. 

“I can’t Lily– I just can’t…I love you, so much it pains me. But I can’t- we can’t-” Before Narcissa could even finish her refusal before Lily’s lips were on hers, kissing her with complete abandon. Narcissa wrapped her hands around Lily tighter, not wanting to ever leave this moment. They kissed with a passion Narcissa could only imagine in fairytales. A love like this was one of a kind– something on such a deep level one would die without the other. Their souls would never not think of each other. Narcissa knew that as soon as this kiss was over, she'd have to leave. To leave Lily again, and all of this behind. Lily had school, a life, and Narcissa did too. Narcissa had a husband and responsibilities. There was no way in this universe that they could be together. Narcissa wished they could, that there was a way. Her father would never stand for it though. Cygnus would find a way to torture Lily to get at Narcissa and force her to come back. She didn't have a choice. Lily pulled away, and Narcissa felt the weight of the world return to her shoulders. Lily's emerald eyes looked at Narcissa pleadingly, just like they did last year. “Please Cissa, not again.” But Narcissa had to live with the decision this time. There was no going back this time; No secret meetings like this one. 

“I’m sorry, Lily.” 

Were the last words she said to her, before placing one more kiss upon Lily's forehead and leaving. She was walking away from the only person she would ever love, and Lily's cries as she walked out the door would haunt her nightmares. As soon as she got home, Narcissa locked herself in her and Lucius’ room and cried. Cried like a child for the first time since she was a small child. She had lost Lily, her other half for the rest of her life. She knew it was her fault, it was her decision and she had made it. When Narcissa left that flat, and Lily, she left her whole being there as well. There was nothing left for Narcissa now in this damned life. She was bound to suffer the weight of her choices. But she’d have to stop the world, to stop the feelings she had for Lily. 

@deadchaoticcosmos @marylily-my-beloved

[notexactlyrocketscience]

TMA ending reflections (and theories about the sequel!)

When I initially listened to the ending, it felt like a good plan (and the prospects of a perfect happy ending) unnecessarily jeopardised. Jon and Martin’s panicked conversation sounded so hopeless and their final decision felt impulsive. Everything was in shambles, and a good outcome was unlikely at this point. The promise of Somewhere Else seemed like an empty euphemism to make certain death more bearable. I was frustrated, and heartbroken.

Now that I've taken a few days to process and distanced myself from the characters' momentary pain, I actually truly believe that what happened at the end was a happy accident instead.

I don’t think I can put it better than the Reddit post already has—The original plan proposed by Annabelle could have had equally (if not worse) disastrous outcomes. Even if it had been canonically executed, knowing the way Jonny and Alex love to write, things would still have been shown to end ambiguously—just less tragically poetic. For the purposes of the narrative, I think they did a great job of ending the series on a climactic, fulfilling (and hopeful!) note that remains faithful to the overall tone of The Magnus Archives. Jon and Martin weren’t exactly planning on doing what they did, but it’s given them a chance at the best and happiest ending that was up for grabs.

And I love that I genuinely don’t feel like I have to be in denial of the canon at all to fully believe in this interpretation, since it was left strictly ambiguous on purpose.

But there’s more!

The Magnus Protocol teaser has a seemingly unharmed (and physically corporeal) Martin surprised to see the familiar tape recorder show up again, long after he’s assumed they’ve stopped listening. This, plus the fact that Jonny and Alex have confirmed they will appear in TMA 2, tells me:

It’s unlikely that Jonny and Alex will appear simply to voice other side-characters, even those with distorted voices. It’s clear from Q&As that they take casting very seriously. I can’t see them double-casting (former) main characters.

So we’ll see Martin again, post-escape from Eyepocalypse. Not just an old S1-to-S5-era never-seen-before Magnus Archives tape found by Alice and Sam. Including formerly unrevealed tapes from TMA would be a really nice touch (and I hope we’ll get that too!), but I’m sure Jonny wouldn’t release that particular teaser if he wasn’t solidly planning on following through in some way. Jonny has always been very serious about giving the audience breadcrumb trails with properly viable clues.

Well … what about post-Eyepocalypse Jon? Well, I think Jon is only going to appear in such a way that either fully retains the ambiguity of the TMA ending, or hints/confirms in some way that he is also alive and unharmed (in whatever avatar or semi-avatar form).

In any case, if post-Eyepocalypse Martin (and maybe Jon) do indeed appear (which seems very likely at this point), it will also be implied or shown that they are, indeed, together—in a non-tragic, romantic, bordering on wholesome way.

I say this because confirming their death or separation after the TMA finale would completely ruin the sanctity of the ending. It’s really neatly tied up and beautiful as it is right now. Answering questions to ambiguous events negatively in sequels (eg having formerly surviving main characters simply as side-characters who die in sequels) is really hard to land properly. It borders on being disrespectful of the investment the audience put into the original. Jonny has always been very receptive and sensitive to these things.

However, showing that characters from a previously ambiguous ending are living their best lives as mysterious side-characters that pop in and out—bamboozling the main characters (but delighting the audience)—is a lot easier to execute favourably. It also keeps from taking attention away from the protagonists and the main plot of the sequel.

So my expectation (read: hope) is that we’re going to see Jon and Martin in our world, where the end of TMA implied that the tapes are, and where I assume The Magnus Protocol is set! They will be happy and together (this may be explicit or implied vaguely, I am not sure how they’d keep that completely ambiguous if the post-Eyepocalypse versions of the characters themselves explicitly appear), and nothing worse than TMA finale will happen to them.

I only have this belief because I have incredible faith in Jonny and Alex as writers! I think they subverted insensitive tropes creatively and did just about everything right in TMA, and I can’t say that about most authors I love. Yes, I do generally want my blorbos to be safe and happy, but the above is not just a culmination of my wishful thinking. Jonny and Alex have already said that they certainly aren’t going to try to overshadow TMA, but I’m also hoping The Magnus Protocol will complement TMA while not really trying to step on TMA’s toes. They didn't have to drop so many JonMartin return hints (or even write JonMartin into TMA 2 at all) but they did. Super excited and optimistic for what's to come!

[asoiafandotherbooks]

TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: The Black Brides

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

It is 47 AC and Maegor still does not have a son. No one thought it likely Tyanna would give him an heir. Tyanna continued to serve as Mistress of Whispers but Maegor no longer sought her bed. What to do? More wives of course! But who? The members of the Small Council named their candidates:

Grand Maester Bennifer (Maegor’s 4th Grand Maester) suggested Clarisse Dayne, the Lady of Starfall, in order to detach her lands and house from Dorne

Alton Butterwell, the Master of Coin, offered his widowed sister, a stout woman with seven children. Alton stated she was no beauty but her fertility had been proven beyond a doubt.

Lord Celtigar had two young maiden daughters, twelve and thirteen years old. He urged the king to pick one or both.

Lord Velaryon urged Maegor to wed Rhaena, his niece and the widow of Aegon the Uncrowned, thus uniting the two claims, and acquire a hostage against any plots

Let’s go over the suggestions:

Clarisse Dayne was never going to happen. The wars against Dorne were too fresh in the Dornish minds. It would have been fun if the offer was sent and Clarisse sent a “if I only had two heads response” that Henry VIII received to one of his proposals. Of course, the taunting wouldn’t have been wise since the rejected suitor has Balerion.

Alton Butterwell’s sister was rejected on grounds of unattractiveness. Was she Maegor’s Anne of Cleves?

The suggestion of Rhaena was the most logical. If Maegor was less Maegor. However, Rhaena hates Maegor and with good reason.

As for Lord Celtigar’s maiden daughters…on the surface this tactic is like show-Otto Hightower pushing Alicent as a bridal candidate to Viserys Targaryen. Otto receives massive hatred from the fanbase for pushing Alicent into the marriage. I feel the hatred for Otto is overstated. The constant use of women as cattle in the Game of Thrones is disgusting but is Otto any different from Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, or even Rikard Stark? They all used their daughters to further their own ambitions, regardless of their daughters’ personal desires. That said, the hatred the fandom has for Otto is the hatred I have for Celtigar. Viserys, for all his numerous faults, was never a physical danger to Alicent, not including the dangers of pregnancy and childbirth. Maegor has proven he is an erratic, violent, temperamental tyrant. The fate of Alys Harroway should have kept any loving father from pushing his daughter as a marriage candidate. The only one proven to reign in Maegor was Visenya. How are a twelve- and thirteen-year-old expected to handle him?

Maegor listened to the arguments, took bits and pieces from the input, and decided: three wives should do the trick.

Maegor worried over the threat Alyssa Velaryon and her remaining children posed to his reign. He had been unable to find Alyssa and her two youngest. Rumors abounded that the family had fled across the Narrow Sea, to Tyrosh or Volantis.

He knew the location of Rhaena. She was in Fair Isle. Aerea, the eldest of Rhaena and Aegon the Uncrowned’s twins, was the logical heir of Maegor. The twins were barely a year old and Rhaena knew that pressing their claims would be a death sentence. Rhaena had died their hair, changed their names, and sent them from her, entrusting them to powerful allies, “who would see them fostered in good homes by worthy men who would have no inkling of their true identities”. Rhaena herself didn’t know their locations – she couldn’t reveal what she didn’t know, even under torture.

Rhaena made no attempt to disguise herself because she would never be able to hide Dreamfyre, her dragon. It’s noted that Dreamfyre had produced two clutches of eggs by this time.

Maegor summoned Rhaena to King’s Landing. She went. Rhaena had “grown fond of Lord Farman, and more than fond of his second son, Androw”. Not mentioned is Rhaena’s fondness for Elissa. Rhaena would not repay the Farmans’ kindness by causing Balerion to be unleashed on Fair Isle.

Rhaena arrived at King’s Landing and learned she was to marry Maegor. She also met her fellow soon to be brides: Lady Jeyne of House Westerling and Lady Elinor of House Costayne.

Lady Jeyne had been married to Alyn Tarbeck, who had died with Prince Aegon at the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye. She had given birth to a son a few months later. Tall and slender, with lustrous brown hair, Jeyne was being courted by a younger son of Lord Lyman Lannister when Maegor sent for her.

Lady Elinor had been the wife of Ser Theo Bolling, a landed knight who had fought for Maegor in his last campaign against the Poor Fellows. She had given birth to three sons by the time she was nineteen. The youngest boy was still at her breast when Maegor had Ser Theo arrested and charged with “conspiring with Queen Alyssa to murder the king and place the boy Jaehaerys on the Iron Throne. Theo was found guilty and beheaded the same day of his arrest. Maegor gave Elinor seven days to mourn before she had to marry him. How generous!

We are offered no insight on the women’s feelings on their upcoming marriage or of their relationship with their deceased spouses. Rhaena is the exception as we were told earlier in the book of her close bond with her sibling-spouse. Its clear she despises Maegor but is determined to keep her daughters safe.

Jeyne and Elinor’s first marriages were most likely arranged as they were members of the nobility. Did they love their husbands? Dislike them? Neutral? Was Jeyne fond of the younger Lannister son who was courting her? Or was she resigned to a remarriage as the Lannisters were the ruling House of the Westerlands?

And Elinor…her husband, and the father of her children, was falsely accused and executed by the man she is now forced to wed! I can only imagine the seething anger she must have felt but being forced to play the “Sansa” role to save her children’s lives.

Septon Moon, the “High Septon” of the Poor Fellows denounced Maegor’s wedding plans but everyone else stayed quiet and kept their heads down.

On a warm spring day in 47 AC, Maegor wed his three “Black Brides” as the people of King’s Landing referred to the women. The brides were garbed and cloaked in the colors of her father’s house. The Rise of the Dragons book has a gorgeous picture of the Black Brides. Those dresses were magnificent.

The presence of Jeyne and Elinor’s children ensured they played their parts in the ceremony. Any defiance from Rhaena was squashed when Tyanna led her twin daughters to the ceremony.

The stories of the wedding night are queer and contradictory:

Did the Black Brides share a single bed?

Did Maegor consummate each marriage that night in individual beds?

Did Rhaena attempt to kill Maegor with a concealed dagger as she later claimed?

Did Elinor scratch Maegor’s back to bloody ribbons?

Did Jeyne Westerling drink a fertility potion that Queen Tyanna brought her or throw it into her face?

The maester admits he doesn’t know the truth of any of these stories. He does note the fertility potion account doesn’t appear until well into the reign of Jaehaerys, twenty years after the death of both women.

Let’s discuss the rumors. The details of the bedding..this wasn’t an Alys-Maegor-Tyanna situation so I doubt there was a group bedding. These women hated Maegor. It was a chore to accomplish not an anticipated moment. Of note is Tyanna’s lack of involvement in the bedding. She and Maegor were clearly on the outs.

We can safely say Rhaena did not attempt to kill Maegor despite her claims. The risk to her daughters was too great if she failed.

If Elinor scratched Maegor’s back to “bloody ribbons”, it wasn’t from passion, it was from hate.

Jeyne’s fertility potion…doubtful. The story probably started after Tyanna’s claims of poisoning Jeyne and Elinor.

In the aftermath of the wedding, Maegor declared Aerea as his heir until he had a son of his own and sent Rhaella to Oldtown to be raised as a septa. He disinherited Jaehaerys, “the rightful heir by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms.”

What law exactly? The concept of the “Seven Kingdoms” only happened when Aegon I conquered Westeros. And I don’t recall Aegon I creating a “no girls on the Iron Throne” rule.  And, yes, before its brought up, Aegon was the king despite Visenya being the oldest but he clearly saw his sisters/spouses as his equals. Rhaenys and Visenya didn’t “advise”, they sat the Iron Throne! Visenya was the true backbone of the first three Targaryen reigns!

This “rightful heir by the laws” nonsense smacks of Jaehaerys ordering the maesters to spread to justify his usurpation of the throne from Aerea. And yes, Jaehaerys stole the throne. If Aegon the Uncrowned was a king (and Alyssa Velaryon did crown him), Aerea is the heir. If Maegor is the rightful king, Aerea is his declared heir. You’ll notice that Jaehaerys doesn’t have his brother, Aegon the Uncrowned, declared as a lawful king. Why? Because it makes his usurpation of Aerea’s throne more obvious.

Jeyne’s son was confirmed as Lord of Tarbeck Hall and sent to be raised as a ward of Lyman Lannister. Elinor’s two eldest were sent to the Eyrie and Highgarden. Her youngest was turned over to a wetnurse as Maegor found her breastfeeding “irksome”. I’m sure the fact that its harder, but not impossible, to become pregnant while breastfeeding was also an aspect in the decision. Or Maegor could simply be an ass.

Up next, two queens announce their pregnancy and two queens die.

[goldeneyedgirl]

AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal

The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.

So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3

iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.

very non-graphic wound description

She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.

It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.

There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.

But mostly, she just feels anticipation.

It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.

She’s still nervous.

(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)

She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)

The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.

And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.

Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.

Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.

They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.

If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.

(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)

She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.

Like what lies beneath the church.

It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.

Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…

She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.

She can’t wait.

But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.

The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.

And then there is him.

He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.

Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.

And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.

…Or what should have been one swift move.

Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.

He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.

His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.

(He’s magnificent.)

And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.

“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.

How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.

She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.

“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.

“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”

He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.

“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.

“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”

“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.

“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”

He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”

She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”

“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.

The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.

But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.

No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.

But maybe…

“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”

His gaze burns into her.

“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”

She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”

“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.

“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.

“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”

“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”

“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.

“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”

“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.

“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”

The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”

He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.

“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.

“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.

“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.

“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”

It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.

One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.

“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.

The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.

And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.

“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”

Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.

Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.

She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.

He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.

She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.

But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.

But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.

Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.

If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.

So they cannot break them.

She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.

He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.

But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.

“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.

He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.

And then…

And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.

“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.

She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.

“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.

“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.

It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.

And then…

She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.

“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.

The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.

She remembers it well.

—

They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.

After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.

“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.

It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.

The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.

And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.

“Done,” she says softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.

“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…

Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.

He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.

“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.

“Let’s go.”

—

He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.

He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.

He is free.

His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.

He has been crippled, possibly forever.

Except…

She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.

But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.

Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.

He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.

“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.

“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.

“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”

“I did.”

“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”

He’s silent, staring at her.

“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.

“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”

“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.

“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”

She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.

She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.

“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”

He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.

How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?

“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.

He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.

Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.

“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.

Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.

And her reason for everything.

He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.

She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.

It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.

The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.

Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.

“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."

[theforgottenmcrmy]

live reactions to house of the dragon season 2, episode 7

as always, this is just for fun🖤

spoilers below the cut

Has EVERY episode’s intro been slightly different this season, or am I losing it?👀

Getting right into it.

I’m going with others on this one in saying Rhaenyra initially might have believed Laenor had returned🥲

Syrax and Seasmoke reunion is probably not what they would have imagined either…

Addam: “you gotta believe me, this dragon chose ME😅😅😅”

Alicent talking about women being cast aside or hated as though she did not facilitate BOTH of those things being done to Rhaenyra many times over🫥

So it was Seasmoke Rhaena tried to claim previously, and it “nearly devoured her”…. And yet they expected better results with someone who had even less Targaryen (AND Velaryon) blood than Rhaena?😅

“What if the rider? Do we know who he is?” YOU should know him, Corlys😂

I love you Rhaenyra but Syrax isn’t give Aemond and Vhaegar any second thoughts😅😅😅

“A common shipwright vows to serve you, while your brother seeks to destroy you.” Nothing but facts here 🫡

“Let us raise an army of bastards.” POETIC JUSTICE, IM HERE FOR IT 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

“Well done” is all Corlys has to say. Not sure why part of me expected more.

I love how Oscar Tully isn’t scared of Daemon. Tell him like it is, my lord.

The fish scale looking armor is so cool.

Ser Simon’s looking nervous as hell😅😂

“The King in the Riverlands!” “The King in the-“ oh wait, wrong show😅

Wait, what’s going on👀👀👀

Wowwwww, Daemon’s really just gonna stand by while this goes down?!?

Oh wait, it’s even WORSE, WTF——-

See, I’ve let most of the changes slide without comment, but now this is a change that I HAVE to comment on. How are we supposed to believe that House Blackwood won’t be bitter with Daemon now after what happened to Willem?! And they were one of Rhaenyra’s most steadfast supporters in Fire and Blood, no?!?!

Aegon’s looking 20+ older😅

I wish I could feel more sympathetic for Aegon. But I remember what he did in season 1, and I’m not willing to overlook it.

Alicent gave up on parenting her Aegon, so Larys is stepping up😇

“I am of salt and sea.” Isn’t that almost verbatim what Baela told Corlys the heir to Driftmark needed to be?👀

Noooooo, please don’t send the children to Pentos😭

Rhaena “time to shoot my shot” Targaryen. Just like her mother with Vhaegar.

“Mongrels.” *”really?!* look from Rhaenyra😂

“Did you think I would have dark hair?” WE CANNOT HAVE THIS CONVO RIGHT NOW, please. My heart cannot take this….

I stg if this is there last serious convo before the Gullet…

Jace begging Rhaenyra not to pursue the lowborn dragonriders in order to protect his own claim in the future… echoes to young Rhaenyra arguing with Viserys about being replaced with Alicent’s children💔

Also, Jace foreshadowing almost verbatim as to what will happen with the two Betrayers…

I’ve decided Ulf isn’t a Targaryen bastard at all, just a drunk who crafted a clever lie to keep him drinking for free.

Now Hugh, on the other hand- I’m more inclined to believe his story. Regardless of what happens.

Really? The dragon keepers abandoning Rhaenyra in her hour of need? It’s a good thing they didn’t exist in the book, because something tells me if they did, they wouldn’t have done that🤷🏼‍♀️

Rhaenyra’s outfit though👌🏻

As happy as I am to see Baela present and offering her support, Jace’s absence is even more apparent🥲

Also, and this is extremely random, I love how whenever we have Dragonstone scenes, we can always hear dragons in the background. Makes the emptiness in GOT scenes in Dragonstone heavier.

Loveeee that some of these “Targaryen bastards” have dark hair. Lends weight to Targaryen white/silver hair need not always be dominant as proof of parentage.

I wanna know how they summoned Vermithir TO the cave… or are there like different caves/“nests” for each dragon?👀 because if that’s true, that’s cool as hell and also extremely practical

RHAENYRA, THE DRAGON WHISPERER/QUEEN🖤

They really all dipped as soon as possible😅

Did Ulf just get swept away, or-

The amount of foreshadowing with Rhaenyra this season is actually insane

Oooo, calling it now, Ulf is gonna go wandering out, and find Silverwing along the way.

Damn, Vermithor really out here just having a snack until he finds who he’s looking for👀

Hugh being claimed by trying to save someone else’s life says something… still wandering what on earth goes wrong

Aw, Vermithor looks kinda happy. Do you think he’s been lonely all these years without the Old King?🥲

Silverwing really just casually nudging Ulf away from her eggs like😂😂😅

Then immediately going, “we gonna go for a flight now, or?!”

Imagine being a peasant in King’s Landing, being on the brink/in the middle of war, knowing almost all Targaryens (that you’re aware of) have dragons of their own, and all the sudden seeing the dragon of Good Queen Alysanne with a new rider, just flying about King’s Landing…

That ending shot though!!!!!🖤🖤🖤🔥🔥🔥

King’s Landing, a certain queen is coming for you🤭🖤

DREAMFYRE?!?! FINALLY?!

I will not survive next week if the Gullet is now moved to season 3. Please💔💔💔

[lyraoctaviawrites]

Welcome to the Octaviaverse!

This is the side blog for @lyraoctavia and I will be posting everything relating to my writing, artwork, music, games, etc here from now on. I thought it would be better to split the two to keep things more focused on the ridiculously expansive interconnected universe I’ve created over my many years as a human being, featuring literally dozens of ideas because I am a slave to my own creativity and my work is never finished. Sound good? Of course it does!

What kind of stuff do I do?

Writing: I like to write stories, usually fantasy, with epic, sprawling worlds, intricate magic, sarcastic and often completely ridiculous humour, identifiable characters with a ton of emotional development and campy ass villains who will entertain you so much that you’ll want to grind them into a fine paste with a large boot. However, I wouldn’t be adverse to also writing some slice of life stuff too. I am a certified Alice Oseman fangirl after all. I tend to not shy away from commenting on certain serious issues (e.g. abuse, death, self harm, attempted suicide) as well, so a lot of my works contain trigger warnings. However, I don’t enjoy writing explicit sexual content or stuff with a ton of blood and gore so don’t expect any of that.

Games: I am currently a game design student so most if not all of my game ideas are just that. Ideas. Ones that I will undoubtedly be crafting into the incredible experiences I know they have the ability to be. Most of my ideas are for platformers or RPGs with very little in-between and will all have, hopefully, perfect blends of story and gameplay. I personally hate when a story based game is bogged down by too many cutscenes, especially if the gameplay isn’t really that interesting so I’ll always try and strike a balance or find a workaround. My games all have amazing stories to tell but a story ain’t all a game is. Might as well make em fun first, right?

Music: I got a little less to say about this one. Most of my music writing is for my games that don’t exist yet, so I literally have hundreds of tracks just kinda sitting around waiting for me to use them. Sometimes I make other music but that’s rare. Most I’ve got for now are a couple remixes and the score concepts I’ve made for an animated series of Into the Phantasm (please gods let this happen, it would slap so dang hard).

Art: I draw cartoon characters and that’s about it. I am not a professional artist by any means, but my silly little guys can’t just stay sitting in my head forever, sometimes I gotta put ‘em on a page, even if I ain’t some modern Picasso.

Current WIPs

Into the Phantasm (epic fantasy 5 part book series)

Finished works

A Penguin’s Tale (stop motion movie)

News

The prologue of Into the Phantasm (the first three chapters) is available to read and the book 1 rewrite is going smoothly. Hopefully it’ll all be available soonish.

A new project is peeking its head over the horizon and may very soon be upon us like a mighty storm. For now, I shall call it Project Jeans. Stay tuned for more information.

[presidenthades]

Do you think in your verse if the Targbros had been Aemma's sons Rhaenyra would have treated them differently ?

Yes, and a huge reason would probably involve how the Targbros came to exist in this AU.

Assuming that Aemma isn’t carrying triplets/quadruplets during her last pregnancy, Targbros and Helaena are being born over the course of several years. In Ep 1, Aemma says she can’t do any more pregnancies after this one, although Viserys doesn’t seem to have a lot of respect for women’s bodily autonomy (which is sadly a prevailing attitude in Westeros, I’m sure). On the other hand, if Aemma successfully gives birth to a son, that should satisfy Viserys and everyone at court, so she probably wouldn’t be pressured to have more after Baelon.

So I’m envisioning two scenarios: A) The miscarriages and stillbirths that Aemma experiences could instead be successful births, which result in the Targbros and Helaena, who would be older and closer in age to Rhaenyra. B) Aemma survived Baelon’s birth, and Viserys continues pressuring her so she ends up miraculously giving birth to four healthy children, who would be the Targbros and Helaena.

If Option A, then Rhaenyra basically has a happier childhood with a bunch of siblings to play with, and she grows up expecting her brother Aegon to be the heir. She’s never named heir in the first place, and there probably isn’t friction with her siblings.

If Option B, Rhaenyra is old enough that she probably realizes the ordeal that Aemma suffers every time she gets pregnant, even though she’s getting “miracle babies” now. This might lead to Rhaenyra resenting Viserys. She might also resent her siblings for being the cause of Aemma’s suffering, but I think it’s likelier that Rhaenyra would end up helping her mother, who is almost certainly in a constantly weak state, take care of the kids. So that could lead to Rhaenyra having a parentified role with her siblings, which would be interesting!

It’s less likely that Viserys names Rhaenyra heir in this universe where Aemma is still alive and getting pregnant. But if he did, he probably then names Aegon heir when he’s born. In canon, a lot of Viserys’s stubbornness about keeping Rhaenyra as heir derives from his guilt about Aemma, but Aemma’s alive here. So Rhaenyra might feel peeved at having her heir status taken away, but it’s only been a few years so she doesn’t feel entitled to it yet. And I think Aemma would be more successful than Alicent at encouraging Rhaenyra to have a good relationship with her siblings.

So whatever the scenario, yes, I think Rhaenyra would have better relationships with full-blooded siblings from Aemma. But it also makes me wonder if in any of these scenarios, would Rhaenyra even marry Laenor, and would her daughters develop the same connections with the Targbros (especially in Option A where they’d be much older).

[horizon-verizon]

“You shouldn’t watch HOTD from a modern perspective!!!”

While I think this is a stupid ass argument because I am not a peasant down in Flea Bottom… but fine I’ll bite.

Here are some things you can’t get mad about since we should watch from a “medieval POV”:

Alicent’s marriage

Alicent was not a child bride in Westeros standards. The legal age of majority in the Seven Kingdoms is considered to be sixteen years of age. She was of marrying age. Laena even makes a comment about how she wouldn’t have to lay with Viserys until she turned 14. Alicent was either the same age as Rhaenyra (whom was 14 in episode 1) or older so she was old enough to be married and therefore was not a child bride. Female characters such as Aemma, Helaena, Rhaella, Rohanne Webber, or Genna Lannister were younger than Alicent when they were married off.

Viserys/Alicent marital rape

Doesn’t exist. Marital rape wasn’t even considered a “crime” in all 50 states until 1993 (which wtf is up with that ?) so you cannot call Alicent a victim of assault when that assault doesn’t even exist or isn’t even acknowledge as assault.

Viserys “parental neglect”

No king (or really any lord for that matter) in medieval times actually spent time with his children. It was rare that royal children even got to spend time with their parents.

Show!Alicent was like 15 when she married Viserys AND the age of marriage can be any age as soon as a girl gets her period. Even 15, 14, 13, etc. 16 is for boys, the time they can take leadership of a house, property, etc in his own name. Nothing to do with marriage, even if it is the case of a girl being heir, she is not eligible to be an "official" head until she is 16, which is why Rhaenyra is 17 before she actually moves into Dragonstone and she is 16 when she becomes officially and takes the title of the "Princess of Dragonstone".

Kings of Westeros and real EU spent an embarrassingly amount of time with their kids. Esp in comparison to his wife/Queen Consort. Viserys told tales of Jaehaerys to his grandkids often. Jaehaerys was said to spend time with his kids, but the expected amount of time for a busy male ruler. The royal couple--both husband and wife--were expected to not really spend the amount of time we consider necessary bc they were expected to look over their duties and some had tutors, nurses, etc. who spent way more time with the kids than them. The higher class you went, the less time you spent one on one with the kids.

So, yeah. That argument is pretty dumb. There's a society out there where grown men imbue young boys with "spirit" so they become consummate warriors....it exists today. In the modern world. Look it up, and yes it is what you think it is. What makes a thing bad is the effect it has, which could be layered and nuanced according to circumstances but not always. Best not to slather that excuse as soon as you see something up; best to examine what you see. And sometimes it's just very obvious.