#where we properly met the second cousins

[quill-of-thoth]

The Saga of Great Uncle Asshole And The Priest From Hell

It's thanksgiving (in the US) so have a family gathering disaster that is old enough to be funny. Almost a decade ago, after a life of stirring up drama everywhere she went, my grandmother died. She was an unhappy woman who tried to be better to her grandkids than she was to her kids, and didn't always succeed, and she's the reason that when I smell cinnamon tic tacs they're accompanied by the reek of an illusory cigarette. This is not a sad post. This is a post about the fact that her funeral was a fucking disaster and it was ultimately about 50% her fault. See, my whole family was at one point or another catholic. Grandma really enjoyed going to church in her last years because it got her out of the nursing home, and priests have to listen when you tell them about the husband you divorced and the children who think they know better than you. Grandma did not consider the fact that the local priest she'd latched onto like a talkative moray eel in a cloud of nicotine smoke was an unmitigated bigot. She left instructions that she wanted her funeral to be at that specific catholic church and for that priest to do the sermon. It didn't occur to her that the person who would be organizing her funeral would be her gay daughter and her daughter's wife.

Shit started getting real about when the doors opened to recieve mourners. Over the course of ten minutes, my aunt summoned:

her elder sister, a paralegal

my father, who has never seen a conflict he would not cheerfully walk away from

Their younger brother, in order to swear at the priest

My mother, who hadn't had a good opportunity to fight a priest since we left our own church and was game to do it again.

This left me, the eldest grandchild, in charge of the receiving line, despite the fact that I knew approximately no one there. My brother and cousins were woodenly shaking hands and then whispering "who's that?" "I don't know." My aunt's husband was escorting the elderly and infirm up the stairs one at a time. My uncle's wife was also around but she knew even fewer people and was mostly listening at the door of the ongoing argument.

So when my brother and Boy cousin went to see if we could pry someone who knew who was related to us out of the argument and I was busy trying to convince an octegenarian that she did NOT need to figure out which of her cousins had married one of grandma's siblings before sitting down, Girl Cousin was alone at the door.

Great Uncle Asshole arrived in a storm of curses and a faux-coonskin cap. He blew past Girl Cousin, thumped his cane up the steps, and seized my hand. It was like shaking hands with an extremely strong mummy. "You look just like your mother! It's the hair, what a bird's nest. Where's your daddy? And the rest of Helen's brood."

I muttered something about them finalizing details with the priest.

"Well, they'll come see me soon enough. Bet you don't know who I am!" I didn't know who anyone was. Everyone older than me was having a verbal cage match with a member of the clergy or escorting some other old fogey to their seats, everyone younger than me had even fewer clues, and my only hope was to wrap this conversation as fast as possible. "Nope!" I said, "I haven't seen most of the people here in years." If I had ever seen them in the first place. He was going to be mad, but I figured if I had to be the bouncer I could probably take an eighty-something year old guy who breathed like the surgeon general's personal warning to smokers. I could at least shut the door on him.

"Of course you wouldn't! Your gran wouldn't have told you. I'm your great uncle Roger, and I'm here to bury the hatchet, by which I mean your grandma! She and I swore over our father's casket we'd never be under the same roof again while we both lived, and by god I kept my oath!" People were starting to stare, and it was at this moment that a thirty-something man in a suit sprinted up the stairs, and my uncle's wife, with a look of dawning horror, called her husband. "Roger's here." The middle aged folks descended immediately. Here is a snapshot of the ensuing conversation: "Roger, why don't we find you a seat?" - my mother in her best teacher voice "Glad to see you're doing well enough to make it" - My father, in his best 'good god I want to be anywhere else' voice. "Take me to the coffin! I want to see her with my own two eyes!" - Great Uncle Asshole, "And hang up my **** hat! Killed it myself!" "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he could walk that fast" - strange suit man "If you are QUITE finished, I am starting the ceremony in ten minutes" - the priest

As my father and his brother towed a grinning and cursing old man to the furthest reaches of the family section, my mother and my oldest aunt caught all the cousins up on the argument with the priest. My youngest aunt was still crying while her wife stared fixedly at the stained glass panes and periodically handed over tissues. The upshot of it all was that my aunt and her wife would be allowed to attend the funeral (on pain of the whole family literally walking out on the priest) but would not be allowed to take communion, because the priest didn't believe in their marriage. My aunt's wife had neglected to point out that, being Jewish, she wasn't going to take communion anyway. "That's fucked" said boy cousin, and the four of us immediately resolved in whispers to refuse communion as well. The priest opened his sermon with pointed remarks about the older generation's devotion and respect for the church. He continued on through psalms and all that until he got to the blessing of the eucharist and asked the family up to receive communion. My father, who hadn't taken communion since I could remember, stayed seated. My mother stayed seated. My aunts and uncles stayed seated. The cousins stayed seated. About a third of the church didn't move. "Well father, I'll have mine! These young folks think hey have all the time in the world to get right with the lord, but you and I know better!" The priest, who had been visibly hoping god would smite us, turned a wincing glare on my great uncle and the series of distant relatives and nursing home neighbors who were now shuffling up. The service dragged on. We were lined up to say goodbye to everyone, while the suit man (who would turn out to be my second cousin) bodily hauled great uncle asshole and his coonskin cap down the stairs. "I should have known my sister wouldn't manage to raise any good Catholics! Horrible woman." he said loudly as he was stuffed into a car driven by suit man's apparent twin. The priest approached as we were finally ready to leave, to ask why we were so stubborn that we deprived ourselves of communion. After all, unlike my youngest aunt, we weren't obvious sinners! "Oh, I'm Lutheran" - My eldest aunt. "I'm an atheist" - My uncle "I don't think you're qualified to bless anything." - My mother, who learned her religion primarily from a horde of socialist-leaning nuns.

With that, we left the wreck of my grandmother's funeral behind. "Helen," said my mother, very deliberately, when we were safely in the car, "would have HATED that." My dad started laughing. "Are you kidding? She would have loved that! It would have been all she complained about for years!"

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#391

“What? You think you are done faggot?  Get back into place.  I said, ‘Faggot, get back into place.’  No, no, no, you ain’t Kevin no more, not after I saw four men take turns spit roasting you.  You are Faggot from this point on.  Now it’s my turn to bust my nut….

“This changes everything between us.  About time it does.  I’m tired of hearing about Jesus.  When my right-wing cousin asked me to take the 20-year-old son of a friend of hers along with me to see if he would like truck driving, I was reluctant.  She told me you were a quiet boy who needed to come out of a shell.  I filled out all the paperwork with the company so you could ride with me. 

“Bend over the picnic table with your cunt pointing at that garbage can.

“When we met, I knew you were a faggot right away.  You followed me into the men’s room.  I started to get a boner right there.  I saw you glancing at my dick at the urinals.  I knew it was going to be a great two weeks together.  But not ten minutes in my cab, I was hearing how much you love Jesus, and I knew this was not going to be good.  And we hadn’t even started rolling.

“Now pull apart your cunt lips and push some jiz out. 

“So before we left, I called my cousin.  She told me that you are the son of her Baptist preacher and it would be a great favor to her to take you out and show you real America.  Now my cousin doesn’t know that I’m a total fag fucker.  So instead, I called two of my fellow drivers, Barry and Jimmy.  You just met them; Barry was the first and Jimmy was the third guy to spit roast you.  We drive for the same company on the same route on the same day.  As you are Barry’s type, he wanted you ASAP.  That’s why we are here at this rest area.  That and this spot has this picnic table out back away from the eyes of the casual traveler.

“Push some more out.  I want a good glob on my cock head.  Damn, this cunt has been used before.  And I’m not even talking about just today.  It’s obvious that you also have experience in servicing and serving men.  Your second fucker was this trucker that followed you and Barry back here.  And he was slapping your face when Barry was plowing your cunt.  And it wasn’t a love tap; it was a man properly using and abusing a faggot.  He even used a fistful of you your hair as a handle.  You seemed to take that roughness like it was nothing.

“So, I can reach over and pull you off the picnic table and push you on your knees….  Like that.  Faggot, this is natural for you, isn’t it?...  Where did you learn that you need to be treated like shit?... 

“…You met older men from those kink sites?...  …So I have a faggot to use as my personal cunt for the next few weeks?

“That face slap is for not addressing me with respect.  That’s ‘Yes Master.’  You refer to all men as ‘Sir.’  You got that faggot?...  I’m really going to like smacking you around. 

“See that glob of driver cum on my dick head?  Using only the tip of your tongue, scoop it in your mouth, but don’t swallow it.

“Now say, ‘I am a faggot whore whose only existence is to be abused by real men.  I live for cock and cum….’  …Say it again…. …Again…

“You got me leaking.  Turn your head to face the garbage can.  I want to wipe my pre-cum on your cheek.  Swallow that spunk and keep saying it.

“That’s good.  Mmmm.  Now say that you want to be abused without mercy….  And say that you don’t want to have a safe word….  So you do not want to have any say of what I plan on doing to you, and that your pleas to stop must be ignored….  Don’t look back at me; say it to the garbage can, cause that’s what you are, garbage.

“…Good that’s done.  Now suck on my dick.

“Listen up faggot.  I was talking with that second driver—the one that roughed you up while Barry was plowing your cunt.  He left back here and made a bee line to his cab.  When he came out, he looked pissed.  He had a belt already doubled up, and he was heading back here to beat the shit out of you. 

“I stopped him.  He was pissed at you.  He recognized you.  He showed me his phone.  It had a news article with a pic of you standing next to your father as your preacher father was going into the state’s senate to fights against gays.  Now I tend to stay out of politics, but even I know of your dad’s name. 

“I told him that you were being fucked by Jimmy and that random fourth guy that came out of nowhere.  He wondered how I knew the details of what was going on as this area isn’t seen from the parking lot….

“I told him to look at my phone.  Faggot, pull off my cock and look up.  Damn, you are one hungry cunt.  You don’t care about anything I have to say.  That would explain why you don’t seem interested in how I knew about everything and every guy you were doing back here.

“If you look at my phone you will see a faggot kneeling in front of a man, both next to a picnic table.  That faggot is you….  Yes, I have been watching you through my phone.  The camera is located inside the opening to the garbage can there.

“Now it’s hitting you.  Yeah, I told Barry to come up here and set it up.  He has a lot of cameras in his truck.  He streams his fuck sessions in his cab and makes a shit load of money on-line.  By default, he has a copy of the video and so do I.  So going after my phone won’t do you no good.  So get back on your knees.

“It’s interesting, I did this to blackmail you into being my total bitch the seventeen days you are with me and to get you to stop with the religious shit.  Barry was definitely game, as likes young fags like you.  Jimmy just likes to fuck.  This here was going to be a simple picnic table fuck.

“That all changed when Chuck—that would be the second driver—showed me his phone….

“…Don’t fucking say another word.  I will smack you again.  You are in a shitty spot here.  First, you are naked as a rest stop, loaded up by four men, soon to be five with mine.  Don’t bother looking for your clothes.  Barry picked up your shit and put it in his cab; you were oblivious being spit roasted. 

“When you leave this area, you will walk back to a row of semis buck naked.  After my fat hog fucks you, your gape will be more pronounced, so you will have jiz running down your legs like some goddamned whore.  Next, you were filmed doing and saying nasty things, things your Papa wouldn’t approve.  So doing something stupid like running away is not going to go well for you, as that video can be edited to hide us but showcase your talents.  Videos are easy to disseminate.  You are kinda stuck in this situation, subject to whatever sexual whims that should come to mind.

“You are going to be filmed doing nasty shit going forward, but doing one video will have the same as ten.  You understand your predicament?...  Good.  Good.

“Now get up and lean over the picnic table.  I need to drop my seed.

“…Fuck, you are sloppy back here.  The guys stretched you out enough, so you aren’t strangling my dick.  And cum lube is the best….  Oh yeah, clamp down like that.  We need to be very quick.  There’s a timetable that needs to be met.  We all are meeting up at a particular spot up ahead for our 10-hour DOT rest. 

“The things that are planned for you...,  I’m getting close just thinking about it.  You are going to be used by so many men these next two weeks.

“Damn your hair was made to be used as a handle.  Arch your back.  Try almost to stand. 

“Fuck that feels good.  You ready for my load?  Of course you are.  You are cum dump faggot who lives to take load after load.  You don’t give a shit who is fucking you, just as long as they breed you.  You fucking slut.  You whore.

“I’m gonna cum.  I’m going to flood your guts with more cum.  When I am done, you are to clean me off like a good faggot.

“Get ready.  Here it cums!  Here it cums!  Here it fucking cums!  Ahhhh Ahhhhh Ahh!... Fuck!  Goddamn, your cunt is just what I needed.

“…Atta boy.  Tastes nasty hunh?  That’s the flavor of four men’s loads.  Yeah you are a fucking pig.  I knew it. 

“…Let’s head on out.  Hold on.  Let me get that camera from the garbage can.  …OK, let’s go.

“No. No.  You are walking in front of me.  I want whoever is in the parking lot to see a naked cum whore faggot.  Walk slowly.  Better yet.  I got a fistful of your hair.  I’ll control the pacing.

“Damn.  Everyone’s gone except for me and Chuck.  Barry split and he has your clothes… and probably your phone too.  Don’t worry, you’ll get it back tonight.

“Let’s go over to Chuck’s cab. 

“Hey Chuck!...  I got the faggot here for ya!  Naked and loaded up!  Are they going to be there?...  Fucking awesome!

“OK faggot get on up.  You are riding with Chuck for the rest of today….  Awww shut the fuck up.  I don’t care what you have to say.  Chuck has arranged to have a gay biker gang join us tonight.  His condition for arranging this was he gets you tied up in his cab for the day.  Seems like a fair exchange….

“…I said for you to shut up.  Keep insisting you have something important to say, and I’ll do a lot more than slam your faggot face against his cab. 

“Listen here shithead.  I don’t give a shit about you, or what happens to you.  I don’t give a fuck about my right-wing nutjob cousin.  And I don’t have any sympathy for your father and his evil fucked up ministry.

“I control what happens to you.  And you are going in the cab of a fellow fag fucking driver, a man I just met, a man that has bondage equipment installed inside, a man that knows a biker gang.  And I’m fine with all of it.

“Chuck, get down here.  The faggot needs convincing getting up into your cab.  Bring your belt.  I can stick around to help you turn this sissy girl black and blue….

“Change your mind?  Good.  Get up there.

“He’s all yours Chuck.

“I hope to catch you later faggot…  “…Oh faggot!  I forgot to say, ‘Praise Jesus!’”

This story continues in Story #396.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Six: Salt and Blood

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Alright, everyone. This is the last time you'll see baby Aemond and the reader, so let's cherish it. In the next chapter, we will start where the show did with the characters aged up in Ep. 8. I'm very excited to write for adult MC. I'm not going to lie; I'm a bit worried about writing Aemond's inner dialogue, as I've never written for a male character who isn't obsessed with the reader, but I'm sure I'll do fine. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Alicent being delulu, parentified sibling trauma, and watch me make you feel even worse about Driftmark.

As you journeyed from the gloomy corridors of the Red Keep to the sulfuric atmosphere of Dragonstone and now to the sandy shores and scattered shells of Driftmark, an air of sadness seemed to cling to you wherever you went. You stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the tranquil sea, overlooking the stone coffin that cradled your late Aunt Laena. Two deaths, each carrying its weight of sorrow, yet only one mourned.

You wondered what it would be like to die choked in flames like Ser Harwin and Lyonel Strong did. Would it be the same as suffering dragon fire like your Aunt? Most likely not. Hers was a swift burning of flesh from bones, while theirs was hours of agony and suffocation. 

Despite what your family claimed, the idea of dying to your own dragon’s flames wasn’t an appealing end to you. It didn’t seem noble like how stories explained it to be. It was horrifying to have your skin torched from your body, to feel the power of a thousand suns on your flesh. It would be excruciatingly painful, and you wished it upon no one, not even those you despised most. You would much rather meet the Stranger in your sleep. 

You barely settled into your new home on Dragonstone before your mother received the two ravens. One bringing news of Ser Harwin and the other of Laena, containing death in the ink. You consoled your mother and father as best you could, hugging and kissing and telling them that you loved them and were sorry. It was an impossible task to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing them so distraught and wanted to make them feel better. 

At night, you cried into your pillows in your now isolated bedroom until Jace and Luke entered, watery eyes matching yours. As the eldest, it was your job to hold your family together when your parents couldn’t, and it left you no time to properly grieve the loss of an Aunt and a father figure.

You felt terrible for your cousins Baela and Rhaena. To go to bed one night and wake up the next without a mother was a depth of grief you couldn’t imagine. You didn’t think you could live a life without your mother; you would die with her, and the ability of your cousins to continue without her was admirable as you observed their sullen faces streaked with tears. 

Your Great Uncle Vaemond spoke his sermon in High Valyrian, which was too fast and practiced for you to understand. You could decipher some words here and there, but ultimately, you were lost listening to a man you rarely met. You felt your mother straighten her stance from behind, her arms coming to circle the three of you in a protective embrace.

Vaemond’s eyes were on yours, Luke’s, and Jace’s, but everyone else was focused on him—on the coffin with Lady Laena’s face carved into it.

As your eyes wandered to the other people surrounding the funeral procession, fear struck you as you caught your eldest uncle’s eye. It wasn’t very comforting to see Aegon so soon. You had set it in your mind that you wouldn’t have to see him for many years, and yet, here you were, dressed in an obsidian and red-sleeved gown, pearls adorning the collar and your veiled headpiece. Quickly, you turned away, instinctually taking Jace’s hand in yours.

An air of stiffness surrounded your family that you weren’t blind to. It was always there, but now, more than before, you felt it. You thought it was childish to be so locked into familial drama when someone lay dead inside a casket. Though you didn’t remember much of the times you met your Aunt Laena, she still deserved the respect of putting these grievances aside. You knew you were part of it, but more important things were happening than what you suffered. 

The cries of your father sent waves of sadness into your heart, and with the sudden urge to get him to stop, you left the safety of your brother and clung to your father’s waist. He lifted you into his sea-worn arms and clung to your frail body as if it was the only thing that kept him from sinking into his grief. You rested your temple onto his shoulder, tears of empathy falling from your eyes as he pressed your head closer. 

Afraid of what would become of your father if you let go, you allowed him to crush you in his embrace for as long as he needed it as a scornful laugh broke through the tense atmosphere. You peeked from your position to see Great Uncle Daemon chuckling to himself with a shake of his head at what Vaemond said. You felt annoyance bubble inside you, solidifying your distaste for the man as the Velaryon guards clad in silver armor and blue seahorse sigils lifted the ropes and lowered your Aunt into the roaring sea. 

You didn’t leave your father’s side for the remainder of the day, not even when he slowly lowered himself into the sea with his sister as the cold, salty breeze swept through the evening. You wanted to speak with Aemond, if just for a small moment, but your family came first. They always came before anyone else, a fact that your mother instilled into the very fabric of your being.

Sitting atop one of the rock ledges near your father, you dipped your feet into the saltwater, dragging your toes to watch the water ripple and allow time to pass. It didn’t feel right to leave him alone. The image of him falling into the ocean as your Aunt played repeatedly in your mind’s eye. You were afraid in his grief, he would follow her. Only when your father’s squire, Ser Qarl, took your father from his place with his sister did you leave, joining the rest of the goers for the wake late in the evening.

Searching through the crowd of people for your mother and your brothers, you couldn’t find them. Alone with none of your family for protection, you felt fear pull at your chest. Your hands began to scratch at your arms and scalp, attempting to quell the insatiable itch. The fabric prevented you from doing so, and tears of fright soon began to collect at your lashes. 

From across the balcony, you saw a flash of green, a color that had never offered you comfort until now. Yet as quickly as you saw it, it vanished, leaving only a head of white promptly running down the stairs. You felt your heart drop into your feet as you watched Aemond run across the sandy dunes like he was running from you. 

The call of a dragon you never heard before screeched through the gray skies. It was mournful as if it were calling for a lost pet or child. In this case, it was a rider. As you looked up, you could see the vast shadow of Vhagar’s silhouette soaring through the clouds, flying in the same direction your uncle went. You felt your eyes grow wide with worry at the realization, wanting to chase after Aemond and warn him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” a tender, feminine voice came from behind you as you jolted in surprise. The tall figure of Queen Alicent stood before you, curly auburn hair pinned back into a magnificent updo and clad in her usual green and gold as she put a hand on your back. “Your mother already sent your brothers.” 

“Where is she?” you hastily asked. Aemond was no longer on your mind.

“I’m uncertain. Your father is off drowning his sorrow in his cups with his squire,” she answered in the same velvet voice you remembered her having, bitterness you didn’t understand laced in the undertone.

You felt offended by how the Queen spoke about your father. He was grieving. He was allowed to spend time with whomever he wished, doing what he wanted.

Alicent lifted her arm, wrapping it around your petite frame, and led you inside Hightide. It was not as cold or formidable as Dragonstone; its dark magic melted into the walls, yet it didn’t hold the warmth of the Red Keep. Still, you felt unwelcomed here, either by the place or its people. The pale stone walls were filled with bits and pieces of shells from clams, mollusks, and other long-dead shell creatures mixed into the mortar to make it stand the test of salty air. 

The Hall of the Nine, where you passed as Queen Alicent, led you to the guest chambers, where you held the Driftwood throne where your grandfather Corlys reigned. You recalled when you visited this place many years ago and how he went on about the many treasures from his sieges and conquests that decorated the room in all its glory. He and his wife, Rhaenys, sat in a heated discussion in front of the hearth.

Once you reached the door to your shared bed chambers with your brothers, Alicent turned to you. It was the first time you had seen her since what Aegon had done to you, and you felt tension. It seemed as if she wanted to speak, to say everything that had been bottled up since the revelation of her son’s transgressions, but she was unable to do so as tears choked her. Instead, the only words that came out were those she couldn’t say to her children. 

“I hope you can find the time to visit the Keep. Helaena asked when you would be returning, and it broke my heart to tell her you wouldn’t be,” she confided, stroking the thin black fabric covering your dark hair. “Aemond has turned inwards since you left, and Aegon has become crueler to him. It makes me wonder if he’s always been this way and that my love for him has blinded me from his transgressions.” 

You said nothing. The mention of Aegon’s name still felt like a blow to the stomach. “I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive my son for what he did to you and that we may yet be the family we were always meant to be.” Your tongue felt like lead as your breathing began to race, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as Alicent kneeled before you, a sad smile on her supple lips as she tenderly swiped your tear-stained cheeks with her smooth thumbs. 

“I love you, my shining light, my dream.” 

Leaning in, she took your small frame by your shoulders, kissing your forehead as one would do to their babe. You felt sick, nausea churning in your stomach as you quickly opened the bedroom door, hastily shutting it behind you in fright. 

It was all too much—Lady Laena’s death, Ser Harwin’s, seeing your father in shambles, and Queen Alicent’s steadfast belief that you should become a part of her family no matter what happened to you. The Queen desired to wed you and Aegon despite the horrors he committed. The realization that she genuinely didn’t see what your eldest uncle did to you as something that would permanently bar you from joining the union pierced your heart. You would much rather marry Aemond or Helaena, but having no ties to her seemed better.

Your brothers peered at you curiously from their beds as you clutched your chest, looking as if you ran the entire way here. They didn’t ask any questions, and you didn’t move to speak, loosening the ties of your gown and shrugging it off until you were only in your smock. You didn’t feel like changing into your nightdress in front of your brothers, deciding to climb into bed and shove your face into the pillows, refusing to cry in front of Jace and Luke as you fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Aemond learned of Lady Laena’s death, he knew it was a sign from the Gods that his time had come. The Seven had deemed this the moment to prove himself to everyone who doubted him and thought him useless without a dragon. 

Vhagar. 

The largest, oldest, and strongest dragon in the world was riderless. 

Aemond believed that once he gained the only thing he lacked, life would finally be what it should have been. He would make his father proud, shove all the taunts and jests from Aegon and his nephews back into their faces, and finally become a man you deemed worthy—your Mors Martell. 

As Aemond fled from the wake when the candles had long melted, he thought only of the ichor coursing through his veins. Dusk was upon the island, and the night’s wind blew harshly, strands of his silver-blonde hair covering his face as he climbed over the dunes. Vhagar was further from the castle than he initially thought.

“Fuck.” Aemond released a sigh of exasperation and scrambled across the uneven ground. 

When he came upon the dragon, he was in awe. Vhagar was as frightening as she was enormous—a giant, green-scaled, moving mountain that shook the ground and blew sand with every movement and breath from her powerful lungs. 

Taking advantage of Vhagar’s resting state, Aemond crept along the sparse grass, feeling each gust of air she created with her wide nostrils, blowing the sand into his face and ears. Anxiety was present in his gut, feeling a slight tremble in his limbs as he closed the distance, wrapping his hand around one of the many ropes draped across Vhagar’s scales. Suddenly, he felt the ground underneath him quake, and the head of the dragon lifted with a low rumble.

Vhagar observed Aemond with tired yet calculating amber orbs, double eyelids blinking. She grumbled as she bore her teeth to him. They were the size of a fully grown adult, sending a shiver down his spine. As if it were an act of divine intervention, Vhagar laid her enormous head back down, seeming disinterested in the young boy before her. 

If Lady Laena’s death wasn’t proof enough Aemond was fated by the Gods to claim a dragon, the most powerful beast in the world, laying its head in acquiescence certainly was. Blinded by his small victory, nerves still in his mind, he reached for the rope ladder again, only for Vhagar to raise her head and growl, low and deep. A snarl formed on her great maw as Aemond stumbled back in shock and saw the light of orange flames gather at the back of her throat. 

“Dohaerās!” (Serve!) he shouted instinctively, recalling the many lessons he observed in the Dragonpit as he felt the heat of fire on his countenance. “Dohaerās, Vagus! Lykirī!” (Serve, Vhagar! Be calm!)

With Aemond’s commands, the she-dragon relaxed, recalling her flames and closing her mouth. She purred to him like a cat, a sign that she approved his merit while standing in the face of death. Vhagar would allow the Prince an attempt to claim her, but he must prove himself before the eyes of the Gods, before the eyes of a dragon. 

Aemond took the ropes and climbed atop the mighty Vhagar’s back, positioning himself in the saddle and grabbing the reigns. 

“Sōvēs!” (Fly!) Aemond ordered, and Vhagar rumbled, raising her legs and shaking the sand from her scales. “Sōvēs!”

She obeyed, taking a few giant steps and flapping her great wings, pushing off from the ground and leaving a sandstorm in her wake. Though Aemond told Vhagar to fly, he still had yet to control her as she took to the night sky in a near-vertical position, catching him unaware. The force knocked him from the leather saddle, leaving him dangling in the air with just the reigns for purchase. Aemond screamed with fear, feeling as if his stomach lurched out of his body as he struggled against the whipping wind to regain control. 

She tested him as he grabbed the pommel, sat upright, and pulled the ropes to balance her. He felt like he was on a bucking horse, loosening, tightening, twisting, and turning to the left and right to steer her safely. Vhagar ignored Aemond’s movements and continued to fly like he wasn’t there, diving into the dunes of Driftmark before he reared her upwards, dragging her claws across the sand. He squealed in terror, blocking the debris that scratched his face as she soared over the sea.

Aemond knew he needed to prove himself to her, to show the war-hardened dragon that he deserved to ride her. Her chirps and groans from the day earlier called to him like nothing before, singing to the Prince in her dragon song of forlornness and isolation. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to claim her. They both shared that feeling of loneliness deep within their souls, that same oddness in their families. The dragoness was too large to be held within any structure, leaving her in forced solitude, her only companions being her rider. Aemond was the only one, despite his Valyrian features, not to have a dragon. 

That would no longer be his story.

Aemond fortified his mind and will, putting his soul into his movements as he lifted Vhagar higher in the sky. He could feel the blood of Old Valyria coursing through his veins as the mighty dragon obeyed, leveling out her vast wings and soaring over Spicetown and back to Driftmark. He screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him in the skies, a bright smile he was sure you could see in Lannisport. 

Aemond had proven himself. He had shown himself and all who doubted and bullied him for not having a dragon that he was capable, that he was worthy. 

Everything was as it should be.

Perhaps you would allow him to kiss you again and spend the night in his embrace. Aemond had no doubt you would be proud of him as he listened to your assurances that he was brave, a dragon knight who you could trust with your secrets and protect you from enemies, and that he deserved your heart. 

Aemond landed Vhagar with a grace he hadn’t possessed before, climbing down the rope ladder on her side with windburnt cheeks. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he ran straight to the underground caverns of High Tide to wake you and explain everything.

“Jace!” 

You faintly heard a voice calling, sounding distant in your dream state. Ignoring it with a groan, you rolled over, trying to return to sleep.

“Jace, wake up! Someone stole Vhagar!”

This woke you from your sleep. You sat up to see Baela and Rhaena hovering over your brother’s bed. 

“We need to stop them!”

Jace and Luke quickly threw the covers off and stuck their feet into their slippers as you observed them curiously. Rubbing the sleep from your face, you yawned, begrudgingly following them. 

“You cannot steal a dragon,” you countered after a long silence in the pale stone halls, your voice laced with sleep. It felt like you had hardly gotten a wink. 

“She is my mother’s dragon! I was supposed to claim her,” Rhaena countered, tears collecting in her dark eyes. 

Yawning again as you followed a few paces behind your siblings and cousins, you rolled your eyes, wanting to bite with the remark, “Why didn’t you?” But you didn’t say it. The reason was apparent why she didn’t, and Rhaena didn’t need any more reason to be distraught.

They led you to the caverns of High Tide, stumbling in your sleepless state. They led to the beaches lit only by dim torchlight, your movements groggy and slightly annoyed. On the other end of the tunnel, Aemond appeared before you with a proud grin and windswept hair. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, a contagious self-satisfaction that spread to you. 

He needn’t say it aloud. You could tell by how he carried himself, shoulders back, chin high, and a slight lift to his cheeks, that your uncle claimed a dragon—the mightiest one in the world, Vhagar. 

“It’s him!” Rhaena exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Aemond.

It didn’t deter him, countering with his head high, violet eyes flicking from you to your cousin. “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” she yelled, hurt as if this reasoning would change Vhagar’s fate. As you moved to Aemond, Jace grabbed your hand, stopping you with an anxious yet demanding look on his face. 

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now,” your uncle replied, and you felt your brows raise in shock. You knew better than most of the cruelty he could commit, but after spending time with Aemond and seeing the softer, gentler, and kinder side of him, it took you off guard. 

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena argued, charging toward him in a challenge. Your skin began to itch, and your breath quickened. 

The hatred felt at the funeral carried over into your brothers and cousins. Tension in the air crackled like a fire in a hearth, watching the yellow and orange flames slowly dwindle into embers until someone threw tinder to spark it.

“Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride,” Aemond sneered. “It would suit you.”

Your lips parted in empathetic offense as you looked from your uncle to Rhaena, tears of guilt and shame pricking at your eyes. You apologized about the pig, and you thought Aemond forgave you, but it seems he couldn’t let go of the hurt no matter how close you were. The feeling of joy for your uncle’s feat was as brief as your friendship.

With a surge of rage, Rhaena charged forward, attempting to push Aemond, but he swiftly countered, and she fell to the ground. You jumped back in shock as you covered your mouth, Luke standing beside you. Baela screamed, protecting her sister as she punched him across his face and Aemond yelped in pain. Without thinking, you went toward your uncle, fearful for his well-being in your heart, but he swiftly stood before you could reach him, returning the same swing to Baela. You gasped in horror and moved to the side, narrowly missing your cousin’s body from colliding with yours. 

“Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond snarled at the twins, and without warning, Jace ran to him with a shout, shoving your uncle in offended anger and smacking him across the cheek.

You screamed for them to stop as you watched Luke try to join the fray, but you held him back, scared that he would get caught in the crossfire. He was the youngest and the littlest, most likely to get hurt. You needed to protect what family you could. Aemond brought this upon himself with his words of arrogance, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to defend him, too.

The scene before you was violent, a flurry of white, black, and red running atop Aemond as Luke slipped from your grasp, all pummeling, kicking, and screaming at him as you cried for them to stop. He was helpless as he suffered blow after blow, and you felt your heart splinter. This wasn’t a fair fight. Without worrying for yourself, you jumped on top of Jace, pulling him back from your uncle and giving him a chance to defend himself. You felt like a betrayer, turning against your twin to save your uncle. Your brother grunted as you both fell to the ground, his body on top of you as you struggled to keep him from fighting. 

You and your siblings had fought before, but nothing like this. It was so vicious, filled with violence and want for pain, as Jace whipped his head back into yours, causing it to slam against one of the many jagged rocks across the ground, having you see stars. He went back into the brawl with no worry for your safety as you heard the unsheathing of a knife, your eyes blurry as you struggled to see the scene before you. 

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond yelled, suddenly holding Luke by his neck with a rock in his hand.

“My father is alive!” Luke gasped in protest, flinging his arms and blood running down his face.

You needed to get up to protect Luke from physical harm and the threat of discovering your lineage. You didn’t believe Aemond would kill Luke. He was capable of violence, but he wasn’t a murderer. As you tried to move, your skull felt filled with sand, pulling you back down to the ground as you felt the warm trickle of liquid run down your neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your sight and mind. 

Aemond spoke again to Jace, seeming to forget your existence and holding a sense of superiority. “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?” 

You forgot how cruel Aemond could be. Your stolen moments of reading and kisses in the night had closed your eyes to it.

“Aemond, don’t,” you mumbled, skull pounding as the excruciating sounds of your brothers and uncle’s shouts pierced your ears like needles. 

You blinked your eyes into focus, seeing Jace wildly swinging a knife at Aemond as you managed to kneel. Your brothers didn’t realize how dangerous what they were doing was, that a knife wasn’t something to use against someone who was armed with only a stone in hand. While Aemond was bigger and had more combat experience, a dagger would kill him. Being upset because someone claimed a dragon wasn’t worth murdering over. 

Reaching your arm out with a soft grunt, you grabbed Jace’s ankle as Aemond pushed him over, holding the same rock above his head as he did for Luke. You thought Aemond knew better than this. You gave him the perfect opportunity to run and get help now that Baela and Rhaena huddled into a scared, crying mess, but he was too far gone into his anger to see reason, blinded by it. 

“Aemond! No!” you shouted hoarsely, trying to stand but failing as your head pounded like a drumbeat.

He turned to you then, lowering the rock to his side as he stared at you with the sudden realization of what he had done. Your uncle was filled with a surge of superiority inside him. He couldn’t think straight, and when he happened upon the five of you, people he was always told that he was above, something inside him that lay dormant finally broke free. He knew he was always capable of violence, but felt remorse when he saw your bruised nose, tear-streaked cheeks, and blood dripping down your throat. 

Did he do that to you? 

Suddenly, Aemond was blinded, sand thrown into his eyes as he stumbled back and heard the yell of Luke, unimaginable pain soon following. You watched in horror as your brother savagely sliced into your uncle’s left eye, blood pouring and splattering across the ground. 

Aemond couldn’t remember if you were amid his attackers. He surveyed the bruised and battered bodies before him and realized what he had done as his stomach fell to his feet.

He hurt people, just like Aegon. You would never entrust your secrets to him. His hands committed violence, but his heart desired to tell a different story—one of a strong and noble prince who went through many trials and tribulations to prove himself worthy of the princess's heart.

All you could hear were screams. Screams from you, screams from Aemond as you crawled towards him, sobbing. 

“Aemond!” you cried as he doubled over, falling into your body as he screeched in pain. 

“It hurts!” he wailed into your chest, his free hand clawing into your back. “It hurts! Help me!” 

You trembled, arms struggling to keep yourself upright against his weight as the flurry of guards rumbled inside your skull like thunder. Unable to make out their words as they moved, it seemed like you were watching the world from outside your body, from the lenses of another, as Ser Harrold pried Aemond from your embrace.

It hurt. Everything hurt—your heart, stomach, muscles, and head. You weren’t sure who led you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, and Jace to the Hall of the Nine as a flurry of people gathered, pushing and shoving as you clutched your skull. The room was so bright, so loud, as you heard your uncle’s screams. You felt sturdy arms grab you by your shoulders, roughly moving you as if you were nothing more than a doll, as it felt like your eyes were about to burst. Steel blue fabric blocked your eyes as you saw the hazy image of a seahorse stitched into the fabric.

“Father?” You reached out, small digits feeling along the fine silk until the texture of scruff scratched at your skin. Blinking, you saw the aged face of your grandfather, Lord Corlys, as he gathered you and your brothers behind him. 

Where was he, and where was your mother? 

You felt sick as people scattered around you like seagulls when they discovered a bloated whale carcass, all trying to see the injured Prince, who cried until the Maester poured Milk of the Poppy down his throat. It felt like when you accidentally drank the water from Blackwater Bay, like a cold, nauseous sensation that sent beads of sweat rolling down your spine. 

“I don’t feel good,” you whispered to Jace as you leaned into his side, clutching your head and gut. He paid you no mind, peering behind your grandfather to see your other one appear, bearing total weight upon his dragon-head cane. 

“How could you let such a thing happen?” Viserys questioned Ser Harrold, examining Aemond as you heard the sickening squelch of flesh and rattle of metal tools. “I will have answers!”

Despite it undoubtedly being a harrowing sight, you wanted to be by your uncle, to hold his hand through it, to feel his pain with him, but you couldn’t. You needed to be with your brothers. What they saw and experienced would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Luke had taken Aemond’s eye. 

“The princess and princes were supposed to be abed, my king,” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard explained, shame woven in his words. 

Viserys wouldn’t allow his knights to show such carelessness, surveying each of them with critical eyes. “Who had the watch?”

“The young prince was attacked by his cousins, your grace,” Ser Cristion nonchalantly replied. His words angered you for reasons unknown, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. 

Viserys turned to the room, looking between the two Kingsguards on opposite sides of the family as he hobbled on his cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he boomed in a way you hadn’t seen before. You were afraid he would direct his anger at you, Jace, and Luke, wrapping your arms around them like you were in any state to protect your brothers. 

“I’m very sorry, your grace,” Ser Westerling said, head hung low in unimaginable disgrace. You felt bad for him. There was no way he could have stopped this. He was doing his duty and serving his King. It was Ser Criston who should be blamed.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes before, your grace-”

“That is no answer!” your grandfather yelled at Ser Criston, causing a clap of pain to thunder inside your skull. 

You wanted to go to bed, sleep for eternity, and be awake to everything as it was yesterday. Your brothers and cousins unbloodied and Aemond dragonless and with an eye. 

“Where’s mother?” you noiselessly questioned Jace, leaning into his ear and almost losing your footing. You needed to stay strong for them. 

“It will heal, will it not? Maester?” Queen Alicent asked, velveteen voice quivering with pain for her poor son. Maester Kelvyn finished stitching Aemond’s skin, throwing the needle and thread into a bowl with your uncle’s fleshy, viscous eye. 

“The flesh will heal. The eye is lost, your grace,” his nasal voice replied matter-of-factly.

You were going to be ill. 

Quickly, you ran through the multitude of people, pushing past Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, who tried to stop you before you vomited all the contents of your stomach onto a person’s unsuspecting shoes. The crowd gasped in revolt, those not close to you jumping back and clutching their chests in shock. You found yourself before the fireplace, basking in its comforting warmth as you leaned onto the hearth and looked at the unlucky soul you retched on. 

Perhaps the Gods had a twisted sense of justice as you saw the disgusted face of Aegon before you. You didn’t hide your amused smirk.

“Tend to the Princess!” the King shouted to the Maester, seeming to forget about his injured son and throwing his cane in your direction. 

A flurry of green came before pale gray, tenderly cradling your visage in her palms as if you were her child, inspecting it. You grabbed the Queen’s wrists and attempted to push her away as if her touch burned, but she resisted, struggling against your childish strength until she grabbed your shoulders. Her touch reminded you of Aegon as you burst into tears, muscles going limp and at Queen Alicent’s mercy. She turned your head in her grasp, examining you with the utmost care that made another wave of nausea through you. 

The crowd observed in anxious silence as Aemond turned to watch his mother treat you with the affection he wished to receive. Familiar hatred bloomed inside his heart, swallowing his dry mouth as he thought resentfully. He would still have his eye if he hadn’t been so concerned with you. 

“I want my mother.” you whimpered, lips quivering in fear as the Queen lovingly wiped the blood from your neck. 

The Queen released you from her grip as if you had struck her, chest heaving and wide brown eyes watering as she turned to her eldest son. Your mother was here; you didn’t realize it.

“Where were you?” she interrogated Aegon, smacking him upside down before he could answer. 

“Ow! What was that for?” he questioned, incredulously rubbing at the afflicted area grimly. You held no sympathy for him as you hugged your sides. 

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your siblings suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she whispered heatedly so only he could hear, shaking his gangly body in rage. You looked at the Queen with confusion, thinking she had gone mad with grief when she said “siblings.”

As the grand Hall doors creaked open, a shaft of golden light spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the marble floor. With an air of elegance, your mother swept into the room, her silk gown trailing behind her. Following closely was Uncle Daemon, his formidable presence filling the space. Amidst the whispers and murmurs, your name and that of your brothers floated through the air, drawing your attention. Without a second thought, you moved toward her, the sensation of fingertips brushing your bicep as if a ghostly hand had tried to hold you back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Show me, show me!” your mother ordered you and Luke, softly running her digits across your body as you sobbed with relief. “Who did this?”

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled before you could get a word out, leaning from behind his chair. 

You saw his wound on full display. An ugly crisscrossed row of stitches lined up his eye socket and onto his forehead, the flesh puckered and pink as it fought the infection. Your mother moved your face before you could stare any longer as a chorus of accusations from your brothers and cousins sang. You couldn’t get the image of his gash out of your head. 

“He was going to kill Jace! I didn’t do anything!” Luke loudly shouted as you scrunched your eyes with a painful wince.

“Enough!” you heard your grandfather yell, and you looked at him with helpless, watery eyes, but no one listened. 

“It should be my son telling the tale!” the Queen protested, fist pounding against her chest with conviction over the voices.

You continued to look at your grandfather in anguish, the King of The Seven Kingdoms, whom everyone ignored except you. “Silence!” he yelled, voice rattling inside his hollow chest as flem flew from his decaying mouth. 

The Hall went silent, quieter than the Stranger himself, as everyone looked at one another, stunned at the turn of events. People came here to mourn the loss of a daughter, an aunt, a niece, a wife, and a sister. Viserys looked at you and then at his son, his ivory staff sounding with every movement as you swallowed, the taste of bile strong. 

“He called us bastards.” you silently whispered to your mother, wiping the tears and snot from your face.

“Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.” The King approached your uncle as he slumped into the armchair, stepping swiftly and with a newfound curiosity. “Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned, clutching at her neck as tears threatened to spill. “Your son has been maimed, and her son is responsible.”

“Twas a regrettable accident,” your mother countered, moving her body to shadow the three of you from the onlookers.

“Accident?” the Queen repeated, astonished. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!” 

You realized the truth didn’t matter now. All that did was what people perceived it to be. 

“Twas my children who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!” your mother argued as she placed a comforting hand onto Luke’s shoulders. “Vile insults were levied against them!” 

Your grandfather turned from his son to the four of you as you inhaled a shuddering breath. “What insults?” he questioned, a dangerous lilt to his tone that you had never heard before as the Hall went silent. It raised the hairs on your arms. 

“The legitimacy of my children’s birth was put loudly to question,” your mother replied, her chin high yet holding a nervous waver to her voice. 

As she turned towards you, your mother’s eyes conveyed a silent but insistent demand to verbalize what you previously whispered. She wished everyone to hear these words from you—the compassionate and considerate eldest daughter known as The Gods’ Light among the common folk. With tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest heaving with emotion, you gazed at Aemond with a sense of guilt. You knew the words you were about to utter would carry an extraordinary weight. Both sides sought someone to bear responsibility for the turmoil, but you recognized the unspoken truth. 

At that moment, honesty seemed inconsequential. Aemond had suffered the loss of his eye due to Luke’s actions, and you keenly felt your failure to shield your brothers from harm. You would never fault at your duty again. 

“He called us bastards,” you confessed, lacking the anger and conviction of your siblings as you sniffled, refusing to look at Aemond. 

You watched as the Queen’s auburn tresses bounced with the slight affirming nod of her head, a look of disbelief and recognition crossing her face. At that moment, it became clear that she had informed Aemond about the deception, hardening your heart with betrayal. You had believed that she was different and loved you like family, and it stung to realize that she didn’t hesitate to spread lies that would hurt you.

“My children are to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace. This is the highest of treasons,” your mother reasoned, stepping forward to her slouched father as you attempted to reach for her hand to keep you hidden. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such awful slanders.”

As you gazed at your mother, her expression eerily mirroring that of Alicent’s, your lips began to quiver with unease. Was your mother implying that he should be subjected to torture? It seemed unfathomable. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Over an insult?” the Queen asked, shaking her head in disbelief. You knew she was trying to protect herself as you glared at the woman you once thought held the moon. “My son has lost an eye!”

“Tell me, boy. Where did you hear such lies?” the King seethed, face a hairsbreadth from Aemond as you whimpered.

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent swiftly reasoned, eyes flicking desperately from her son to her husband. “The lot of boys. ‘Twas nothing-”

“Aemond,” your grandfather interrupted, ignoring his wife’s explanation. “I asked you a question.” 

Your uncle sat in solemn silence, his lone violet eye unwaveringly fixed on the ground while his father awaited his reply. Before he could utter a word, the Queen unexpectedly interjected. 

“Where is Ser Laenor, the children’s father? Perhaps he would have something to say on the matter,” she jeered.

Your grandfather turned, sparse brows scrunching together as he turned to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, your grace. I… could not find sleep and decided to take a walk,” your mother answered for them, smooth palms wiping across her crimson skirt.

The Queen let out a derisive laugh, her disbelief evident as she shook her head at her old friend. It was impossible to ignore the precise timing of Daemon’s arrival into the Hall of the Nine, trailing just moments behind Rhaenyra with her tousled strands of golden hair. Alicent bore the knowledge of her friend’s calculated machinations, even as Rhaenyra’s children stealthily slipped out of their beds to perpetrate the heinous act of maiming her son. She couldn’t dismiss the nagging suspicion that Ser Laenor was likely engaged in equally treacherous activities.

“Entertaining his young squires, I presume,” Queen Alicent sneered like before, making you feel the same deep-seated ire. 

As no one dared to voice their opposition to her words, a glint of silver caught your eye from the corner, revealing Ser Criston Cole’s silent laughter. Like Ser Harwin, you felt the urge to wipe that smug grin off his tanned face, even though you knew it was impossible.

“Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer,” your grandfather began, staggering before your uncle. “Who spoke the lies to you?”

Everything went silent; the roaring of the fire and the crashing of the waves in the darkness were all that could be heard in the Hall. You understood that whoever Aemond implicated might not live til the next morn. You felt your throat grow tight and struggled to breathe, clutching at your throat as you swallowed the acrid taste in your mouth. Queen Alicent told him as you recalled the time in Helaena’s room. It confused you at first why she would spread such gossip as she seemed to hold a tenderness for you. Claiming your brothers were bastards went without saying you were, but you realized that whatever contempt she had within her heart weighed far more significant than any affection for you. 

Some of you wished to shout that it was her, but you realized that was something Alicent would do without a second thought if the roles were reversed, and you did not want to be like her. She was wicked and cruel, just like her eldest.

“It was Aegon. He told Aemond to call us that,” you answered as every pair of eyes flocked to you. You didn’t like how close your grandfather was to him, afraid that he might strike him for the consequences of his mother. You felt your heart lurch into your throat as you gained the courage to speak the words aloud of all the bad things he did to you. “And he… he”

Before you could finish, your mother tucked you into her waist, kneeling and pushing your face into her shoulder. You tried to pull away from her when his hand rested on your head, the welt sensitive to touch. 

“Don’t,” she whispered into your hair, disguising it as a kiss. They deserved to know. Everyone needed to know what awful Aegon did to you. You wanted to move against her, but your mind was foggy and muscles weak.

“Me?” Aegon exclaimed with shock, wide amethyst orbs looking at you with a broken expression. 

“And you, boy,” your grandfather crept towards him, the rhythmic tapping of his cane piercing your skull like an ice pick. “Where did you hear such calumnies?” Your uncle refused to answer him as his gaze bore holes into your being. There was no remorse in your heart for him. “Aegon, tell me the truth of it!” Viserys shouted, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. 

“We know, father,” Aegon replied fearlessly, refusing to remove his stare from your quivering form. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Feeling the stares from the guests, you admired your uncle for not implicating his mother like a coward, removing your body from your mother, wiping the snot from your lip. Let them look, you thought, inhaling a deep breath as you felt your mother bring you closer. They would stare at you for the rest of your days. It was best if you grew accustomed to it now.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” the King declared, banging his walking stick off the pale stone floor. “All of you! We are family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it.” 

You grimaced at his words, and though you loved your grandfather, having been his favorite granddaughter, you disagreed with him. You refused to apologize for your family trying to defend themselves, and the Queen couldn’t help but agree more. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent said, gesturing to her son. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.” 

Aemond’s fingers dug into the wooden framing of the armchair, and your chin quivered at the thought of what he might be feeling. 

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys sighed, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken,” she sobbed, clutching at her chest, flicking her hair back in a manner that reminded you of Aegon. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have the hand of her eldest to one of my sons. To mend the rift and unite the House of the Dragon once more.”

“Alicent,” your grandfather breathed in a warning, yet still turned to his daughter, having a hint of hope in his violet eyes.

You looked at your mother, shock overcoming any sadness you felt as she shoved you behind her skirts like a hen would do to her chick, too stunned to speak. “I refuse.” 

The Queen shook her head, a sneer curling her plump lips and wet cheeks. Rhaenyra was a selfish, wicked woman with no inclination of decency. Why couldn’t she see this would be solved if she returned Alicent’s rightful daughter to her? The Queen steeled herself to the belief that she would have to fight for her right to have you. She knew deep in her bones that you would one day be by her side.

“Then I shall have one of her sons’ eyes in return. The Princess is innocent,” the Queen declared with a desperate wave of tears. 

Aemond looked to his mother, face impassive, and senses dulled from Milk of the Poppy. He didn’t recall telling her about what you did for him, though it was very little. It felt like he was becoming a second thought to his mother, who seemed only to be scheming on how to insert his niece into their lives. Aemond realized then that he would always be second in his mother’s heart to you, and he felt hollow at the thought, the love that once filled it for his niece ceasing to exist.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” your grandfather warned Queen Alicent. She said nothing as her chest heaved, brown orbs flicking between her husband and old friend.

Believing the matter finished, the King backed away, but Alicent wouldn’t allow this to be the end. She looked to her sworn protector, an apathetic expression on her visage. 

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Ser Criston looked to the Queen with a startled expression as Luke cried for your mother. “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” your mother steadfastly declared, ensuring the three of you were behind her.

“Stay your hand,” the King commanded as the Queen shook with rage, desperately looking between her husband and sworn protector. She reminded you of a deer cornered in a vast forest, listening to the distant howls of wolves closing in for the hunt.

“No, you are sworn to me!” she yelled, finger pointing to her chest indignantly. All waited for the knight to respond, the Lord Commander slowly bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“Protect your brother,” your mother whispered, never straying her eyes from the Queen. Without further instruction, you stood before Luke, gradually backing him away from the group of people unnoticed. You understood Alicent would not hurt you, as did your mother. 

“As your protector, my Queen,” Ser Criston replied with a wary head tilt.

“Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?” your grandfather declared, seething, his face centimeters away from his wife before he addressed the room. “And let it be known that if anyone’s tongue dares to question, the birth of Rhaenyra’s children should have it removed.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Luke, coming to take your place beside your mother as she thanked the King. The unsheathing of a blade cut through the room as the form of Queen Alicent charged toward your family, startling you, the King’s ancestral dagger in her grasp. Luke screamed as she reached the four of you, but your mother stepped in her path before Alicent could enact her rage. 

Suddenly, a person shoved into you, disregarding your existence as you found yourself on the floor. You noticed how the stone seemed to ebb and wave like the flow of the tide. Lord Corlys appeared beside you, lifting you into his arms, securely bound around your torso as he took you into the circle of your cousins and brothers, your mother struggling against the Queen. 

“You’ve gone too far!” your mother admonished the Queen as tears burned her eyes. She pushed against Alicent, and she jerked against her, trying to get to your brother.

“I?” Queen Alicent exclaimed, voice thick with anguish as you attempted to push out of your grandfather’s arms, kicking your legs into his side. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, and the law while you flout to do as you please?”

“Alicent, let her go!”

The Queen still poised the dagger to strike, its new path being that of the heir to the Iron Throne as your mother looked helplessly to the onlookers. No one made to separate the two as they all stared in shock, the fire illuminating their faces like wraiths of death. Landing a hard smack to Lord Corlys’s neck, he dropped you as you shoved through the onlookers toward your mother. She put her life for yours and your brothers, but who would put hers before theirs? 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? My happiness and dreams? It’s templed under your pretty foot again!” the Queen sobbed, her form trembling with hurt and rage, everything that she bottled inside her for years. 

“Release the blade, Alicent,” Lord Otto commanded, a man you hadn’t met until this morn, but she paid him no mind, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed against her old friend. 

“Wasn’t taking her, my only light, enough for you? And now you take my son’s eye, and to that, you feel entitled,” she confessed, tears making the Queen’s mouth thick with wetness as you shouldered your way to the inner circle of people. 

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness,” your mother interrogated, a bitter grimace on her sharp lips. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent stared at your mother with an enraged offense that wrinkled her brows as she felt fire surge through her, and with a loud cry, she unthinkingly swung your family’s ancestral dagger. You screamed, running to your mother as you pulled her back, seeing a gash on her inner arm that gushed with blood. 

“Mama,” you wept, tenderly holding her limb as if it would break. 

Dropping the dagger, Alicent took an instinctual step toward you, a blanched, horror-stricken expression across her round face. She longed to go to you, to dry your tears and stroke your head against her bosom like your true mother would, but she could not. The terror and fear in your wide brown eyes that resembled her own sliced through her chest and laid her heart and soul bare as she felt a small hand slide into hers. The Queen hoped to see you standing beside her and thought herself mad before she securely took her son’s fist.

Much like you, Aemond knew his parent needed him. “Do not mourn me, mother. ‘Twas a fair exchange,” he expressed with a maturity beyond his years. He turned to you, a violet gaze once filled with joy now devoid, hollow, and one less eye. “I may have lost an eye but gained a dragon.”

You wished Aemond hadn’t claimed one this way and felt a hiccup wrack your lungs as you cried into your mother, Jace, and Luke coming beside you. You sadly realized this was the end of the fleeting companionship you cultivated with your uncle. All the stolen moments of reading, ideas, philosophies, and aspirations you shared under the cover of privacy were nothing more than air the moment he ran across the dunes. You would have still cared for him without a dragon, as before, but his pride wouldn’t allow it, and now he stared at you with an eye that you knew far too well. 

Aemond hated you. He loathed you and your brothers with a fire that would never cease. This was your fault. He lost an eye because of you—because he cared about his bastard niece and had the foolish dream of becoming the man you loved. You did not deserve it. You were nothing more than a common girl born from sin, undeserving of your station. He would despise you for the rest of his days no matter how his heart screamed to have you by his side when darkness fell and all that was left was the ghost of your touch. 

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Happiness never lasts in ASOIAF. I'm going to miss writing for baby Aemond and reader. They were so cute! From now on it's going to be messed up young adults with severe mommy uses and mental illness. I'm not going to say who has which XD. Thank y'all so much for reading and I hope to see y'all in the next chapter!

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[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Best friends-part 1

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x best friend!reader

Summary - it’s been 2 years since you’ve seen Rafe, he has a gf and a business degree. You are dating his cousin Cooper and still very involved with the Cameron’s.

Warnings- Descriptive sexual assault, mention of domestic Violence, drinking, language. 18+ no minors

Your families had been friends for years, you had grown up with Rafe. He was your best friend, you couldn’t do anything without each other. Your parents would always joke around that the two of you would get married.

When you turned 14 you realized you might be in love with your best friend romantically but you knew he didn’t feel the same way. He was popular with the ladies, usually bringing a new date to a party each night. He would still tell you that you were his number 1 girl.

That’s when you become self conscious of the way you looked, you started wearing makeup, getting your hair done and exercising religiously. Just so you could match up to the girls he was hitting on.

When you both turned 18, he took off to college. Getting his business degree so his dad would let him run part of the business.

You stayed back though, doing most of your courses online. You couldn’t leave, not when your dad was so sick. So you stayed and wondered what Rafe was up to, you didn’t see him for over 2 years.

You messaged here and there but things weren’t the same anymore. After a while of waiting for him, you realized you needed to move on. You wouldn’t hope and pray that one day he would wake up and feel the same way you do.

So when his older cousin Cooper asked you out on a date, you said yes without a second thought. He was exactly 2 years and 6 months older than you, he’d never given you a second look until the New Year’s party, you had been waiting for Rafe to show up. But to avail he never showed, you met Cooper properly that night and he was instantly obsessed.

Fast forward 8 months into a relationship with him, you found yourself sat on the floor of Tanny Hill. Watching as everyone opened their Christmas presents.

You had been invited by Ward before he had even thought of inviting Cooper and his side of the family, you had to pretend to act surprised when Cooper asked you to come. You knew he had invited you since your dad had passed away, your mum had gone back to work not long after he passed and she was apparently to busy to come home for Christmas.

This year Rafe came on, he was sitting on the large black lounge, arm slung around his girlfriend Lola. She was lovely, blonde with a die for figure. Everything you weren’t. Rafe looked more mature, but happier.

He still caused butterflies to swarm your belly, your heart to stammer in your chest. He still hugged the same and spoke the same, still picked on you in a way that had you giddy.

“Who wants a drink?” Coop questions, stumbling in his step slightly. You shook your head and stood up, he had been drinking since 9am and it was 2pm now. He was wasted. He could hardly stand by himself, using the door frame for support.

“Coop I don’t think you need another drink” you whispered, following him into the kitchen. He waved you off and continued to mix liquids into a shaker.

He had started drinking a lot in the past 3 months, work had been stressful and deadlines where being thrown left and right at him. You suspected he was also nervous about Rafe coming home, he knew how close we used to be.

“Could you open that?” He asks, pushing you the unopened bottle of champagne. His hands gripped the table to steady himself, he chuckled under his breath and looked up at you.

“Open it!” He ordered, you jumped slightly at his aggressive tone. You hated when he drank, he was a whole other person. Mean, manipulative and always ended up hurting you in some way.

You proceeded to uncork the champagne and passed it back to him in silence, he snatched it from you without a thank you and went back to making his drink.

He took a gulp of his drink and walked around to you, sculling back the last of it, he reached out for you. flinching away from him as he placed his hand on your hip.

“Oh come on babe, I didn’t mean to yell” he whispered, pressing his lips to your cheek. You nodded your head in silence, holding your breath. The stench of alcohol on his breath made you woozy.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking harshly at the skin. He pushed your back against the island bench, trapping you between his large arms. Grinding himself against you.

“Coop, not now. Someone could walk in” you whispered, moving to duck under his arm. He grabbed the pony tail that sat low on your head, pulling you back up to him.

“You don’t get to deny me what’s mine” he growled, his hand gripping the base of your throat. Tightening his fingers around it roughly.

“Coop” you cried, your throat began to burn and the breath you desperately wanted to take was trapped. “You're hurting me!”

He wasn’t listening though, his eyes were glazed over and the expression on his face was no longer him. He was the Cooper you had started to hide from when he came home at 2am in the morning.

“Shut the fuck up” he shouted, his fingers slipped under the material of your sweater. Groping the flesh of your breast roughly, scratching the skin raw.

You had started to cry at this point, tears staining your cheeks. You were thankful that this house was so big, no one would be able to hear you. You didn’t want anyone to witness this.

Cooper began to unzip your jeans, sliding his shaky hand under your panties until he found what he was looking for.

“Cooper!” You cried out, searing pain shooting through you as his fingers roughly entered you.

Tears were blurring your vision now, his lips were all over you. You were struggling to breath from his mouth on your lips and his fingers around your throat.

He began to unzip his own pants, pulling your hand away from the bench and down his jeans. Your fingers frozen, he manipulated them until they wrapped around his cock. “Come on y/n, just a quick fuck and you can go back to the fucking Cameron’s” he slurred, pulling your jeans down to expose your green panties. “Fuck, my favorite” he laughed, he spun you around pushing your face into the table.

The alcohol Cooper had spilt was now all over your face and in your hair, he had you pinned under his hand. Pulling his cock out of his pants, he didn’t warn you or ease you into it. He slammed his hips into you, causing you to cry out in pain.

You squeezed your eyes such and dug your fingernails into the wooden bench, trying to take yourself to a happy place. Anywhere but here.

“Fuck! Get a roo-” Rafes voice filled your ears, the once deafening buzz was gone and you pried your eyes open. Rafe only needed a second to realize you were in distress.

The once disgusted look in his face had vanished and was replaced with anger, his brows knitted together as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Fuck off bro” Cooper shouted, pushing your head back down onto the table and thrusting his hips again, he had no shame.

“Rafe!” You choked, pleading for him to do something. Rafe seemed to have gotten out of the trance he was in and he began bounding towards the two of you.

Cooper pulled himself out of you, tucking himself back into his pants stumbling backwards into the sink.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!!” Rafe screamed, he fisted the front of Cooper's shirt and pulled him closer.

You could tell he was fighting with himself, he didn’t want to cause a scene. Not when his dad was around, he couldn’t risk losing the business.

You had pulled your pants up in hurry, clutching the table in pain as Ward stepped into the kitchen the moment Rafe’s fist was in the air, he took one look at you crying and looked back at the boys.

“What happened?” He questioned, causing Rafe to drop his fist and look back at his dad. “He was assaulting y/n”.

This seemed to anger Ward as well, he nodded his head and stepped over to you.

“Let’s take you somewhere else” Ward whispers, he puts his hand out for you to take. You look back at Rafe and cooper, Rafe nods his head towards his dad. Cooper doesn’t even look at you, he’s so far gone his eyes are rolling behind his head.

You step over to take Ward’s hand and let him take you to his study, he situates you on the couch and hands you some water. You give him a soft smile and move your head to stare out of the window at the sea.

“I’ll be next door” he states, he wants to give you a moment of privacy. He also knows you won’t talk about it to him, you’ll want to talk to Rafe.

You're unaware how much time passes but the door to the study creaks open, Rafe steps in with a bag of ice over his hand.

“Y/n”

You turn your head back to the window, cradling your throat in your hands. The aching hadn’t stopped, the burn in your throat was brutal. No amount of water was easing the pain.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked, moving from your spot and walking towards him. You winced in pain, you hadn’t realized how sore you were. Cooper had been much rougher this time. “Here I’ll help you”.

You let him walk you up the stairs to his room, he pushes the door open. His girlfriend Lola lay on top of his mattress reading a book, her head whips around and sorrow feels her features when she looks at you.

“Sorry babe I thought you were downstairs” he smiled at her, she pulled herself from the bed quickly and flattened her dress. “I’ll use Sarah’s shower” you stated, pulling away from Rafe and walking yourself across the landing with a whimper.

“I have to help her babe” Rafe states and his arms are back around you in a second. You let him lead you into Sarah’s room, he flips the switch in the bathroom and turns the shower on.

“Thanks Rafe” you whisper, you give a soft hug in appreciation and he kisses the top of your head like he used to. Your heart swells, he pulls away and gives you a smile.

“I’ll get you some of Sarah’s clothes” he states and steps out of the room, he goes to close the door but you grab the handle before he can. “Leave it open a little please”.

He nods and steps away from the door, he searches through Sarah’s draws and grabs her a pair of loose shorts and oversized shirt. This should do, he thought to himself.

He walked back to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of you reaching for the towel. He could see old bruises on your arms and the fresh bruises on your hips, he closed his eyes when he caught sight of the harsh scratches on your breast. He knew he shouldn’t look, but you’d seen each other naked before. Okay maybe you were only 15 but still.

“Rafe” you called out, he was at the door in seconds handing you a pile of clothes. “Let me get yours washed” he says, you look down at your clothes and back at him. “No I’ll do it” you went to grab the clothes on the bench but he was faster than you. “Rafe” you warned but his eyes were already looking at the clothes in his hands, the sight of bright red blood stained on your once favorite pair of panties.

“Fuck” he grunted, balling your clothes up in his fists. “I’m getting dad to call the dr” he states, you shake your head grabbing his bicep. “No please Rafe, I’m fine. I don’t want another dr looking at me” you cried, he pulls you into a hug and squeezes you softly against his chest.

“Does this happen a lot?” He questions, he knows he doesn’t have a right to ask. The two of you hadn’t spoken properly since he left and he knew that was all his fault.

“When he drinks a lot he is this whole other person, it only started happening recently. I was never around when he drank before” you mumbled against his chest, you could hear the harsh thump of his heart as he took in the new information.

“He pushed me around a couple of times, forced himself on me a few weeks ago when I told him I missed you. Today was different, he was brutal.” You say, pulling yourself away from his hold. You grab the clothes he brought in and begin to change, keeping the towel around your body until the oversized shirt cover your naked body, stepping into the shorts.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been around y/n” he says, taking the towel from you and hanging it on a hook. He watches you throw your clothes into the trash, and lets you walk out of the bathroom first.

“Y/n”

Cooper's voice frightens you, you step back hitting Rafe’s chest in the process. Your heart races as you take in his swollen bruised face, you didn’t like it. “Coop, Ward told you to leave” Rafe states, stepping around you and walks towards him. “I know I know, I just needed to see y/n. I’m so sorry this happened again baby, you know I love you”.

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom closing the door behind you, you didn’t want to hear it, he was just trying to get you to forgive him. Take him back and pretend like none of it happened.

It was the same every time, this time he’d gone too far.

“Get out Cooper now, I’m fucking serious. Your lucky I didn’t call the fucking cops you piece of shit!” Rafe bellows, you hear a thump against a wall. Either Rafe hit the wall or he hit Cooper who fell into the wall.

“Fuck!” You hear Cooper shout, the door slams behind him. You're pressed against the bathroom door in silence, body shaking in fear.

Rafe taps on the wood quietly and you open the door for him. “He’s gone, let’s get you something to eat yeah?”.

Part two

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[daycourtofficial]

We started alone, in the end we’re okay

| Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Rhys’s sister!reader

| Summary: on a rare night alone, Eris reflects on the loneliest night of his life, and how he’s a long way from the person he had to be.

| Author’s note: yes this is inspired by Pretty Little Girl by Blink-182 how’d you know the last 45 seconds of that song are everything to me

| TW: mentions of physical abuse, blood, death

| WC: ~2k

Servants bustled up and down the halls of the Forest House, preparations being made for the Starfall holiday, one he and his family won’t be attending.

He was the only one left in the house - you had taken the kids to Night a day early so they could have a sleepover with their cousins. Meanwhile Eris had a meeting with some advisors in the morning he was unable to reschedule.

Eris strode toward his chambers, his long legs carrying him through the halls that have been the only witness to his comings and goings during his long life. He walked a path so familiar to him he could be reincarnated and still, his feet would carry him where he needed to go.

He had broken tradition when he became high lord, opting to stay in his previous chambers over taking Beron’s previous ones. He wanted to burn those rooms down, wanted to feel his fire consume every remaining remnant of Beron on this plane of existence.

He turned it into additional servant’s quarters instead. His father would have hated it. Lucien was delighted at the news.

Walking through his chambers, a pang echoes through him at the missing toys across the floor, especially the wooden sword he had been tripping over all week, asking Atlas to put it away, his request falling on deaf ears. The floors looked so empty, the room too quiet, despite his children being gone for only a handful of hours.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he breathed in deeply, the scents of his family already several hours old, the rooms slightly colder without their body heat warming them, especially the younger ones, unable to properly regulate their powers yet.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, sitting in the old leather chair that’s been in this room as long as he has. His amber eyes roam about the room, taking in every detail, despite very little physically ever changing about the room.

His mind wandered, opening doors into his past he had sealed shut. Doors he would give anything to forget where they sit, doors that he can hear screams from the other side of.

Without intending to, he stumbles through one of those doors, perhaps the largest and most foreboding of all.

The rag made a disgusting squishing noise as it met the tile of his bathroom. The pile was growing larger, his blood seeping out of the rags onto the floor.

He braced his hands on the counter, fingers gripping tightly to the marble counter, sucking in a breath through his teeth, trying not to think, to feel.

He grits his teeth, grinding them together as he pours more alcohol on the fresh rag, preparing himself for the sting.

He quickly placed the rag on his back, a small gasp coming from his lips at the pain. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he sparks a flame on the tile, needing something to distract him.

He skitters the small flame across the floor, rubbing the rag across his torn and shredded back, the alcohol seeping into his wounds, sterilizing them from Beron’s cruelty.

If only he were given the same treatment.

He closed his eyes, breathing deep and slow, trying to stop the images flashing behind them.

Lucien, his baby brother, the best of them, running through the woods, intentionally taking the paths most covered in root.

Lucien, whose long hair resembled Eris’s, and whenever they smiled, they both had the ability to unsettle people.

Lucien, who was slightly taller and stockier than his big brother. Lucien, who spent his young and vulnerable years searching for Eris in every room. Lucien, who Eris took on walks through the woods, teaching him how to snare rabbits.

He was too late to save his lover, had barely arrived in time to send word to Tamlin and redirect Lucien’s running towards the border with Spring.

He had warned and warned and warned Lucien not to test Beron, that he would fail as a father, fail to do the right thing every time.

Lucien, the snarky bastard, could never resist biting back, always testing the boundaries of those around him.

Eris wasn’t surprised when his father had called him to his office one night, desperate for answers to how any son of his could dare be enchanted by a lesser fae. He was, however, more than surprised at Beron’s ridiculous plan for punishing Lucien: forcing Lucien to watch as they killed Jesminda and then killing Lucien.

He couldn’t look at himself, couldn’t believe that they had gotten here, to this point, to this ridiculous sham of a family.

He didn’t know what he was doing until the knife was in his hand, blindly sawing at his hair until the ground around him was covered in strokes of red.

He ignored the throbbing in his back as he moved his hands, ignored the warmth spreading down his back as the wounds reopened. The hacked hair began coating his chest and sticking to the blood on his back.

He stood in a pool of his past, years and years of decay around his feet, a ghost looking back at him in the mirror.

At least his hair was dead before he took the blade to it.

There was no sign of his brother in his reflection. Just a short crop of red hair and some creature looking back at him. Something new roared beneath his skin, some new sense of purpose.

He dropped the knife, the blade clattering against the floor, the sound echoing through the room, but he couldn’t hear it over the rushing of his thoughts, the one thought consuming him.

He knew what he had to do. He would kill Beron. For Lucien, for his mother, for his brothers, for Jesminda.

For himself.

He walked out of the bathroom, into his chambers, opening the large window. The wind was sharp on the wounds on his back, but he couldn't help being drawn into the night sky before him.

An endless sea of stars above him, ones he knows are watching him make poor decision after poor decision. But still they call to him in some language he can’t understand, something deep within him yearning for their company.

He put on a loose shirt, the fabric suffocating his wounds. He slipped through the open window, the night sky infinite before him. Treading through the woods, he walks through unmade paths, paths that one day his children will forge in these woods.

They will never know the path he took that night, searching in the moonlight for a body, disrespected and desecrated. It took him a few hours, but he found what remained of her, parts of her body missing from predation. He waves his hand to shoo off some birds, their annoyed caws growing softer as they flew away.

He uses the shovel he brought to break ground, the wounds in his back that had began healing reopening, fresh blood mingling with the sweat dripping down his back.

All he could feel was the night air, somehow colder without his brother. His hands blister as he digs and digs and digs, offering penance for an atrocity not of his own.

He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was the right thing to do, even though Eris was never able to properly discern between right and wrong. Was it out of respect for Jesminda, whose last moments were filled with nothing but terror and the worst the fae had to offer? Was it out of mourning for Lucien, his youngest brother gone forever? Was it penance for all the terrible things he had done in his life so far?

He pulls himself out of the hole, grunting as he gets out of the grave. He looks into it, thinking how easy it would be to just bury himself instead.

Will this be his end? A burial under the cover of darkness by someone he hardly knows?

Knees meet the dirt, his hands moving to her face. He never knew her, not really. Met her in passing at one of the markets in town. She gave him some pastry, her little stall so homey despite its impermanence.

Her eyes are open, not seeing anything. He offers a prayer to the Mother - for Jesminda, for Lucien, for everyone who comes into Beron’s orbit. He asks for safe passage for Jesminda, into whatever afterlife exists.

He closes Jesminda’s eyes, his movements slow and deliberate. He takes her arms - what’s left of them - crossing them against her chest. He fishes from his pocket, putting a gold coin in one hand and an apple in the other.

Food for the journey, to nourish the soul. Gold for enlightenment, a hope that Jesminda will receive some peace in the journey before her. He delicately kisses her on the forehead - a last touch, performed with love and selflessness. Words never before used to describe Eris Vanserra, words that won’t be used to describe him for centuries to come.

He gently scooped her into his arms, taking care to keep her head from rolling back. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Except to Eris it did.

He walked with her over to the grave he had dug, gently lowering himself into the grave. His knees bent, delicatelt placing her on the ground as his chanting continued, pleading for safe passage, for a better ending than this. For an opportunity to come back, for her to get anything better than this.

Her body presses into the ground, relaxing into what will be her final resting place. Eris climbs out of the grave, peering down at his brother’s lover. His brother’s hope for the future, cruelly ripped from him by their father.

He grabbed the shovel, beginning to scoop dirt over her. It felt wrong to do so without Lucien or an audience. But it had to happen.

Once the grave was completely covered, Eris walked over to a patch of asters, using the shovel to scoop several of the flowers up. He lowered them onto her grave, a marking of sorts as he patted the soil around it so the roots would stay in place.

He looked at the asters, their purple hues looking so bright in the moonlight. Words are on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out to pay some form of respect for Jesminda.

But nothing comes out. After a long time, the inly noise around him the chirping of insects, he turns, treading back to the Forest House. His footsteps are quiet, but much heavier. He finds his window easily, taking one last look towards the night sky, wondering what their everlasting gaze would have to say about what they’ve seen before slipping back into his room.

But Eris isn’t there anymore. Many sleepless nights had been spent since then gazing at the stars, dreaming of a better life. Dreaming of the day he would get to see Lucien again, silently asking the stars for any help they could provide.

Eris never put much faith into the Mother, assuming she had forsaken him and left him to be on his own. Until he met you. You who walked on stardust and moonlit skies. You who facilitated a reconciliation between himself and Lucien.

Eris’s fingers push through his short hair, reminding himself of how far he has come since that fateful night. For the first time in a long time, his fingers ache to feel more length.

[lidiasloca]

delicately

cassian x reader

part three

summary: when cassian meets reader, he doesn't think past her privileged life. but what if there is more behind her appearance? what if, who she really is, is meant to meet with him on a cold night at the court of nightmares for a reason?

Feeling tears roll down your face, you jump into his arms. 

Of course he knows.

Your mate. 

You gently pull away from the tight embrace. You have to find his eyes. Find something that can hold you to this earth. And so you watch each other. Silent, no words needed.

At least no coherent words. “We are mates,” you mumble in disbelief, the words running from your mind to your lips.

“We are,” he smiles lovingly.

You smile back. “So what now?”

He lets out a youthful laugh and sets you down on the floor delicately. He turns his face to you again, and his expression is softer, as if he’s thoughts had met yours.

You are mates. You are bounded. Together. 

“Well, I think now we have forever,” he states evidently.

Forever. 

You beam, shocked in a thrilling and heart-melting feeling. ‘Forever’ is too serious to be in the same sentence with ‘Cassian’, a male you barely know. 

Where does he live?

What’s his favorite color?

His favorite animal?

You realize you had lost yourself in your stupid thoughts when his rough hand softly takes your chin to look up at him instead of the ground. 

He reads you well. And you read him well, as if you both knew your souls like the back of your hands. And you find peace in that knowledge. You find peace in the reassuring look in his eyes. 

You could memorize all the trivial facts and characteristics of a person and never know them as well as you know a stranger whose soul is intertwined with your own. 

Yes, it’s scary. But it is also exciting. You will have forever to get to know him better. 

You cannot wait to start eternity with him. With Cassian.

‘We have forever,’ he had said… 

“Maybe we should start with something simpler,” you reply playfully. 

He chuckles. “Yes. You are going to meet my family first.” The male must have sensed the anxiety in your eyes, for he quickly adds, “Is that not reasonable? You have not to-”

You nervously excuse yourself, “It is - No! It’s more than reasonable. It’s just that… Well, what if they don’t like me?”

He bursts out laughing. 

You just stare at him. Wordless as you take in his scoffing. It’s hard to keep a serious look when his laugh is so contagious. Nonetheless, once he notes your straight face, he tries to cover his smile and explains, “What - you scared me there. I thought you didn’t want to meet them. I feared for your life. And mine.”

You open your mouth, astonished, waiting for his teasing smile. No smile. “You feared for our lives?”

“My family would do terrible things if I didn’t present my wife properly to them. The High Lord is not to be messed with. And his cousin…” He pretends to cover his face in fear. “And don’t get me started with the spymaster. You’ve probably heard of Azriel - be careful with that one. It’s a relief you were just being a timid little thing about meeting them.”

What?

Your mate considers his family the High Lord and his cousin, and a Spymaster. His family is not blood, you guess, and you totally understand. You don’t even like considering your father by blood your family, true, but it’s still odd. You make a mental note for later to ask him about it. When the proper moment comes. 

Because now your thoughts are elsewhere; in teaching your mate manners.

He tries really hard to contain his laughter when you pretend to be furious. Maybe you are a bit. “First. I hope you are kidding about your violent family. Second. Timid little thing? Dare you speak to your mate that way again, and I will be the one doing terrible things.”

“I was going to go for timid dork but you-”

“Cassian,” you bark as you poke him in the chest. He is unmoved. And giggly. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, still smiley. “I won’t call you a timid little thing again, if you agree to meeting my family.” You smirk triumphant; you can accept that. “Tonight.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “What? Tonight?” 

“Tonight,” he replies plainly. “I fly you to our house. I show you the place. I call my friends when you are ready. We eat dinner. I take you to my room.” You turn visibly read as he continues. “And I read you a chapter of a book - what in all hells were you thinking about, love?” he asks loudly, making you want to dig yourself a grave and stay there.

You will strangle him. 

But before the opportunity is given, he takes you in his arms, lifts you up and looks at you intensely as you swallow a panicked scream. 

“Say yes,” he pleads.

“I-”

“Please, love.”

“Yes.”

And strong wind hits you in every centimeter of your skin as he takes off flying. 

… 

“I will surely lend you a dress. And lucky for you, I know just which one will be perfect for you,” the gorgeous female tells you as she leaves for said gown. 

It’s been about ten minutes since you arrived to the Hose of Wind. Ten minutes since Morrigan befriended you and treated you like you had known each other for a lifetime. 

You enjoy her presence. But not enough to ignore that you miss your mate, who had stayed in the living room to wait upon the others' arrival. The though of yet more people to meet makes you again anxious. They are not just people. They are Cassian’s family. If you made them hate you… 

“They will adore you,” Morrigan says as she returns to you, now with a stunning red dress in her hands.

“What?” you mumble.

“Azriel and Rhys. They will love you.”

You prayed they were as kind as Mor. Half as decent as her was even enough. 

“How do you know?” you ask, trying not to sound as desperate as you feel. 

“Because they love Cassian, and you are Cassian’s mate. They will surely love the best thing that’s ever happened to his best friend.”

Oh. Well, that is reassuring. You make sure to smile thankfully at her as she hands you the gown. You’ve never worn anything like that before. Nothing so fancy or eye-cathing. But the dress is a ruby red too familiar to reject. 

“Thank you,” you tell her, both for her words and for the dress. You love this girl so much already. 

She leaves you alone in the room so you can change, and in the silence you think about how you have never felt so accompanied. Cassian and Morrigan already fill a whole gap in your heart. Never had you befriended anyone, thanks to your father’s strict rules. Never had you actually bonded with anyone.

Anyone but your mother.

You had tried to avoid the though, but guilt quickly creeps in your heart. You have left your mother in that place alone. No - even worse - with your father. The thought of what your father would do to you when he found out you were missing. 

You felt tears run down your cheeks. 

Another perfect moment ruined by the though of your father. Guilt quickly changed to fury. No. He would not ruin one of the few good moments in your life. You have found your mate. You are about to meet his family, and you will do it with a smile on your face. Not your father on your mind.

You are decided when you put on the dress and walk to see your reflection in the mirror.

“You look…” You swiftly turn to the voice. Cassian looks, and looks, and keeps looking as you turn more and more red under his piercing eyes. “Y/N you look…”

“Never had you for a shy lover,” Mor says as she appears on the door, next to Cassian. He turns to her with an exhausted look, yet the surprise and tenderness of a second ago is still in his eyes. “You look lovely, Y/N,” the female says.

You don’t look at her as she approaches to fix your hair gently. You only have eyes for Cassian. And he is just as lost in you. 

“You do,” he finally corroborates, but it’s almost a whisper.

“Thank you,” you murmur, not helping the timid smirk on your face.

Morrigan sighs at the two of you, her eyes going from you to him again and again, as if in disbelief. “Girl, I’ve never seen Cassian act so silly.” Then she leans in and whispers for only you to hear, “You really have him wrapped around your finger.” 

You smirk as you watch Cassian’s eyebrows rise in question. But it’s your secret. You turn to Mor and grin at her mischievously, liking this new playful part of you. 

She is walking out the room when she turns and says out loud, “Be sure to use this to your benefit.” And she winks exaggeratedly. 

At that, Cassian’s eyes find yours in a silent question. But you nonchalantly ignore him and walk to him to the door. 

“Have they arrived?” you ask, but the nonchalance is now gone.

“Yes,” he answers. His eyes turn sympathetic when he takes in your uneasy demeanor. He moves his hands to hold your face lovingly. “Do not worry. I didn’t mean what I said about them being so violent,” he jokes.

You chuckle softly, the nerves dissipating a bit. “I know.”

“Well, at least I hope they aren’t tonight,” he teases. 

You smack his arm, shushing him as you laugh. “You are a dork.” He feigns indignation, and you shake your head in exasperation. “Stop being stupid and present me to your family,” you order, taking his hand, needing the reassuring feeling of having him close. 

At your words, his eyes spark with joy. Presenting you to his family is not just something big for you. You realize it is very important for him to. 

You are his mate. 

Then you think about how you don’t have a family to present to him. And that breaks your heart. You know your mother would love him, she would love anything in this world that could make you happy, but with your father at her side, there was no chance you could present Cassian. 

Your mate senses your momentarily sadness, and yet again asks you only with his eyes. You dismiss his question with a genuine smile as you start walking to the living room. You deserve to enjoy this moment. You deserve to let go of your father for a night and only fill your heart with love for Cassian.

Love and nervousness.

“Y/N, these are Rhys and Azriel…”

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

cassian masterlist

YES we are back with Delicately. thanku for reading and especially for waiting so long. but better later than ever. love to hear your thoughts on my fics and love to see my work being read so yet again THANKU.

@justdreamstars

[yumenoyousei]

I asked for a commission of my DC OC Shay from @jnephrite and look at my girl!! 😭 She so pretty I can't even😭😭😭 Always loved @jnephrite art so seeing Shay in hers is a blessing 🙏🏾

And since the fic is almost halfway through posting, I thought, might as well introduce Shay properly! EDIT: the fic, Awaking in Gotham, is now completed!

EDIT: More art of Shay + art of a scene from fic

Full name: Shay Michelle Frank (♀) Occupation: Graphic Designer / YouTuber Height: 5'9"  Birthday: September 16th  ☀Virgo 🌙Aries ⬆Aquarius Proud African American/Haitian & Gothamite  Hobbies: Poetry, Arts, Rap/R&B music, help the Gotham North Community Center, Discover new artists (both musically and visual arts)

Shay was born and raised in Gotham, close to the infamous Crime Alley, by her maternal grandmother, Marie-Monique "Manmi Mo" Antoine, and with her 3 years older brother Zachary "Zee" Frank. Her mother died of childbirth (she had had complications with Zee which was why she was hospitalized when pregnant with Shay) so her whole family distrusted the American health system. This is why when her grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, they didn't go to the hospital and only went to the illegal clinic. (Also; money.) Her father is unknown. 

Ever since young, she went to the Gotham North Community Center, mostly run by the Black and Latinx communities of the Crime Alley neighbourhood. Her grandmother would teach the children about mostly Black literature but also all sorts of arts which is why Shay is such a creative person. That's also where she met Jason Todd for the first time when she was around 4-5.

Her brother very early on started to "run the streets" and started to hang out with bad crews, but always had his heart on his sleeves. He just couldn't find other ways to get money to make sure Shay had the right education/a chance away from crime.

Her grandma died when she was almost 17 and her brother died not even 4 weeks later (2 weeks after her 17th birthday) because of a dispute between gangs. (Allegedly) 

After her grandma and Zee died, she went to live in Metropolis with her second-degree cousin, Jennifer Antoine, until she graduated from university. Even when in Metropolis, she would go as much as she could back to Gotham to see her people/help the center.

She started a YouTube channel talking about Gotham's art and musical scene to change people's persepective of Gotham after too many people at Metropolis U "pitied" her for being a Gothamite. 

As soon as she was about to graduate, she applied to work at Wayne Entreprise back in Gotham. She got a job as a graphic designer and moved back to her city.

At the start of the fic, "Awaking in Gotham", she is 22 and has been working at WE for almost a year.

Read more about Shay (and her love story with Jason) on AO3! (Trying to update every week!)

Random notes about Shay:

As I wrote in the fic's notes, the first reason for creating Shay was: who the fuck would stay in Gotham that isn't a criminal and/or a vigilante??

So I created a black girl who loves her community and sees all it could be while being very conscious of what it is and its dangers. Then I went, hey! she'd be good with Jason while I was starting my Jason Todd Thirst so obv my fic turned into romance. lol

The name comes from Belgian rapper Shay, Montreal-based singer Shay Lia, and Haitian Montreal-based singer Shah Frank. As I was creating Shay I was obsessed with all three of them and the name Shay Frank wouldn't leave me.

Ngl, I gave a lot of me to Shay; like her Haitian roots and GAD but very quickly she went her own way and grew in this character I'm proud of. I'd like to say I also gave her my music taste but she is way more into hip-hop than me and she rejects most of my pop playlists (sadly).

Because Shay was based on me, all her entourage I created is based on people in my rl. lol

I also absolutely wanted her to be friends with Bernard because I absolutely love Bernard (and Bat SO who are civilians? Tim and Jason bonding over the fact their SO are the only civilians in the Batfam?! So many fun things to do!!)

Zee is also a character that I love, based on one of my favourite cousins, and I got lowkey mad at myself halfway through that he was dead. So I have an AU where he didn't die in my head lol 

I'd like to write a oneshot of it when I'm done with this fic.

Last fun fact about Shay that I wasn't able to put in fic yet: all the rogues annoy her (mostly because they cause mayhem that cancel events) but she madly respects Poison Ivy because of her convictions and: "is she wrong tho?" 

I have a lot of other small notes about Shay and the Shay-verse but I'll post the rest when the fic is completed!

EDIT 2024-10-04: I completely forgot to add the link to the post fic notes! So if you read Awaking in Gotham do check those other notes!

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen until circumstances impeded the match to concretize. Now, years later… will you and him be persuaded this is the right timing to amend things?

Warnings: drama, light smut. Long post.

***

• I

As the second child and oldest daughter of Lord Gwayne Hightower, you are privileged to be sent to your aunt’s household and there be raised as her royal ward.

Your Hightower charms do manage to captivate Queen Alicent at the time of your arrival—as well as King Viserys, by then very alive and in good health, who treats you as his own daughter. In the meantime you are settling at court, you ought to share the same apartments with your royal cousin, Princess Helaena, the first of your regal relatives to make your acquaintance.

“Greetings, Y/N. In green and black wheels, our fortune will gravely depend on it, I’m afraid. But you are a welcome addition to our misadjusted family.”

At first you do not understand the meaning of her words, however, your kindness speaks louder than reason so you flash her a smile—rather than pushing her away as so many have done before, which surprises the princess.

“Noble families are often troubled homes to be raised within, cousin. Every privilege comes with a price and aren’t we all willing to pay for it? Either way, thank you for receiving me. I hope you can find in me a friend to rely on.”

Initial distrusts put aside, Helaena nods her head. The idea of having a friend melts away her defenses and makes her smile to you.

“Do you like embroidery?”

“I fear I do not excel at it, but it is a pastime of mine”, you smile warmly.

“Very well. Come and follow my lead, I’d like your help to proceed with my work on it.”

“Gladly”.

And a bond is now forged.

*

Aemond watches as you walk almost arm in arm with Princess Helaena. You are dressing a green gown with long sleeves and your red hair falls loose behind your back. Some of the curls does in fact remind him of his mother.

But in secrecy the teenaged boy thinks you are prettier than the Queen.

“You should speak to her”, he struggles to hold back a sigh at the voice of Aegon. “Aren’t you doing your duty and welcoming her properly, brother? My, where are your manners?”

In order to avoid Aegon’s annoyance further, Aemond does in fact go after you. Like a shadow, he moves silently. Once spotting you at the gardens, he awaits for the best moment to get to you. With Helaena out of the sight, Aemond takes his chance.

“If the rumors are true, we are marrying when we reach age”, you turn around only to spot this long silver haired male who is likely the same age as you, counting three and ten summers.

You curtsy out of respect. Aemond nods his head in turn.

“Well, I wasn’t told of marriage prospects yet, but I would be lucky if this proves to be true”.

“Lucky? I lack my brother’s charms”, the boy chuckles in abhorrence. “Surely you must have met him.”

“I believe we have been introduced, yes. But I do not think he has any charms, if anything he’s an annoying prince”, you are pleased to find the Targaryen male chuckling. “And whom might you be, suitor of mine?”

Aemond does not admit at first, but you do strike him a positive impression, reminding him of the damsels he used to read about in chivalric novels.

“Lord Aemond Targaryen, Madame”, and here he does a proper bow.

“Cousin Aemond”, the way you break formalities so easily leaves him disconcerted. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, one hopes.”

“Naturally so. Would you care to spend the rest of the day with Helaena and I?”

Aemond’s reason urges him to leave you, but his tongue decides otherwise.

“I believe I am free off my duties, so why not?”

*

Later that evening, one could not stay too far from the other. Aemond soon comes to find out how much you and him have in common. To his surprise you are very educated.

“I prefer the philosophers of the East”, you tell him. “They are deeper in thoughts and observations about life. The ancient ones, in the days of Old Valyria, left some good works.”

“How’d you reach out to it?”, asks the prince, impressed.

“Well, living nearby Old Town has some advantages”, you laugh quietly. “Daeron has helped me with it.”

Something about his younger brother doesn’t sit well with Aemond. A sensation close to jealousy comes uninvited. But the prince disguises it well, though.

“How’s he by the way? I barely remember him now. We’ve been apart for many years.”

“He’s doing great and he misses his siblings too”, you tell him. “It is very lonely the journey to become a maester. And yet… if I can say anything about your younger brother is that he possesses a very sensitive soul.”

“Hum. Probably he’d be a better companion than Aegon”, he chuckles low.

This twilight you two are pacing around the castle. For a pair of youth, it is striking to see both of you discussing philosophers, historians and all that is in between. Then as day turns into night and dinner is prepared, you are forced to part ways.

“Are you not coming to join us for dinner?”, you ask him expectedly.

Aemond isn’t sure how to react about the suddenly expectation he spots in your y/c eyes. He is left again disconcerted. A feeling he doesn’t appreciate at the same time he is found eager to please you.

Why? A voice asks him. But he refuses to find the answer.

“I will… just change my robes.”

Your lips spread in a large smile and it is a sight that warms his heart.

“Good. I’d like to see you there, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Hesitantly, one says farewell to the other in a very typical young manner—even though you and him shall meet within five and ten minutes.

*

You are very pleased to be told you are betrothed to Aemond. The sight of your delight, that you make no effort in disguise, is a good omen to all, and even the wayward prince is not immune to it.

“How can you be this content in becoming my wife?”, he asks you when you are found walking towards the yard where the prince is to be trained under the guidance of Ser Criston Cole. “I have no dragon to call mine own.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”, and you list his virtues and why each one earned you fondness. “A dragon doesn’t make you any less, my dear Aemond.”

But he cannot find a way to answer you properly for Ser Criston has summoned him to practice. It does little good to his pride when perceiving your presence. Your beaming presence. You are there to support him in ways few of his family ever did.

He casts you a long gaze and you hold it, pleased with the subtle certainty that he feels what you feel too.

*

Nevertheless, it’s you who eventually feels like an outcast for not being one who claims a dragon. In this comes your dear Helaena, who says:

“High you may fly, but not to skies you will find your might.”

You cast her a long glance. For a while you don’t speak a word but then curiosity gets the best of you.

“What is the price?”

Helaena ponders whether she can trusts you with her dreams. Eventually though, she realizes you are far more trustworthy with them than most of her relatives ever cared to comprehend such.

“A price of blood, I fear.”

You nod. Casting a glance to the clouds that begin to wipe out the blue that painted bright skies, you speak:

“What’s there to come, cousin? What have the Gods spoken?”

Putting aside her embroidery, Helaena slides to your side. Then she gently takes your hand and holds it quickly, showing in her way her fondness to you.

“If you are inclined to follow your heart, patience you must nurture for a hard path lies forward to us all.”

You have nothing else to say, baffled by these prophetic words. Nonetheless, if Helaena is resigned to whatever destiny she sees, you opt to trust in her and take the heels of such advice. After all, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve.

*

“Do you dance, cousin?”, this day you and him are set at Dragonstones to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen, who died in childbirth.

Aemond took you for a walk around the sands, misliking the whole ceremony. Now, as wind blows a cold breeze, he notices your red curls are made a mess, a victim of weather; a view of wilderness he most appreciates.

“Not if I can help”, says he with a serene countenance.

“Not even if one’s partner is… tolerable?”

“You trick me to your will, cousin”, and here he takes hold of your hand. And makes you twirl. “Are you pleased to remove my pride?”

“You cannot fault me for your own doings, Aemond”, and you wink at him before getting to start a race.

The prince rolls his eyes, but maybe acknowledges some truth in your word. As he starts to get after you, though, Aemond spots a large creature not too far from where both of you are.

For a moment he stops what he’s doing. For a moment, only a flying living old dragon could take his eyes off you.

Vhagar calls him, he knows.

But when you turn your head with your inviting smile, Aemond patiently leaves a new idea for later. Perhaps nothing is too dull in Dragonstone, after all.

An event that might drag both of you to a tragedy droll is set to happen, and who could foretell the consequences of an inconsequent choice?

***

• II

Old stones in old piles come to your eyes as the first rays in the morning come through the window glass and wake you up. You stare at that familiar wall, a witness of time, once the keeper of your safety… and now turned into golden cages.

You turn at your side of bed. It is a large, wooden made, very cozy indeed. But the warmth of your line blankets annoys you and you toss them aside. Impatience rises in your chest and before you know, your eyes are tearing up again.

I should have gotten used to it by now.

But can one easily accept the task of moving forward after getting to feel loved in the way professed by bards? You could still remember his laughters, his secret smile… the long days spent at library, sharing a lecture or when you opted to discuss about eastern old philosophy right at the dinner table, earning a quizzical glance of your royal aunt and an amused one of your regal uncle.

You miss his scent. You miss how unexpectedly he could be when pursuing your fingers and intertwining with his.

Years have gone by. You are not that mischievous, lively child anymore. You are now a damsel, whose prospective future is put on hold.

“Oh Aemond”, you move barefoot towards the window and opens it, suffocating, eager for some fresh air. As you do, you come across the sight of green hills and small villages not too far from the castle you spent your early childhood. No sign of clouds, nor even of… dragons.

One more day. Even now, your unending hopes are crushed. Again.

“You cannot forget your promise”, you whisper angrily in gritted teeth as if he’s somewhere unseen. “You told me you’d have my heart until you died, that you’d make me your wife. But you are very much alive! Oh, can the Gods be this cruel?”

When you close your eyes, you can still remember the last day you met. He had lost his eye and the two of you escaped to the sands where stars were the only witnesses of such daring move.

“Will you still be my wife after all of this happened?”

“I will”, you assured him firmly, your warm hand holding tightly his cold one. “How dare you consider I would ever leave you?”

Aemond chuckled. The sound of it was miserable to you. Could he be blamed for it, though? You comprehended him more than he’d know.

“I must say I have grown suspicious. Besides, an one eyed prince is not a charming prospective as a husband.”

“I object”, and here you force him to look at you, holding his chin gently with your right hand. “I will never forgive myself for not being there when those foolish, stupid kids did that to you. I would gladly take my heart out as proof of my unending loyalty to you.”

Aemond blushed. A weak, crimson shade of pink painted his pale cheeks. You didn’t know his thoughts, how could you? But they were about you and you alone.

“I could never doubt you, my lady Y/Nickname. Apologies if I misled you to believe so. I just… felt so unworthy of your affection.” Before he could hold his tongue, words were spitted out. “Do you love me?”

You too blushed underneath moonlight. You were frightened, but more so that he’d not correspond you. Even so, despite the uncertainty you felt, you risked speaking the truth.

“I do. I… love you, Aemond.”

Aemond blushed deeper, looking away for a moment. Then he turned at you, open mouthed, ready to give you his heart too… when a scowl was heard:

“Well well, it appears we found two besotted younglings prompted to do something only two besotted imprudent younglings intend to do.”

Uncle Daemon’s remark was enough to make one part of the other. Despite the mockery in his tone, used to impede either of you to notice he was in fact with Rhaenyra throughout the day, his words left its mark.

Ever since that day, though, you haven’t seen Aemond again.

*

Aemond stares at the moon, dancing alone in her majesty nightly reign. No stars are seen, no clouds are there to omit her from the mundane sight.

A cold breeze blows his silver locks, messing with his hair. The prince pays no mind to it. Today it is not about the looks nor about the power he is hungry to possess.

Having dismounted Vhagar, and already aware that many troubles lay ahead of him as soon as he walks through that door, Aemond’s thoughts that evening go towards you.

“I wish I told her I loved her”, he confided his whore. “Every night I dream of her face, her y/c eyes and red locks staring at me. Her sweet demeanor haunts me. Like a prey that has outwitted the hunter.”

“Is it how you perceive the object of your true affections, my prince? A prey that has not fallen the web of your traps?”

He remembers looking at the older woman quite offended.

“I said no such a thing. She is… unreachable now. Literally so, even in my dreams. Y/N is the embodiment of purity, whose virtues are endless. No words can do justice to the goodness she possesses.” He paused, melancholic somewhat. “It is just, methinks, that she’s out of my grasp now.”

“Have you considered writing for her?”, the maternal tone he never heard in his own mother seemed to smooth his broken heart at that moment, only to cover the pain these words gave him. “She never knew you loved her too. You have a dragon, Aemond. What’s there to stop you from purchasing her?”

“Duties.” Aemond’s embargoed voice broke out of his masked pride. “Duties are the death of love.”

Whatever happened in the past should remain so. As Aemond crosses the grand door and takes the stairs to get to the Council meeting, though, he cannot conceive that he failed you. For he never wrote to you again—despite all of these promises…

“There is my brother! Loyal like a hound”, Aegon’s voice is enough to make Aemond sweep away the agony he’s been through the day. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aemond opts not to answer. He takes his seat and leaves the talking for the council. The Dowager Queen gives him a look, an inquiry one, but the prince avoids it.

“Well”, Otto finally begins the Council. “Apparently, Rhaenyra has not been sufficiently encouraged to make peace, so war it is.”

Aemond doesn’t like to remember that he’s partially the reason why conflict has turned inevitable. He’s still daunted by that monstrous image of Vhagar devouring the Velaryon boy.

He didn’t mean it. But what are intentions when it comes to war?

Perhaps it’s for the best that you’ve been taken away from me, Y/N.

Aemond never asked why you disappeared, but there was no need to. The Queen’s brother thought wise that you continued your education in Oldtown—perhaps more moved by Otto Hightower’s counsel, who was genuinely worried over you concerning the bluntness in Rhaenyra’s children—especially after what had happened to Aemond.

He reasonably accepted it, but he also resented it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t accept your absence. It makes no sense to him why you were withdrawn… and after what he’s done, anger and guilt consume him still.

Despite the angst in his thoughts, this is no time to self scourge. Aemond promptly participates in the council of war, listening to all and making acceptable suggestions here and there.

“Diplomacy failed”, says the prince before the king. “To war we must wage.”

The first steps to conquer allies and strength old alliances are thus shaped. Later, without Aemond’s acknowledgment, the idea to fortify Houses Targaryen & Hightower through marriage is returned.

“Perhaps we should have Daeron to bring Lady Y/N”, Otto contemplates.

“Is she going to be safe here?”, says Alicent, genuinely concerned. “If she comes over and falls in the enemies’s hands, Gwayne is not going to forgive me for this.”

“Gwayne knows what’s best for our family’s interest. Y/N is too precious to fall simply into Rhaenyra’s side. I’ll make sure of that.”

As the wheel turns, destiny is designed.

***

• III

Aemond is vibrating this day. He’s managed to collect great victories in the battles ahead all thanks to the strategies he traces with Aegon. Due to Rhaenyra’s incapacity of playing the game of thrones, both brothers seem to finally see eye to eye.

“It is for the best that we work together on this”, Aegon tells Aemond one of these days. “No one wants a safer realm than I do. I know you may judge me unfit for the throne I never wanted, but Aemond… we are family. May our differences be set aside for the sake of our cause.”

War is not a merely word drawn out of bards pens to mark the deeds of men and save for posterity their names. This is not about glory, but a conflict built over anguished, vicious souls, plagued by ambitious.

War is not fought alone, this Aemond knew it well. Aegon has his reasons to fear his younger brother, but he cannot be alone in such a time. They are already doomed for fighting a kin.

“Your cause is mine, Your Grace”, says Aemond, leaving his ambitions aside for the sake of the misadjusted family he’s born into. “To suggest otherwise is a treacherous, incommendable thought.”

“Good”, Aegon cannot conceal his relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

How odd it is to find peace in times of war.

Yet can it be called peace when Aemond is far from it? Plagued by old demons, he is in constant struggle to firm his steps. He cannot trust in anyone of his family, despite affirming his loyalty to Aegon.

But what else is there to be done? He has a role to play and this is no time to getaway of it.

*

Whilst the Seven Kingdoms bleed and burn, you remain safe at Old Town. Occupying yourself with books, embroidery and music have proved to be good to for your mind.

Indeed, Old Town is safe for you in many ways. You could still manage to take philosophy to your bed late night, you could still read how many books you want. You upheld many privileges being the son of Ser Gwayne.

You could dance merrily with Lord Daeron, but he reminded you often of Lord Aemond. And by the end of every night, you are forced to tell that he never loved you for he never bothered to write you.

We are at war, you tell yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best.

So you accept this is your fate. Maybe to remain unmarried, which is good—your library is still the safe haven you can go to, for you charmed the maesters there and no one can forbid you to touch untouchable books.

But is knowledge a good medication for a broken heart? You are yet to know.

“Daughter of mine”, your father’s voice startle you; for he is not expected. “I knew I’d find you reading at the gardens again. At times I think you have too much of the Tyrells in you”, says Ser Gwayne, alluding to his wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell, your mother.

You greet him like the devoted daughter that you are.

“What is there for me to do? Men sharp their blades and I sharp my brain.”

Ser Gwayne is proud for the intelligence you have developed. Had you been a son, he’d not been concerned over the matters of his succession.

“If only your brothers had the same concern. But your grandsire knows your worth is too high to be wasted around here.”

Your heart races, your mind accelerates, but your face remains unreadable.

“What is it you mean, dear papa?”

“What I mean is that you are going back to King’s Landing. Your mother protested against it, for you are our only daughter and these are perilous times to be sent to the capital”, by the way he sighs, you know Ser Gwayne agrees with his wife. “However, your grandsire has better plans for his favourite granddaughter. He wants to marry you off to Lord Aemond Targaryen. I don’t think the old man will rest until he tangles both houses into one same blood.”

He chuckles and you force yourself to join him in laughters. However, deep inside you feel weak, unwell even. How can this be? To marry him… the object of your childish desires, the man whom you opened your heart to…and yet never received any token in return.

“Is this certain? What’s with the rush?”, you hope you are disguising well your own atonement.

“It is, it’s been agreed at last. The late king lamented profoundly when you left the court, but in all honesty… I think you deserved better than a prince like Aemond”, and here your father pauses. “You must be aware of who he’s become. The war has started because of him.”

It is as if he’s expecting you to dissuade him of the idea, perhaps he wishes you to. You look away, finding an excuse to gaze at the flowers that colour the gardens.

True, you are more than aware of what he’s become. Some courtiers mock him, calling him a monstrous green in allusion of the Queen’s party against Rhaenyra’s, which is black. You have the sad news confirmed, albeit reluctantly, from Daeron’s mouth.

But this is not who he is, surely. He is proud, arrogant even, shielded in himself. Traits that you’ve become familiar with in girlhood. Traits that have not been righteous directed, turning him porcelain skin to iron.

Your reason conceives he’s not suited for the sensible woman you’ve grown to. Daeron would be a better fit and perhaps your father hopes you to admit that.

To Ser Gawayne’a sore disappointment, you’ve made up your mind. Your affection has deeper roots than he’d know, and it is firmly planted in you that all else cannot find place in your heart.

“I am not here to change anyone, my father. I take him as who he is.”

“Very well”, the lord sighs. “You’ll be sent with Lord Daeron, your cousin. He’ll fly with you to the capital in Tessarion.”

“I am not afraid of dragons, father.” You smile and lean to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“If you are happy, then I am bound by honour to concede it to you, my daughter.”

The bells of liberty finally begin to ring.

***

• IV

Aemond has recently returned after smashing Rhaenys and Meleys. Victory is at last on his side and the prospectives are better. He’s been having an eye at Harrenhal though and he’s about to set his way there when he’s been summoned by his mother.

How strange. We’ve been barely speaking to. What, in Gods name, does she want?

What happens next is certainly getting out of his senses.

“Son”, she welcomes you with Helaena by his side. His sister is smiling in her own way,

Either something good is about to happen or I am about to fall on a trap. It is unusual to find contentment in Hel’s face.

“Mother”, he nods his head, keeping his guard high. “You summoned me.”

“I did. You may think I have forgotten that my son is to be wedded, but I have not.”

Aemond is discomforted. A dangerous topic that he learned to despise ever since you departed. But he keeps his expression neutral.

“I have no inclination to be married whatsoever.”

“I believe you may change your mind”, to his surprise it is Helaena who speaks. “We are bringing her back, Aemond.”

A shiver crosses his spine.

No. This cannot be.

“Her?”, he plays cynical.

“Yes. Lady Y/N is coming with your brother. It’s time for you to settle down, my dear child.”

Aemond feels a fuel of anger and resentment. Mostly because years separated you two, but the powerlessness of taking you back, to let you go.

Despite the confusion, nothing betrays his composed mask.

“I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“No one is hardly consulted where marriages are concerned”, Alicent laughs away. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

Aemond doesn’t answer.

“Well, she’s coming soon. You better not disappoint.”

*

But he’s been anxious. Restless. No news of war can take his mind off you. He could have written about you, but his insecurities took the best of him.

When you departed, there was no warning. Neither was consulted about the matter, apparently. And yet…

A sound of dragon breaks the silence of the night. Aemond knows this is Daeron’s. And you are coming too. The prince leaves the yard and moves to the dragon’s pit.

He realizes a little too late that the whole family is there to welcome you. The prince opts to stay in the shadows, watching from a safe distance.

His good eye is mesmerized by how handsome you’ve grown into. Your hair is as red as he remembers; your curls, just as wild, a victim of wind. But you have curves now; your breasts are full and large, your hips giving a positive indicator of your fertility.

Your face… is just as divine as it was in his boyhood days. Your traces softened, and your lips still easily spread in a gentle smile.

You haven’t changed a thing, dear Y/N.

Aemond, troubled by the reminiscences of what has never been dissipated as he had hoped, quickly leaves. But for how long will he be able to avoid you?

*

You conceal the disappointment for not seeing him there to welcome you. But what could you expect when you two parted without saying goodbye?

“He’s coming soon”, Helaena tells you assuringly. “No need to worry, my cousin.”

“Oh, I am not worried. Not at all”, you smile as convincingly as possible.

But it’s difficult to keep your composure when he’s not present to attend the feast given on your behalf. The sound of music does not entertain your ears—it is as if Old Town’s tune was merrier. Or perhaps it all feels cold because he’s not there.

However, a distraction comes in the person of Daeron, to whom you’ve grown close in the days spent back home.

“Shall we dance, cousin? What a waste of beauty to stay here, away of the light.”

You chuckle lightly as you cede him your hand.

“Why, your flatter me with your poetic soul, Daeron. Let us dance then like the last time.”

In this moment, you don’t see him coming discreetly to take his place by his side. You miss his stare, his longing gaze following your steps. And yet… when you do meet his eyes, you take every control you have to act in a nonchalant manner.

Oh Aemond. How come years have gone by and you affect me so?

He’s now a handsome lad. Handsomer indeed than you’ve pictured him. Taller and serious, using an eyepatch to uncover the eye that was taken from him in that unfair circumstance you remember.

It feels impossible to reach out for you. Oh, Aemond. Please do not lock me outside.

Music ends after what it seems an eternity. There is no need to Daeron lead you back to your seat for this is a task Aemond takes himself.

“Lady Y/N Hightower”, the prince greets you formally and it hurts you to detect cold in his voice. You swallow back the tears and you remember to curtsy.

“My lord Prince”.

Aemond offers you his hand and he can tell that he affected you, perhaps not in the same way he wanted, for you hesitate before taking it. Cold and warm mix, like last time.

“May I lead you out of this spectacle?”

“If the king permits…”

“I do not think he cares.”

Silence hangs. You nod your head, afraid of bursting into tears right before the crowd. Perhaps your father has been right in protecting you. Who is this man you are now betrothed to?

For a while, undetected, the pair leaves the salon. It’s late by now and by this hour wine has had its effects. Somewhere close to yard is where Aemond stops walking. When you turn at him, he’s no longer cold.

“You left me, Y/N.”

Oh. Here it is. The subtle accusation. But it’s better than nothing, you tell yourself.

“I wasn’t told I would depart to Old Town, Aemond. I did not give my consent to it, but we both know how little power, if we have any at all, do we possess to command our destiny.”

Aemond avoids your gaze for a moment and you recollect his fragilities. You dare to shorten the distance and hold his hand. To your surprise, he does not shy away as your fingers lace.

“Do you honestly believe I left you because I wanted to? After all I told you?”

“What else could I have thought, Y/N?”

“You could have asked. You could have said anything.” And there they are: the puddle of water. “You never wrote me in these years!”

Aemond closes his eye, breathing heavily. Despite you trying to let go of his hand, he keeps holding yours firmly. Only then, you see pain in his eye when he opens it again.

“I was miserable when you left me alone in this world.”

“As if!”, you hiss. “You never cared for me!”

You turn away from him, instantly regretting for this decision to come up and try again. You’d think he’d leave you, but Aemond is no quitter.

“I love you, Y/N”, he pulls you against him one more time, this time closer than before. “I was stolen the chance to tell you that I love you! I fucking loved you! I could not find a replacement for the nest you made in my heart, nor could fix the hole you left in me!”

“Then why”, you sob, “didn’t you write?”

“Because”, he pauses, and here he lifts your chin after wiping away your tears, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of never being sufficiently enough for you. Hence why I figured that a better match was found to you. I thought…”, the prince chokes for a moment, struggling to hold back his own tears. “I thought you’d not love me anymore after I lost my eye.”

You cup his cheeks and make sure this time he looks at you.

“How dare you to nurture this thought? I have loved you since the first day I put my feet on this soil. I have known not other sentiment but the deepest shades of affection from the day you comforted me. I… I would never take anyone but Aemond Targaryen as my husband.”

A small smile tugs at his lips.

“I am unlovable, dear Y/N. Haven’t you heard what I’ve done?”

“No one is unlovable. I am not here to fix your wrongs, Aemond. I am here to help you make your rights.”

“You’re not leaving now.”

This is not a question. You smile.

“No. I am staying.”

Saying so, he leans forward and locks his lips with yours. You breathe in, dive into it.

He’s finally yours and you are finally his.

***

• V

You’d not think, nor Aemond, that the Gods amused themselves by testing the veracity of what one felt for the other. That the love surpassed years and obstacles is, some would say, an indication of divine favor.

But this is not what troubles your or his mind. When his lips are against yours, when his hands are locked with yours, when your legs are wrapped around his waist, when he is pleasing you… oh these past ghosts are long exorcized.

“I adore you”, he whispers against your ear, kissing your neck as he caresses your left breast. “Fuck, I am yours, eternally yours, Y/N.”

You moan loudly, singing out his name. Your hand is now against his hair, using the other to crave your nails into his skin, getting a groan out of his lips.

“My husband”, you bite his bottom lip. “I love you. Oh Gods! I cannot believe this is not a dream.”

“Not at all”, he smiles at you. “It’s you and me throughout time, dove.”

“No more whoring I pray”, you tease him, aware of his encounters with the woman of the brothel.

“I thought you knew that already. Never more.”

And saying so he dives into your neck, there staying until his eager mouth slips to your chest.

The synchronicity is so good that doesn’t take much time before you and him reach climax together.

“Mm, stay here”, you lock him with your legs. “Do not remove it out of me.”

Aemond laughs quietly as you smile, gently touching his face and his sapphire eye.

“Naughty uh?”

“We must compensate for the time wasted”, you tease him.

As he lies his head next to your shoulder, thus cuddling against you, you take the time to hold him tight, unwilling to break the spell. However, Aemond knows the inevitable must be said.

“We must discuss something, beloved. I am expected to take Harrenhal.”

Although you know this could not be postponed, you avoid his gaze and keep quiet for the moment. But Aemond knows you, and he sees the struggle in keeping yourself composed, the anxiety coming to your countenance.

He lifts his face and caresses your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you I’ll love you until the day I die and I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but you understand you’ll face experienced warriors in there…”, and despite the efforts, fear comes to the speech.

“It may take a while, but I’ll beat those fools. I must do it for my brother’s sake.”

“Very well”, you know there is nothing you can do before his stubbornness… and his loyalty to the green cause.

“Y/N…”, he looks anxious now and you are surprised to find it in his features. “I cannot wage wars knowing you didn’t give me your blessing.”

You break to a soft smile, turning to his side and stroking his long face and hair.

“I consent, my husband. But do not dare to leave me alone in this world.”

“Never.”

To assure you he means it, he kisses you passionately. Not too soon after that, you and him burn the bed with the awake of long repressed desires one feels for the other.

***

• Epilogue

With the green victory uncontested, peace remains at long last. Despite the bad fame, Harrenhal is your new home and you are its new lady.

Whatever opposition you might find when your husband came to pick you up with Vhagar, none was left to resist the new residents.

Throughout the long reign of Aegon II the Wise and Good Queen Helaena, you provided Aemond a bunch of children to turn this gloomy castle into a merry and lousy household. These are:

1. Aerys and Rhaella, a pair of twins, who would keep the Targaryen tradition.

2. Rhaegar, raised in Oldtown—would marry a cousin Tyrell.

3. Visenya, many years later married to Maegor, third son of King Aegon & Queen Helaena.

4. Daena, would be married to Lord Brynden Tully of the Riverlands.

5. Baelor, would be raised as a squire at the capital and turned out to marry another child of Aegon & Helaena, a daughter they had named Alyssa. A coincidence of the fate? Who knew?

6. Maekar, later sent to become a Maester at the Citadel.

7. Aegon, later made lord of Summerhall. He’d take as wife his younger sister.

8. Alysanne, probably your favourite daughter—she’d grow to marry the brother she loved best, the lively and chivalric prince Aegon.

An ending very fitting for a love that was tested by time and won it over without much need of persuasion.

[lasthumaninwales]

Part 2 of the round up of Torchwood stuff @alone-on-takodana and I have got up to over the years

We've met Gareth about 7 million times. He does cons a lot, especially in Wales where we're based, and we usually at least go say hi. It got to the point where he knew our names. I jokingly considered inviting him to our wedding as I'd spoken to him more over the past decade than any of my cousins.

We have Too Many signed photos. we got him to sign our copies of Black River Meadow. At one point, I gave him a copy of the horrendous Asylum Sherlock Holmes movie he was in to sign, and his horrified expression is a memory I will treasure forever. He's a great guy.

We've met Eve once and she was lovely- we told her how much we love Gwen and I said the "crying with pizza" scene was one of my favourite pieces of acting I'd ever seen.

We've met John a couple of times. This photo was a very brief one (with him holding the Tiny Jack figure we have photographed many places) but when we got a chance to talk to him properly at another con he was a sweetheart, and very complimentary of her Jack coat (which she made herself!).

Burn is the loveliest guy I stg. As Ducky mentioned, she didn't know him that well when we saw him, and we hope he'll come to another con so she can gush appropriately. When I spoke to him I told him I didn't know whether to get the Owen photo signed or the Hermann one, because I adore Pacific Rim but had been a Torchwood fan since I was a teenager. He promptly snuck off to the table full of photos, stole me a second picture and signed that one too so I didn't have to choose.

He also told us we looked very hot, which caused us both to short circuit until we twigged that he meant like, temperature (Ducky had on a leather jacket as she was cosplaying Harvey Bullock from Gotham, and I was in a suit cosplaying Jim Gordon, also Gotham).

Big group photo from the day we met Naoko and Kai, along with John and Gareth again. I really want to meet Naoko again as this was at the tail end of Covid, and we were separated from her by a screen and masks when we went to get her autograph - as a result, because I couldn't hear her properly, I realised too late that she was trying to make a joke with me because I was dressed as Owen, and the regret keeps me up at night.

We have also briefly met James Marsters, but I don't have that photo on my phone, as it was another Covid special and we all look very distant and strange.

[canirove]

Rice, Rice, baby | Chapter 33

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Masterlist

“This way, Ollie! Over here!”

“Give us a smile, c'mon!”

“Ollie! Oliver!”

“Got him!” Connor says.

“Thank God” I sigh. “My face was starting to hurt from keeping my smile for so long.”

“It is a beautiful smile, tho” Declan smirks.

“Oh, shut up” I giggle. 

“Ok, now is our turn. Boys!” Connor says, calling for his sons. The Rices have this tradition where everyone takes a photo in front of the tree on Christmas Eve and then do one with the whole family together. Grandparents, parents, children... Pets too in the past. And this year we've gathered everyone at our house to celebrate together, Declan buying the biggest tree I have ever seen so the photos would look amazing. He even hired someone to decorate the house for us since we didn't have the time to do it. Wait, our house... It feels so weird to say that! But now that we officially are a couple and living as such, I guess it is the proper way to say it. “Dec, can you take the photo for us, please?”

“Sure. Go with mummy, Ollie” he says, kissing his head before passing him to me while I just smile like an idiot and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I love seeing them together and when Declan is all cute with him. It is the most wonderful thing ever and something I don't think I will ever get tired of it.

“He is getting so big” his mum says next to me. 

“He is, yes” I reply, looking at Ollie while he is focused on what his cousins are doing, Connor trying to make them stay still for the photo. “I just hope he is a bit more chill than them as he grows up” I chuckle.

“I'm afraid you aren't going to be that lucky, Liv. Physically he may be all you except for the eyes, but on everything else he is a Rice. Good and bad.”

“Great” I sigh before we both start laughing.

“Go it! And no weird faces or eyes closed” Declan says after his nephews manage to stay still for a few seconds.

“Can we go eat now? I'm famished” one of the kids says.

“We still are waiting for someone” his grandmother tells him.

“Who?” he asks with a confused look.

“Aunty Liv's… Oh. That must be them” she smiles when someone rings the doorbell. “I'll go.”

My parents. We have invited my parents to dinner, hoping that the Christmas spirit and all the videos and photos of Oliver that my mum has shown my dad will make him finally get to meet him in person and maybe start to fix things between us. Because no, he hasn't met him yet. So knowing how stubborn and proud he is, it may be just my mum the one showing up today.

“Good evening, everyone. Merry Christmas” my mum says, joining us in the living room. “And hello you gorgeous boy!” she smiles, stretching her arms towards Ollie, who almost jumps from mine to get to her. “How are you, my boy?”

“Merry Christmas to you too, mum” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Don't be jealous, Olivia” she chuckles, giving me a quick hug before her attention is back to her grandson.

“Liv, look who has joined us” Declan's mum says behind us.

“Who… dad” I gasp when I turn around.

“Hello” he says, looking anywhere but at me. “Merry Christmas.”

“Dad, you came. I… I…” I am speechless. He is here. At our house. With Declan's family. He… Wow.

“Merry Christmas, sir. Thank you very much for coming” Declan says, walking towards him and offering him his hand.

“Rice” he says as he shakes it. Oh… my God. Is this really happening? “Nice house.”

“Thank you, sir. Let me introduce you to my family.”

“Of course” my dad replies.

“Close your mouth, Olivia” my mum chuckles.

“I'm sorry, I just… I can't believe he's here. And meeting Declan's family!” I say while he shakes hands with everyone, even making some jokes with the kids.

“It's a Christmas miracle” she winks.

“And last but not least, the newest member of our family. Oliver” Declan says, walking back to where my mum, Ollie and I are. “Though if we are being accurate, Liv is the newest member since we started properly dating after he was born.”

“Yes, that's what I've heard” my dad says. “He looks a lot like you, darling.” 

Darling. I can't remember the last time he called me that, and I had missed it so much…

“He does, yes” I manage to say.

“Though those blue eyes… Those must be the Rice Irish blood.”

“It's a strong one” Declan chuckles. “Liv, why don't you take your dad to my game's room and show him my shirts collection while we finish getting everything ready? I think there are a few he would like to see.”

“I…”

“I think that's a great idea” my mum says. “Go, I'll keep an eye on Ollie.”

“I… Ummm… Dad?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” he shrugs. 

“Ok… This way” I say.

But before he follows me, I see him looking at Ollie and smiling at him. He has smiled at Ollie. What? 

“Oh, wow” my dad says when we walk into Declan's games room.

“Yep. And these are just a few. Over there he has boxes with more.”

“Impressive” he says as he walks around, inspecting the shirts hanging from the walls. “He has good taste. Kane, Sonny, Madders… Though I guess he got them when he was still playing for West Ham.”

“Madders’ is from last season.”

“Yeah, well. You know James” he says, still moving around the room, humming to himself. “He totally is a mini you, Liv” he says after stopping in front of a photo of me and Declan with Ollie. 

“And I've always been told I am a mini you, so…” I shrug.

“Let's hope he gets your hairline and not mine” he chuckles.

“Or Declan's. They all seem to have good hair.”

“Yeah… I'm sorry, darling.”

“Uh?” Did he… did he just say what I think he's said?

“I'm sorry” he repeats. “I… I was such a jerk.”

“You… Dad, I…”

“I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, darling. That was so… Out of line. You don't know how much I hate myself for it, for what I said and did to you” he says, walking towards me. “I should have never yelled at you and kicked you out of the house because of something as stupid as a football rivalry.”

“You shouldn't have, no.”

“And I am so sorry… But you had scared the hell out of us with the accident, Olivia. And I was a bit mad at you because things between you and Alex were really bad and I couldn't understand what could have happened and why you were behaving like that when you had always been so close and were about to have a child together. So when I saw him there, standing next to you, I… I… I exploded. All those worries and fears got mixed with the feelings I have for the gooners, and that turned into anger, making you both pay for it. Especially you, darling. And I am sorry. I truly, truly am.”

“It's ok, dad.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been there during those final weeks of your pregnancy, when Oliver was born and after. I'm sorry I've missed so many things, so many moments with you and my first grandson. But your mum has told me that the Rices have been taking good care of both of you. That Declan has stepped up and has been there for you, being the best partner and father you could ask for.” 

“He has” I nod. 

“He is a good lad, you know I've always said it. And everyone I know who has gotten to meet him, had a chat or worked with him, says the same. He may play for that team, but…”

“But that doesn't make him a bad person.”

“It doesn't, no. And you love him, don't you?”

“Very much, dad. Each day I fall in love with him a bit more” I say, trying not to cry.

“And he loves you too, darling. Very much. I saw it that day at the hospital.”

“Then why did you…”

“I already told you. I was scared for you and I let something as stupid as football rivalries cloud my judgment. But that won't happen again. I promise you” my dad says, closing the space that was left between us and taking my hands on his. “You love Declan, he loves you, and you have the most beautiful son together. They are your family.”

“They are” I sob.

“And because they are your family, they also are mine now, and I will love them as such. Both of them.”

“Will you?”

“I promise you, darling. Declan and I may fight a bit when it comes to football and choosing which team Oliver will support, but I will love him as my own son. I swear I will.”

“Thank you, dad.”

“Ok, come here” he says, letting go of my hands and hugging me. “I love you, my darling.”

“I love you too, dad” I reply, hugging him back as tight as I can.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Have I told you today that I love you?” Declan says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“You did this morning when Ollie woke us up and I let you sleep a bit more” I say, hugging him back.

“Oh, yes. That extra hour felt so good…”

“You owe now, tho.”

“I won't forget about it, I promise” he smiles. “And after that? Did I tell you I love you again?”

“A few times while we were making the most out of Ollie's nap and being alone in the house.”

“We did make the most out of that nap, didn't we?” he smirks. “Because we must keep practicing. What if we want to give him a little brother or sister and we've forgotten how it is done?” 

“Sure” I laugh. 

“And after that very well spent time, did I say it again?” 

“You did. I was a bundle of nerves before your family arrived, and you helped me relax, telling me that everything was going to be ok and that you loved me.”

“And I didn't lie, did I?”

“You didn't, no” I smile.

“Was that the last time?” Declan asks.

“I think so, yes.”

“Then it is time I say it again. I love you, Liv.”

“I love you too” I say before leaning forward and kissing him. Though half way through that kiss, my dad's very loud laugh startles us both. 

After our reconciliation and joining everyone else again, he had been all smiles, talking with Declan's family, making jokes and telling anecdotes, and basically being the man I knew and loved. He had also offered to help us put Ollie to bed, giving him his night bottle, putting on his pyjamas, and even reading him a bedtime story like he used to do with me as a kid, all while I took photos and videos of everything and tried not to cry. If there was something I had dreamt about many times since the moment I found out I was pregnant, it was to see him being a grandfather. And tonight, I had finally witnessed it. 

“Who do you think is having more fun, him or the boys?” Declan chuckles.

While most of the adults were having a drink and chatting, he had sat down with Declan's nephews and started to teach them a cards game Alex and I used to play all the time as kids. Alex… 

This was going to be the first Christmas our families weren't going to spend together. After everything that had happened between us, it was too awkward, and I hadn't seen any of them since moving in with Declan, though his mother had called me a few times and sent a couple of gifts for Ollie. Also, according to what Olga had told me before the holidays, he was thinking about leaving his job at Tottenham’s and try something different, which probably was the best for everyone.

“Honestly…” I say after my dad laughs again. “Him. I still can't believe this is real, that our families are together as one. It's a Christmas miracle.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Yeah well what, Declan?” I ask him, arching an eyebrow.

“I may have had something to do with that” he shrugs.

“You what?” I say, raising my voice.

“Everything alright, darling?” my dad asks.

“Yes, don't worry. Just that Declan forgot to close our room’s window and now it may be freezing cold. We should go close it, don't you think?”

“I…”

“Come, let's go” I say, letting go of him and grabbing his hand before dragging him upstairs. 

“Was this necessary?” Declan says once we are in our room.

“Yes, it was. Now speak. I want all the details.”

“Fine” he sighs.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Declan's pov

❃ Flashback to a couple weeks ago

“Louis? Louis, you have a visit” Liv's mum says.

“I wasn't expecting anyone. Who is it?” he says, his eyes fixed on the tv.

“Hello, sir.”

“Rice?” he says, turning around so fast to look at me that I fear he may have hurt his neck. “What the hell are you doing here? Why did you let him in?”

“Because he wants to speak with you” Liv's mum says.

“Well, I don't want to speak with him. So he can go, he probably has better things to do.”

“I do not, sir. Speaking with you is the most important thing right now.”

“Sure” he sorts. 

“Louis, listen to him. Please.”

“I said no, Rose.”

“It'll be just five minutes, sir” I insist. “After that I won't bother you anymore.”

“I want you to not bother me now.”

“Louis!” Liv's mum says. “Listen to him, please. Do it for me as an early Christmas gift. Please.”

“Fine” he sighs after a few seconds in silence that feel like an eternity. “Sit there, Rice” he says, nodding towards the sofa next to his.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Declan, would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea?” Liv's mum offers me.

“There is no need, ma'am. Thank you” I smile.

“Ok. I'll be in the kitchen in case you need me. And Louis…”

“Yes?” he says, back to focusing on the tv.

“Be nice and listen to him.”

“Yeah, yeah” he says, moving his hand in the air. “You came here to speak, didn't you, Rice? Then speak.”

“Yes, sorry, umm…”

“The five minutes have started counting, boy.”

“Ok” I say, taking a deep breath. “As you probably already know, Liv and I are officially dating.”

“That's what I've heard” her dad says.

“I love her, sir. I love her very much. We love each other very much. And we are really happy together with the little family we've started. Or that's what Liv says. She acts as if everything is fine, but I know it isn't. Because there is something missing, and that something is you, sir.”

“What?” he chuckles. 

“She misses you. She misses you so much. She doesn't say it, she's trying to be strong… But I know she does. I can see it when we are with my family and she sees me with my dad and my brothers. When your wife comes to visit us. She misses you, her dad. And do you know when she misses you the most?”

“Enlighten me” he says, finally looking at me.

“When we are with Ollie. When he does a cute thing, she takes a photo or a video, and she finds herself about to send it to you. When she does things with him that you used to do with her when she was a baby, like reading her a book before bed, or that game about a caterpillar where you would tickle her and she would laugh like crazy. Ollie loves it too” I smile. “And she especially missed you when Madders came over and gave him his first Tottenham shirt, his name and the day he was born on its back just like you always do when you get her a new one. Because you should have been the one getting Ollie that shirt, sir. Not Madders. You” I say, my eyes fixed on his. “He is your first grandson, and you are missing key and unique moments in his life that won't happen again while also hurting your only daughter, all because of a stupid football rivalry.”

“It isn't stupid.”

“Isn't it?” I laugh. “It is just football, sir. And this comes from someone who loves it and lives for it. Someone who breathes football.”

“She also lied to us in case you've forgotten.”

“I haven't, no. But would you have kicked her out of your house at eight months pregnant if instead of me, she had lied about one of the Tottenham boys being the father? That's what I thought.”

“What? I haven't said anything, Rice.”

“Your face has said it all, sir. And I…” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Do you know why we chose Oliver?”

“Uh?”

“Oliver. Do you know why we chose to name him like that?”

“No.”

“I came up with it after one of the false alarms where we thought Liv was in labour. I started to think about how our son was going to come to the world without a name because we couldn't agree on one since your daughter is a bit picky” I chuckle. “For example, she doesn't like it when people name their kids after someone in the family who still is alive, when a father names his son after him. And then I thought… what about a mother naming her son after her?”

“What?” Liv's dad asks with a confused look.

“Oliver… Olivia… I think it's perfect. And once he's old enough to understand it, I'm sure he'll be the proudest son knowing that he was named after the most extraordinary woman I've ever met. And I'm sure that you, as her father, would agree on that with me. On how amazing and special Liv is.”

“Yes” he says, uncomfortably moving in his seat. 

“A woman like her only deserves good things happening to her. She deserves to be happy, to be loved. And I'm doing my very best to make sure she gets all that. God knows I am. But I… I can't properly do it if you don't help me, sir. I… I'm sorry. You probably are thinking that what a joke of a man your daughter has chosen if he can't make her happy” I say with a sad laugh. 

“No.”

“What?”

“You aren't a joke of a man, Rice. One has to be very brave to do what you are doing, to come here and open yourself like that. It isn't easy. And the fact that you've done it, means that you truly care about my Liv. That you truly love her.”

“I…”

“I'll think about it. About talking with her.”

“Will you?”

“Yes” he nods. 

“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

“Yes, ummm… Your five minutes are over” he says, getting up from his seat. 

“Oh” I reply, also standing up. 

“Goodbye, Rice” Liv's dad says, offering me his hand.

“Sir” I say, shaking it back.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“You… went… to talk with my dad?” 

“Yeah” Declan shrugs.

“And you… you told him…”

“The truth” he says, putting a lock of hair behind my ear and caressing my cheek. 

“I don't know what to say. I…”

“You don't have to say anything, Liv.”

“But, Declan, you… You went to talk to him knowing that he isn't your biggest fan. And you did it for me. For Ollie.”

“I would do anything for you. For both of you. You are my world, Liv.”

“Declan, I… urgh” I say before wrapping my arms around his waist, trying really hard not to cry. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Liv” he says, kissing my head and hugging me back, neither of us saying a word for a while. “We should probably go back downstairs. They may be missing us.”

“Nah.”

“What?” Declan laughs. “We are the hosts, Liv.”

“And?” I say, looking up at him.

“We can't leave our guests unattended.”

“Not even if we do it because I suddenly start feeling unwell and you have to stay in bed with me cuddling me?” I say with an innocent smile.

“Olivia Chapman, what are you implying?” he says, arching an eyebrow and trying to not smile. 

“Nothing. Just that… maybe… you should go downstairs and tell them that my tummy hurts and I need you taking care of it.”

“Your tummy, uh? I think you mean somewhere a bit lower” he smirks.

“Ok, fine. Maybe I need you a bit lower. But it's Christmas.”

“And?” 

“It's the time of love and giving.”

“And will you be giving me something in return?”

“Declan!” I say when he pinches my butt cheeks. 

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Am I getting something in return for helping you with your tummy or not?” he smirks. 

“You actually are the one who owes me for letting you sleep a bit more this morning, remember?”

“That's… true. Ok. Fine” he sighs. “But I hope your mum... or mine, doesn't come upstairs to check on you and catches us… cuddling.”

“You are a clever boy. I'm sure you will find the perfect excuse” I smirk.

“We'll see” he says, letting go of me.

“Declan, wait” I say, catching his hand as he starts walking away. “There is something else I have to say.”

“Something else?”

“Yes” I nod. “Something very important.”

“Ok…”

“I love you” I smile. 

“I love you too, Liv” he smiles back before kissing my hand and making me giggle like an idiot. 

“Don't take too long, ok? My tummy really hurts.”

“I won't, don't worry” Declan winks, making me giggle once again, a stupid smile on my face as he leaves our room, my heart feeling like it could burst out of happiness and love. Love for my parents, his family, that little human being sleeping next door… and him. Especially for him.

[sowerpatch]

“Spaced it too,” Nika added. “Like, properly. With structure.” 

azzi a thousand percent helped her after comvincing her to ditch her assignment to bake cookies with emily😂😂😂

Azzi in her kitchen, reading over her shoulder every few minutes, pointing out typos like it was a sport. Half of that paper had been written with Azzi perched on the stool behind her, elbowing Paige every time she swapped ‘affect’ and ‘effect.’ 

i called it ijbol

KK’s face crumpled with mock disappointment. “Who are you and what did you do to player Paige?” 

she upgraded kk. she’s no longer for the streets she found an address

That had Paige sat up straighter. 

very nonchalant of her

They had built something soft between the chaos. She was scared to let the world breathe on it. 

which is very reasonable

They never asked for anything in return. They paid what they could.

sisters 4 life! 🥹

“For one, she has an eight-year-old daughter.” 

LMAO bye this caught me off guard just ripping off the bandaid

KK pointed at her like she’d solved a mystery. “Bro! You’re smitten as fuck.” 

she bagged a baddie duuuuhhh

After asking Paige to spell it out, Nika hit enter on the search bar and stared. “Oh, my god. Oh my god.” 

the realest thing you do when your best friend says they’re seeing someone lol you go full fbi mode

“Do you think she does free consultations for your friends?” 

on the floor cackling kk is asking the real questions

“I mean, I don’t really know what we are or what this is, but I know I like being around you. I like you. And I want to take you out. Somewhere probably affordable, like value or combo meals. Like a place where the menu doesn’t make me do math or ask for a second job. I—” 

omg i just melted at the softness and nervousness of this ask awwww paig😩🥺🥺

“You could take me to a hotdog stand and I’d say yes.” 

AHHHH YESSSSS 😆😆😆😆😆😆

Azzi reached over and took her hand, threading their fingers together without fuss. Her thumb brushed over Paige’s knuckles. “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you. Thanks for asking.” 

i’m smiling and giggling like a fool they’re so cute it’s making me sick

“I mean it. In the fifteen years we were together, I’ve never seen you look like this. Not once. Except maybe the day Emily was born. But not even the day we got married.” 

that’s…..um actually depressing yikes 😬

“Free. Happy. Like yourself again.” 

it’s honestly so rare for exes and divorced parents to be cordial and genuinely happy for each other

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Aaaah. This must be the sugar baby.”

jeff seriously i was just starting to like you too smh so much for the first impression 😒🤦‍♀️

Her hand hovered before it landed, fingers brushing Paige’s arm like it hurt to be kept away. Her next words carried the weight of something she hadn’t let herself say until now. “I don’t see you that way. The same way you don’t see me as someone who pays you to sleep with me. We are more than that. You know it. You feel it. Please tell me you feel it.” 

and there goes my tear ducts this was all it took for me to cry whew

Their mouths found each other easily, drawn in without force. The kiss was slow and certain. The kind that made the ground feel real again. It was shaped by familiarity and relief. 

i’m fist pumping at this moment 🥹

“Don’t ask how,” Paige whispered, punching a code into a side panel like she worked there. “Let’s just say Nika has a cousin, and that cousin owes her money, and here we are.” 

um excuse me???? ijbol i can’t 😭😭😭

Azzi smiled faintly. “I chose hearts instead. Figured fixing what’s broken here was better than floating away from it.” 

literal chills

Azzi took a long moment to answer. “I don’t think it’s cheating when two people are living separate lives under the same roof. Yes, he started seeing other women. I didn’t blame him. Deep down, I knew I could never give him what he was looking for.” 

my heart is breaking chamber by chamber 💔💔💔💔💔

“It was.” Her eyes met Paige’s without flinching. “There’s a kind of loss in it that’s hard to explain. When someone’s been part of your life that long, letting go doesn’t come with a single decision. It’s a hundred quiet moments where you stop reaching for each other. But I meant what I said. We made the choice together. For Emily. She deserves to grow up watching love take shape, not watching it fall apart in slow motion.” 

wow this chapter is really hitting me for some reason

“Paige, I know we’re different,” Azzi whispered, trying not to disturb the peace on Paige’s closed eyes. “And there’s a lot we don’t always see the same way. But I want to keep showing up. I want us to be able to talk, even when it’s hard. If this is going to work, I want an open communication.” 

another challenge of a 14 year age gap is the maturity level so this being brought up is a green flag

Her thumb traced lightly along Azzi’s knuckles. “Still think Jeff’s kind of a dick, though.” 

did anyone else get the idea paige doesn’t like jeff? 🤔 hm

Azzi reached out and brushed her fingers against Paige’s wrist, her touch light but deliberate. “I want to be there for Emily. And I want you beside me.” 

i’m out here nodding my head dramatically while trying to wipe tears

When the final note played and Emily bowed, Paige clapped hard enough to sting her palms. 

not a step father but a father that stepped up 😌😌😌

“Well, I suppose everyone finds their own way to chase youth. Must be convenient, having someone who doesn’t ask too many questions. I imagine it helped after Mr. Smith left you." 

crying over i’m gonna send mrs. sanders to early retirement what a bitch

“I believe it’s none of your business who my ex-wife is dating, Susan.” Jeff said, voice smooth as glass.  

okay jeffery..jefferson or whatever jeff is short for you’re back on my good graces

BOOOOOOOOOOM *mic drop* LLLOL🖕🏼

Emily pulled back. “Mom’s girlfriend?” 

so is jeff secretly studbudz? coldplay? ryan ruocco? he just hard launched to their daughter his ex wife’s gf LMAO

As quickly as he dropped the bomb, he vanished into the crowd. 

I JUST BURSTED OUT LAUGHING 💀💀💀💀💀🤣🤣🤣🤣

Paige met Azzi’s gaze. Together, they faced the only audience that mattered. 

and when i say emily will be grinning from cheek to cheek and scream and jump into both their arms then what? (please let this be the case and don’t make it into an angst *gulp*😃🙃)

so happy we had a deep end update two days in a row! thank for for the wonderful chapter

hey you! it's really good to see you in my inbox. it really makes me smile reading your live reactions. thanks for being you! jeff is the third studbudz, he really don't know how to filter what he's saying lol. emily's reaction coming soon

[obigem]

"Sp—sperm? Eggs? Materials! You're not both talking about s—se—s—"

"Tabitha, if you're going to stutter—"

"I'm not! But we're all dignified ladies and gentlemen of society now. We shouldn't be engaging in such vulgar conversation. It's not right!"

"You know what, Tabbie, you're right for once."

Edwina brushed her dress before standing.

"Come along, Tabitha, dear. Follow me. The Gentleman Landgraab will have to clean his mouth out with soap before he's allowed to talk with us a second longer with that filthy mouth of his."

"Umm..yes, coming." Tabitha scurried along to follow alongside her.

As they passed him, Tabitha did a slight apologetic nod toward him, likely on Edwina's behalf.

It mattered not to him whether they were sorry for their cruel words. They'd likely continue their gossip, just so long as it was far way from him. He could stomach a lot, but not when it came to Cordelia.

There was a lot he could never properly say or do, but when it came to defending Cordelia's honor and her good name, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to uphold that. Even if it came at his own expense.

As Matthew suspected, the gossip of Edwina and Tabitha continued even as they made their way away from him.

"Edwina, honestly, after you said you wouldn't speak ill of him for my sake." Tabitha whispered.

"I can only hold my tongue to a point, Tabitha. I cannot allow him to insult me."

"Besides, his ill temper was very squarely placed on me. That's good, perhaps he might show you favor yet."

"You think so? I did call him dashing. Do you think he appreciated the compliment?"

"How could he not? And there may have been a compliment in there for you."

"You thought so too?"

"Because I wasn't sure if his meaning in one of us not being as dumb and stupidly overdressed as we look meant that he found my gown flattering or distasteful. That is of course if I'm the one he was referring to. Do you think?"

"Mmm, yes undoubtedly." Edwina replied unconvincingly.

Far be it from Edwina to be the one to bear the burden of explaining to Tabitha that Matthew found her slow-witted. She was her dear friend after all. Some things were better left unsaid.

"As much as he might fancy you, Tabitha, why not try diversifying your options? I have male cousins after all."

"Yes, but they're all so old! I'd rather not be a child bride."

"Many of my older cousins have begun to have children of their own. I can introduce you to one of them."

"Aren't they all infants and toddlers?"

"Tabitha dear, sometimes you must split the difference in the face of opportunity."

"But a toddler?! I'll have to wait ten years before we're the same age!"

"Tabitha, sweetie, that's not—"

But before Edwina could finish that thought, her shoulder brushed into something and her heel caught on fabric.

"Excuse me! Watch where you're—" And then Edwina met Cordelia's eyes.

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle chapter 24 and 25

Cissy is the daughter the Stirlings wish Valancy had been. Pretty, sweet, meek, innocent in the ways of the world, eager to please and quick to forgive. Someone who would do as she was told and look pretty in church without outshining Olive. And, of course, Cecilia Stirling would have had no need to go out to work, and thus never would have met her child's father.

I'm struck in particular by the juxtaposition of these two passages:

From chapter 24: " And I—didn’t know—some things. I didn’t—understand. Then his father came and took him away. And—after a little—I found out—"

Back in chapter 11: " Poor Mrs. Frederick was almost in a state of collapse. She had believed—or pretended to believe—that Valancy still supposed that children were found in parsley beds."

Cissy was raised by a single father who knows perfectly well how sex works, to the point where it likely doesn't even occur to him that people aren't just born knowing where babies come from. Her other main influence was her church community, made up of people who, one assumes, do not talk about these things publicly, and certainly not to Cissy Gay. It's implied that Cissy's mother, had she lived, would have (or at least should have) taught her these things. Clearly she never learned on her own, until it was too late.

Valancy, meanwhile, knows perfectly well where babies come from, to the point where she's embarrassed to even think about wanting them. Wanting to be a mother is perfectly respectable, even laudable for a woman in Valancy's position. Wanting the process of becoming a mother is most certainly not. It's not said where Valancy learned about sex and how it works, although my vote is from Olive, who has had boyfriends and been engaged.

So meek, innocent Cissy Gay might well have been better tolerated by the Stirlings than odd, never quite fitting in properly Valancy. (Cissy would, most likely, have been utterly crushed by the Stirlings in a way that Valancy never quite was. But then again, Olive wasn't. Maybe a Cecilia Stirling who was pretty and clearly had some marital prospects because of her looks would have been treated better by the extended family, if not Mrs. Fredrick and Cousin Stickles.) And, in contrast, Valancy might well have thrived as Abel Gay's daughter. Without discounting the impact of Abel's neglect, Valancy is clearly more outspoken than Cissy, and stronger willed. She grew up in a stifling and domineering society and the second she got out she not only knew her own mind but had no fear speaking it. If she'd been left to raise herself, I think it wouldn't have taken the promise of imminent death to set that part of her free.

I have AUs in my head now. Moving on...

Other thoughts about these chapters --

I did a little bit of research into the Canadian turn of the century education system back when we learned about Olive's engagements. She graduated from college at 18, and from what I could tell, it seems like College was for students roughly 15-18ish. So if that's correct and college is the word LMM uses to mean high school age students, with University being for 18+, then Cissy's young college student would have been a teenager. Probably 18 or 19 at oldest, possibly (likely?) younger.

And Cissy went to work at the hotel "4 years previously". At 25 or 26 at time of death (since she's three years younger than Valancy, who just turned 29), she would have been ~21 at time of boyfriend. So probably older than the boy.

Given that, it's likely that the boy was probably just as surprised and horrified by the pregnancy as Cissy was. I can't even be mad at him -- he screwed up and tried to make it right by offering to marry her and Cissy turned him down. Just a bad situation all around.

Even just reading about Cissy's funeral makes me furious. No wonder Valancy hated it ad Barney refused to go.

"her slanted eyes smudged with purple" -> Another purple mention. Is LMM subtly foreshadowing that Valancy has no intention of going back to her mother's house?

[princess-of-the-corner]

Might be a bit of an ask, but could you give a brief summary of the families of Class 1A in CC? Nothing in depth, but just who lives where, General configurations and so on. Maybe jobs? If you’d rather not, (which, again, understandable, that is a LOT) which family member for which kid is your favourite to write (excluding the Todorokis).

OKAY SO

A lot of headcanons are vague but I'll go down the list

We're skipping the Todorokis lmao we talk about them ENOUGH. So does Canon!

Not going to say much on Izuku's family because, again, talked about enough both in Canon and here. I will say that while I talk abotu vtuber!Inko a lot, her main job is a nurse.

Won't say much on Katsuki's either because we know them pretty well but I will say that I narrowed down their jobs so Mitsuki is a model and Masaru is a photographer and yes they work together a lot.

okay on to ones who are more only seen in CC:

Ochako - we see her parents a little and know they own a construction business. They're real sweet and were actually trying really hard to keep Ochako from realizing that they didn't have a lot of money but whoops. I think I want at least one of them to have a Quirk connected to construction work but idk what other than maybe changing the weight of things.

Kirishima - I don't have names for his moms but we did decide their Quirks! One has retractable claw nails(think Lust from FMA) and the other has indestructible skin. Despite this, it's a complete coincidence that Kiri has the Quirk he does because he's adopted. Also Tetsutetsu is his twin who got separated when they were given up for adoption. I have a few thoughts on their bio mom, one being that she gave them up for adoption because she was still a teenager and the other being that her Quirk involves turning her body into crystal. Nothing on the bio dad tho

Denki - I gave him a half-sister! Raiden Dentasu aka Pro Hero Voltage! Based off a character that appears for all of ten seconds in one of the movies. They share a bio dad who is unfortunately a habitual adulterer who trades in for a younger wife every decade or so. Their moms are nice though and will probably be getting along now that Denki and Raiden properly met!

Iida - We know bits and pieces about his family, mostly just their career and rep. But I will say that his parents are very much in love. Like super 'acts like they're high school sweet hearts with cute pet names and flirting and making their kids gag and complain that they're 'embarrassing' and by god do they have a healthy sex life' in love.

Tsu - we know some about her family in that they're all frog/toad Quirks and her parents are pretty nice! That said they did rely on parentifying Tsu a bit too much. (They start to realize this now that Tsu is off at UA and they realize they're a little lost on the younger kids' daily routines). The younger kids don't quite get this and just think adults are silly, but they love each other all the same!

Mina - Her family is a bunch of acid quirks to different degrees! Also she and Katsuki are like second cousins.

Jiro - Her parents are both musicians! Not full on famous rockstars, but they do well as a local band. While Jiro inherited her mother's Quirk, her father is Quirkless.

Momo - Well we know her family is loaded af! The money comes from her father's side of the family (while her mother wasn't exactly 'poor', she was a much lower class). Her parents are very good if quite over-indulgent. I sort of gave her an older sister! Well, technically it's her cousin that her parents adopted after that side of the family died. But ya know.

Fumikage and Eimi - their parents are very ride or die. Oh our kids want to pretend to be one person to get into school? Yeah lets cover for them. Their mom has the bird Quirk, and their dad has a shadow puppet Quirk

Aoyama - his parents are outwardly very nice to people and especially doting to him! But their wealth comes from shady sources.

Bonus members:

Himiko - GOD HER FUCKIN PARENTS. They suck. I will say that her mom has a 'consume things of that color to change her hair color' Quirk. Also Amajiki is her cousin.

Shinso - mmmmmmmm this one is in some spoiler territory but his bio mom gave him up for adoption because she REALLY doesn't trust her employers. He has a half-brother that he's met but neither is aware of this fact. Their shared bio dad is an oc who is the biggest bastard I have ever had the misfortune of creating I can't wait for this bitch to kill him. Because I've been influenced by fanfics Shinso is currently dealing with questionably shitty foster homes but we're gonna fix that real soon.

I don't have many thoughts on the rest of the class other than canon lore tidbits or just that they /have/ parents.

[bossbutch]

Umineko Chapter 7 (front half)

i know i said i'd write a post about erika don't @ me

i knew Willard and Lion were coming because they're in the fighting game but i didn't know anything about them. so far Chiru has been less "answers" and more "here's new characters with new perspectives" will's Introduction is he says he's anti-erika, the detective that cares about love. so will he succeed where she failed? he's kinda boring but he moves the story along i suppose. i don't believe for a second that Lion existed in Reality. i guess they're "what if natsuhi didn't kill that kid" [edit: :)] they're fun but i'd like to see them interact with battler and the cousins. like is the family Cool with a nonbinary successor? kinzo and krauss are not exactly progressive. then again if beato the younger is canon trans that would make kinzo a trans-positive misogynist If bernie works for aurora does she work for "the author"? (as a force within the story) she has been Instigating Everything so far in the back half. did she always work for her or is that a post-ange development battler wouldn't approve of us "digging in the guts" of beato's game, it's less of a like, tcrf development post mortem and more like if a magic show showed how they did the trick at the end. but in Modern Era magic tricks are not really secret and it's more about the skill- there's folks who di a trick while explaining how it works, or with the secret compartments fully visible, and it's still impressive

~extended kinzo flashback sequence~ i'm reading an LP so i don't hear the voice acting, wonder if young kinzo has battler's VA. they comment that the voice is similar "...Lion. There is nothing so long and faint as a life you do not live for yourself. And yet, it slides on by in the blink of an eye. Do not forget this." "Living means having your own will. You probably were dead during that time." "Precisely. I wanted to live. No, I wanted to die. How can a puppet die?" "...By cutting... the strings." "Correct. That would be death and it would also be life, since it would mean being free." no escape from existentialism beato the elder was italian?! mama mia! lol at kinzo talking about the Bravery of the italian fascists the gold is gonna be on this sub [edit: :)] i had heard the end chapters of umineko were a little contentious and some people didn't like the explanations but once i saw the italian submarine every Kinzo Mystery fell into place BICE????? i've been using "beato" to refer to every beatrice but it's only properly beato the younger. bice... of course it gets all Dramatic when there's only two japanese soldiers and bice left, the guy who was shooting on sight suddenly wants to talk a lot

~now maria flashback~ lol maria is the messiah. also lol at maria's beato being like "real witches wash their hands and face every day" so if beato daughter of bice died with rosa where does Beato 3 come in. even if she didn't die on the rocks she would be older when she met maria so is it a different beato? though it's maria so she'd see all beatrices as Beato, it's not evidence of anything. i don't think she's a fully imaginary friend because imaginary beato would be able to make rainbows and wouldn't give her New information willard refers to maria's beato as "beato the elder" which has been my name for bice were there previously moments where someone suddenly acts OOC to represent the game master moving a piece? i don't recall any in part 1, was battler's beato mostly Above That will reaching into the story and telling his blorbos he's proud of them is surely wish fulfillment to Some subset of readers

WE CALLED THE GOLDEN WITCH AT 2 AM **SHE ACTUALLY RESPONDED?!?**

jessica goes into the vip room and sees a beatrice fumo on the side table i'm gonna assume will's seating arrangement mystery is just a sign of lion being poorly pasted in so if baby is rejected then maria's beato is born, that must mean the baby doesn't die. i think i said i would be mad if that was true because of how it was presented initially but whatever. maybe i said that about beato 2 (rosa's beato) dying on the spikes so if lion (loved baby) is trans i'd think that implies beato 3 (kanon probably?) is trans too? god i hope bryn picks this back up she called it so early. willard all "are you a boy or a girl" he's not very tactful. but it is magic 1987. well is yoshiya ftm, or mtf boymoding with the kanon identity, or genderfluid depending on role or what. i guess it'll be straightened out from them directly eventually but of course they wouldn't use any modern terminology ~yasu flashback~ it's cute they don't come out and say she's yoshiya despite how obvious it is. i'm gonna use the names and pronouns for yoshia's multiple presentations that they use At The Time for clarity. some trans folks are ok describing it like that, some aren't, but it's how you do the plurals and the genderfluids and there hasn't been anything Definitive said the stakes are not Just the stakes but also girls who went to furniture school with yasu. or their faces are based on them. or they're "playing" them in the Aurora Theater. ultimately doesn't matter but it's fun they do some Slight of Hand with shannon here. either she's rooming with yasu at the school and then Not rooming with her at the mansion OR she's yasu's tulpa. or alter. i wasn't too prudent in my rereading when i last considered the possibility of them sharing a body (to solve the number of people on rokkenjima)

i guess if you weren't paying ANY attention you'd be fooled by kanon speaking separately from yasu but it's a little insulting for 07 to try it on me :P oh hi gaap. story kinda forgot about you for a bit. so gaap is a beato and one of two older beatos for beato 3. gaap beato is not unlike the non-chick beato fragment (i forget if she had a title) [this is where the halfway point of the chapter is but i read a little more because my shift at work wasn't done]

awww kumasawa using magic to teach yasu "you'll lose shit less if you tie it to you or put it where it belongs" is very cute. she's all "this is a spiderweb charm to ward off beatrice" and "mr. knife is happier in his home" and. i don't remember how old yasu is in this scene but she's young it's definitely appropriate. kumasawa rules. she's definitely part of Maria's Beatrice. and she's who got yasu into mystery books! gaap talks about Golden Age mystery novels and that figuring it out before the end means you "win". so idk if i've "won" because it's not like there's a single culprit and crime in umineko, "figuring it out" and "before the end" are both on sliding scales. i figured out who beato is, basically what magic and love are, but i didn't figure out the epitath (which i think requires outside knowledge and japanese wordplay, so i'm not too upset about it), and my record for figuring out the closed rooms is pretty bad. i haven't solved if shannon is a beato tulpa/alter yet but it's certainly looking that way. there's still a full chapter and a half left, what is left to even happen? i guess it'll take a lot of words to wrap it all up from battler's perspective. and there's the little quiz (?) in ch8

[goldenmagnolias]

lost in the labyrinth of my mind

pairing: OC High Lord of Dusk x Archeron!Sister

summary: Reverie Archeron has always been different. Different in a good or bad way depends on who you asked. Now a High Fae, and with another war approaching she tries to be as helpful as she can around Velaris and with her baby nephew, but at a High Lord meeting, the countless dreams she has as a child and the feelings that are not quite hers suddenly make sense and things become something that she never could have seen coming.

a/n: the plan/outline regarding this chapter was completely different but I ended up liking this too much to scrape it. so ophi and ria haven’t met properly just yet. but we do get a small glimpse into something very important and ria does meet someone.

masterlist // ao3

CHAPTER IV: WARMTH

The first thing that came back to Reverie’s awareness was more of a sensation. Something singing inside of her chest, weaving itself around her heart.

Then the scent of Opium poppies mixed with strawberries and sandalwood, invaded her senses.

Much like the scent that she would dream while walking on those now so familiar clearings. That would get stronger when she approached the canopy of orange trees.

She slowly felt more awareness coming to her, she was laying down in something soft. There were muffled noises, voices speaking close to her but it was like she had her head underwater. Everything was murky.

She felt a familiar hand clutching her own, she knew that was Nesta’s — whose fingers were tracing her knuckles, in a nervous manner.

A hand moving a strand of hair from her face, Elain.

And she could feel Feyre’s presence both physical and close to her mind.

“She’s awaking.” Feyre’s voice was the first one she heard properly but it was the raw worry in it that made Reverie open her eyes. Eyes that met her sister blue ones but also the ceiling of the winter palace.

Not the time to pass out Reverie, she chides in her mind.

‘I’m afraid, that was a fitting situation,’ Rhysand’s coice comes in her mind, but he’s not on her line of view.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“No not that. Rhys said fitting situation.” Reverie says sitting up with Elain and Feyre’s help. “What did he mean?”

Feyre’s eyes moved towards Elain and Elain looked at Nesta.

“Guys, you three are freaking me out a bit.” Reverie says quietly, eyes darting between her sisters.

“Um… there’s a situation.” Nesta begins.

“A situation really?” Elain asks their eldest sister.

“How you you put it then Elain?”

“That it was her magic reacting.”

“Reacting to what?”

“A mating bond.” Feyre says quietly.

And the silence that follows is deafening. Reverie isn’t sure if she heard it right.

“What?”

“you’re apparently mated to the High Lord of Dusk.” Gwyn says when she realizes no one did elaborate.

Reverie blinks once, twice, thrice, “The what from where?”

“Apparently, besides the whole Kochei thing. Kallias was contacted by the High Lord of Dusk, who’s court had been trapped by magic for over a 700 years.” Feyre says, “you started going pale the second we could feel his magic.”

“oh.”

“Oh?” Nesta says, “that’s your reaction “oh”?”

“I didn’t think I would have a mate,” Reverie says quietly, “I mean yeah, there were the weird dreams in places I never saw but I thought it was my head trying to comfort me after everything, not a mating bond. And now?”

“Well the High Lords are meeting.” Elain says, and Rhys, Azriel and Cassian’s absences make sense. The other two were probably there to keep the united front and to watch over Rhys.

“Shouldn’t you be there Fey?”

“I am. In a way.” She says, tapping her temple. “They’re discussing the basics of what we know. Vassa is explaining what she knows and Jurian is being Jurian and glaring at everyone.”

“That tracks.” Lucien comments.

“Lainey?” Reverie calls turning to Elain.

“Yes?”

“Did you see anything regarding this or him?”

“No.” Elain shakes her head, “but his cousin had to drag him to the meeting when they decided it was for the best to give you some air.”

A knock on the door stops any comments anyone else might make, and Vivianne enters the room, letting out a relieved sigh when she sees Reverie awake.

“Oh good, thank the mother, you’re okay.” she then moves handing her a large mug. “Hot chocolate.” She says when Reverie frowns before accepting the mug, “obviously with added cinnamon.”

“Thank you, Viv.”

“No problem. A little pick me up after fainting is good. I wasn’t sure if you drank alcohol so sweet it is.”

“Good choice.” Elain says with a smile, brushing Reverie’s hair down.

“Now… Feyre, would you tell Rhysand to tell him about her being awake.” Vivianne says, “he looked like he was going to have a heart attack.”

“already done.”

“Territorial Males.” Vivianne says with a dramatic sigh, “they turn into such mother hens.”

Elain snorts while giving Lucien a pointed look.

“Anything you wanna say, Blossom?”

“No dearest, nothing.” Elain says with a playful smile.

Nesta rolled her eyes at the two but Reverie could see the happiness in her eyes at their sister happiness, as Nesta unconsciously kept tracing Reverie’s knuckles.

“Will any of you grace me with the knowledge of his name at least? Or will I be in the dark?”

“Ophiuchus.” Feyre says.

“Like the constellation?”

“Family tradition, I’m afraid.” A voice joins the conversation and a girl with curly jet black hair and silver eyes, makes herself know, with a quick dip of her head in green. “I’m Ayla Hesperus. Ophiuchus’ cousin, and his second.”

“I’m-“

“Reverie Archeron.” Ayla finished with a smile, “quite the myth all of you. Even with so little time with our court being able to contact the outside world again, the stories have already reached us.”

“Ophi almost fainted when we crossed the threshold into the palace. You can ask Lady Vivianne, he all but froze.”

“Just Vivianne, Ayla.”

The jet-haired woman nods but continues to look at Reverie, who looks at her, her curiosity getting the best of her so she has to ask.

“Does your court holds a clearing, a large one by a cluster of mountains. That has a canopy of orange trees by a lake?”

Ayla’s eyes widen. “You saw Euryphaessa.” She says slowly, “it’s our capital.”

“Well, if my dreams are anything to go by it’s beautiful.” Reverie says shyly.

“It is.” Ayla says with a smile. “Well, I just came to check on by. Taran deal with Ophi. I come here and see you’re okay by myself and he stays and pays attention on the meeting. Males I tell you, sometimes… by the mother. I will see you soon.”

And with a dip of her head she leaves.

“Did she just confirm I dreamt about a place that I’ve never been in or even knew that existed?” Reverie asks after a beat of silence.

“She did.” Lucien nods.

“Did any of you have that?”

“Dreamt of the night sky but not something specific.” Feyre says, with a pensive look.

“That’s nowhere near as specific, though.” Elain comments.

“Yeah, fair point.” Feyre says, “everything will be fine, Ria.”

“We are in the middle of a war, Fey.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” Gwyn says, with a serious tone.

“Do what?”

“Try to push the idea that you can be happy away from your mind.”

Reverie sighs but nods under the gaze of the red headed Valkyrie and of her older sisters.

“It will be alright, Reverie.” Vivianne says comfortingly, “if it gives you any piece of mind, he’s very much a respectable male. And very very handsome.”

Reverie just nods stressing her lower lip with her teeth, but her cheeks flush slightly, the first action results in her gaining a squeeze on her hand from Nesta.

“Are we to stay here or go to the meeting?”

“Staying here is better.” Feyre says, “at least for now.”

……..

Vivianne promptly brings a lot of finger foods and drinks for the other’s when it’s decided that they’re staying in the room.

Elain ends up settling on redoing Reverie’s hair as Nesta and Gwyn tell Vivianne about the Valkyrie training.

“Your mind is away.” Elain says quietly.

“I’m a tad bit overwhelmed.” Reverie says back in the same tone. “And a bit embarrassed.”

“Whatever for?”

“I fainted Lainey.”

“The amount of magic that swirled around the room? It would be weird if you hadn’t.” Elain says.

“Maybe… is it stupid that I’m also nervous?”

“No no it’s not,” Elain says with a shake of her head. “It’s normal I’d say. Me and Lucien met under different circumstances but I do believe that nervousness is about normal when it comes to a mating bond. People just react to the nervousness in different ways.”

“You mean you hiding from him, Feyre throwing a shoe at Rhys and Nesta aggravating Cassian.” Reverie teases.

“And you fainting.” Elain teases back.

Reverie gives her a tentative smile.

“What’s really on that head of yours?”

“You’re a Seer, Nesta is Lady Death and a Valkyrie, Feyre is the Cursebreaker. I’m just me. What if that’s not enough?”

“It will be. You’re enough Reverie, more than enough” Elain says, adamant tone in her voice, as she finishes her hair, “and you never know. Things change with time. We did so didn’t we?”

“Okay.” Reverie says, letting out a breath. “That’s a good point. More than a good point actually.”

“Oh I know I’m brilliant,” Elain jokes practically preening in delight making Reverie laugh.

…..

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