#I understand it too well too deeply I WEEP

[cometrose]

i think zhongli and xiao is my favorite relationship in genshin. like i love their interactions and i love their story like no matter what i want them to stay together, like please don't die separately like no matter what chaos or peace ensure please just stay together your both people who have suffered for a long time and deserve to be happy

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I���m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

[mydemimonde]

my tears ricochet — aemond targaryen x reader one-shot

warnings: angst with no happy ending. mention and description of miscarriage, depression, character death, aemond being an asshole. no beta reading! i like alys but i needed to make her kind of a bitch for this

words: 4500ish

A/N: i hope you like this little piece of writing, took me like five hours lmao. english is not my first language so expect some mistakes. i have an upcoming fic with aemond x oc, if you're interested in reading it, here's a sneak peak. enjoy your reading! ♡

We gather here, we line up Weeping in a sunlit room, and If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too

The words that left Aemond’s mouth cut deep in your skin. Your heart was heavy, a huge sharp pain was pressing your chest and you felt like vomiting. You were thankful you were sitting, otherwise your legs would have failed you.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, you could only hear his muffled voice, as if it was distant. The air grew thick with tension as Aemond’s words hung between you two, the Sun lighting the dark room.

“Alys and I…”

You have heard plenty of rumours about your husband and that woman in Harrenhal. You refused to believe them, you were sure your husband was an honourable man who loved you and respected you deeply. But apparently it was not like that.

All you could do was stare blankly at the fireplace, no emotion showing in your face, your hands together on your lap and some tears falling down on your cheeks, while he kneeled before you, explaining to you what happened, tears spilling from his eyes at the fact that he betrayed you. His dear wife.

“I swear to you, Y/N” he placed his hand on his chest, his voice broken and barely above a whisper “there is nothing else between us. I ended the matter”.

You stopped a bitter laugh from escaping your lips. Ended the matter? That was far from happening, you were sure of it. That morning, when he arrived with Cole and his men, a brunette lady in a green dress came as well.

Oh, yes. He even dared to bring her to the Keep.

According to Aemond, before he confessed his betrayal, that woman was an important asset to win the war for the Iron Throne against his half-sister and uncle. She could see things before they happened, she had visions and he needed her.

But to you, it was beyond that.

How could he betray you in that way and have the audacity to bring the woman he betrayed you with to your home? How could he do such a thing to you after everything you had to endure?

Memories of the weeks after you lovely wedding flashed through your mind.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

“I’m so sorry, Aemond,” you said in between sobs, hiding your face from him. You were sitting on your shared bed after the maester left your chambers. It was your second failed pregnancy, apparently you were not fertile enough for a healthy one.

The world shattered around you, you wanted to cry and scream until your throat hurt, you wanted to set everything on fire. You were not capable of keeping a child safe in your womb, you were not capable of giving your husband an heir.

“Shh, my sweet love,” Aemond’s voice was soft, his hand caressing your back as the other went to take your hands and uncover your face. Your eyes and nose were red and puffy, tears still streaming down your cheeks. He wiped the tears with his thumb and hugged your shaking figure, trying to calm you down. “Listen to me. This was not your fault. None of it”

“But, Aemond, I-”

“No,” he interrupted, looking at you with a serious expression. “Do not blame yourself for this. It is a terrible thing that happened, yes. But by no means was it your fault, I want you to understand that” his thumb stroked your cheek as you regained your breath.

“Aemond, you heard the maester. I’m incapable of giving you a child” water began to pool in your eyes again, remembering what the wise man told you with a sorrowful look.

He nodded. “Yes, I have heard him. But I do not love you less for that. Y/N, I love you for being you, my dear wife. Not for what you can or cannot give me. I only care and crave for your love.”

You believed every word he said, every promise, every look directed at you and every touch he gave you. Oh, how stupid you felt now.

Since you were not looking at him nor saying anything, he took your hands in his. That caught your attention and you flinched, finally looking at him.

With a quivering and threatening voice, you managed to say: “Get out”.

After that morning, you still slept in the same chambers and bed. You slept on your edge of the bed, turning your back to him, while he slept on his side. Sometimes you felt him staring at you, he would try to touch you or talk to you, but you were very clear to him. You needed time to think, needed time to forgive him, and he decided to respect that.

However, after feeling the bed shift every night while you pretended to sleep and hearing his footsteps early in the morning right before waking up, you decided you would not forgive him.

You cried into your pillow every time he left, spending the night in another chamber. Her chambers.

Soon you began feeling terribly sick, you would wake up with nausea, vomiting your breakfast and with awful migraines.

“You are with child, princess” the maester’s words echoed in your head, trying to assimilate them.

“That… that’s impossible” you shook your head and smiled sadly. “I have already lost two. I am not capable of carrying a healthy pregnancy” you repeated the words the maester had told you several moons before.

The old man chuckled. “You are almost three moons in, princess” you blinked. “You need to trust this old man. This one is safe. But listen very carefully” his expression turned serious, your eyes wide with surprise as you nodded. “It is imperative that you follow a healthy diet to keep this child safe. You must avoid all kinds of strong emotions and stressful situations.”

Oh. Right.

You just nodded, taking mental note of his suggestions. “Thank you, master”.

He left your chambers and you stayed there, standing next to the fireplace, a hand lingering on your belly. You were now with child. Aemond’s child. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, thinking about what to do next, but especially about how you were feeling.

Happy? Relieved? Sad? It was all a mix of feelings that made you uneasy. You’ve been confirmed that this was a safe pregnancy, or at least it was if you followed the maester’s instructions. You should be happy, right?

But after remembering what Aemond had told you weeks before and his activities during the nights, you realised that happiness was impossible. You were unsure if after you told him the news, he would stop seeing her. After all, he promised their affair would cease, and he did not keep his word.

The sound of someone knocking on the door pulled you from your trance. “Yes?”

Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law stepped in the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a worried look in her face. “My dear, I have seen the maester come from your chambers”. She came closer to you, examining you and taking one of your hands in hers. “Is there anything wrong?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you could not find the words. “I- uhm” you cleared your throat and looked at your hands. “I’m fine, your Grace”

Alicent tilted her head. “You’re with child, aren’t you?” you lifted your head, your gaze wide and lips parting. She only smiled. “A mother notices things. I have noticed you have been feeling ill. Nausea and migraines” she explained, leading you to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I started with the same symptoms when I had Aegon in my womb. And from the look on the maester’s face, it appears that you and the baby will be safe”

You just blinked at her words. Certainly, mothers can notice things.

“Indeed, your Grace” suddenly you felt like crying. “I do not know how to tell Aemond, he-” you closed your eyes and looked at your hands. You took a deep breath as Alicent caressed your hair. You looked back up at her. “I know he has been seeing that witch every night. I see him do that. He swore to me he would stop, but-”

The Queen nodded and grimaced. She did not like that woman either. It was a shame for her that her (favourite) son would bring her mistress there. The fact that he in fact had a mistress was a shame itself. How could he disrespect his wife, his mother and his whole family like that?

Something inside you told you she already knew. “I’m so sorry, my dear” she hugged you and you felt at peace for a moment. Queen Alicent was truly like a mother to you.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

After your conversation with Queen Alicent, you decided to tell Aemond the news. For a moment, you hoped that if he heard what you had to say, he would immediately abandon the witch’s side and come back to you. You may still forgive him after all…

The Queen had arranged a feast in your honour. It would be the moment where you would tell him the news, with the rest of the family. You met Aemond in your chambers, right when you were finishing preparing yourself, you were combing your long hair when he entered the room.

His expression confused you. “I am afraid, my love, that I will not be able to escort you to supper. I have some unattended matter in the Council”

You frowned and felt quite disappointed. “But you will be able to attend, right?” you already felt a wave of desperation through your body. “Your mother has arranged this in our honour, you must not be absent.”

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh that took you by surprise. “I will, Y/N. It is just that I will be joining later with Cole, that is all.”

And so you walked to the Great Hall alone. Aegon, Helaena, Otto and Alicent, as well as some members of the Council —except from Aemond and Cole, of course— were already there, waiting for you.

When Alicent saw you entering the Hall with a blank expression and no sight of Aemond by your side, the corners of her mouth curved downwards. She approached you. “My dear Y/N, where is Aemond?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “He said he would be late. He had matters to attend in the Council.”

Her expression softened as she caressed your arm. “Well then, come with me. Let us have a seat and we may wait for him” you followed the Queen and sat next to her, to her right. There was an empty seat next to you, meant for Aemond.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, anxiety coursing through your veins as you lifted your head to glance at the doors. You have been there waiting for almost twenty minutes, the musicians were already playing some quiet music, the sound of people chatting filled your ears. 

Suddenly, the doors opened. Everyone stood up from their chairs and the music stopped. It was Ser Criston Cole who entered. Alone. He found your gaze in the crowded room, a sorrowful and sorry look on his face.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you had to witness later. Your husband made his way into the Hall, with Alys Rivers on his arm next to him. 

One of her hands lingered over her belly.

You heard Alicent scoff next to you, shaking her head at the sight. You, on the other hand, could not utter a word. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to run away from there. But your feet did not seem to move, it was as if they were glued to the floor.

Aemond met your empty gaze for a few seconds before moving towards the chairs in front of him. He pulled one for Alys, she thanked him with a soft smile that he returned and sat.

You could not stand being there, in the same room as them.

You turned your heels and ran away from there as soon as you could, tears spilling and making your vision blurry as your legs moved fast. You heard footsteps behind you, and a soft grip on your arm made you stop in your tracks. You turned your head and saw Aemond’s eye scanning you, noticing the way your cheeks were damped with your tears.

“Y/N, let us go back to the Hall”

Rage flowed through you like dragonfire. “Get your fucking hands off me!” you yelled with a brittle voice and freed from his grip with a strong tug.

That took Aemond by surprise, his wide eye proving it. You were staring at him like he was the biggest scum in the world. Which he was. And that felt like a dagger through his heart.

“Y/N, my dear, please listen to me” he pleaded with a low voice, trying to reach your hand.

“So now that whore is part of the Council?” you answered bitterly. He did not move nor said anything. “How dare you humiliate me in front of everyone? How dare you disrespect your wife and your mother in such a way?” you spat, nostrils flaring with anger.

Once again, he tried to reason with you. “My love, I promis-” he was interrupted by a slap across his face, startling him.

“Do not fucking call me that” you warned him, waving your index finger to him to turn around and leave to your chambers.

That night, you just let the anger and sadness take over you, sobbing into the pillow as Aemond heard everything outside the door. He stayed there the whole night, his back against the cold door, waiting for you to open it. But you refused to let him in, and so he fell asleep on the floor.

He was awakened by Cole in the early hours of the morning, and since he did not hear an answer when he knocked on the door, he forced it open, searching for you. But you were nowhere to be found.

He called your name, but you did not answer. He just heard some muffled sobs in the toilet, the door was locked. “Y/N? Y/N please, let me in.”

You just muttered a small “Please, leave me alone”. Aemond’s gaze fell to the floor for a few moments, and he was ready to leave you again, you just needed time to think. You would come to your senses again, and you would listen to what he had to say. Everything would be back to normal.

Just when he was ready to leave with Cole, he heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, so he forced the door, worried about you. What he saw made his breath hitch.

You were on your knees on the floor, crying, your hands and the white gown you wore to sleep was covered in blood. Your blood. Your gaze found his, and you managed to yell. “I said leave me alone!”

Aemond fell to your side immediately, ordering Cole to fetch a maester. He began examining you, trying to find the source of the blood, but you were not harmed. He lifted your gown and saw your legs damped with blood as well. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y/N…”

“Almost three moons in” you cut him. “The maester said it would be a safe pregnancy, if I followed his instructions. Avoid stressful situations.”

Aemond’s heart dropped listening to your words. He could not say a word for a while, he just kept looking at you. “I-I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Sorry does not change anything” your voice was harsh, your eyes felt like daggers on him. “You chose her over me. You chose her over our marriage, our baby, and now our child is gone. Is gone because of you. You killed it.”

He felt everything around him stop, it was like you took his heart and squeezed hard with your cruel words. But he deserved it. He deserved all your anger, and more.

“Go back to her. She needs you, Aemond, I’m sure she does. The baby she carries needs his father, do not do the same you did to me” you swallowed, watching his reaction.

“Y/N, I told you, we ended everything. She was at supper with me last evening because as you well said, she is part of the Council. She is valuable” he was trying so hard to make you believe his words.

You laughed bitterly. “Do you think I’m stupid, Aemond? I know what you do every night, when I pretend to sleep. I know you go back to her. Every fucking night. You reek of her, Aemond” you sneered at him, letting him see how much you hated him now. “I know for sure she is expecting a child, your child.”

Tears began to spill from your eyes again, but you did not let them fall. You did not wish for him to see you that vulnerable again.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

After the maester had arrived, he instructed Aemond to leave the chambers. Your words and the way you looked at him with hate, no not hate, repulsion, were still engraved in his mind. As he left the room he heard your sobs, it was a sound that broke his heart. How could he hurt you, his beloved wife? He was responsible for your heartbreak and the loss of your child.

That day he decided he would try once again to have your trust and love back. He sent a maester to Alys’ chambers to give her moon tea. Then, a guard would escort her outside the Keep, a carriage would be waiting for her to return to her home.

He let that affair and bargain destroy his marriage, but he would do anything to amend it.

He went to your shared chambers, it was a cold night, the wind howled outside the Keep and only his footsteps were heard in the corridors. He opened the door, the wind was so strong it threatened to close it, but Aemond was stronger and managed to open it. He expected to see you lying on your bed, resting after the maester gave you some milk of the poppy, but he did not see you there.

Aemond looked around the dark room and found you in your white gown. His heart began to pound fast in his chest, his hands began to shake as he caught sight of you, your feet perched on the window still looking down.

His steps were silent, calculated, trying not to scare you. But you already knew he was there, you heard the door being opened and you knew it was him. You did not look back at him, not even when he was begging you not to do anything insane. He came closer, carefully offering you his hand.

“Y/N please,” his voice gentle yet tinged with desperation. “Step back, please, just take my hand”.

At the sound of his voice, you slowly turned around, facing him with empty eyes. His eyebrows drew together in deep concern, his lips slightly parted. He let out a small sigh of relief as you placed your hand on his palm, but before he could grab it, you gave him what could only be described as a sad smile and slipped through his fingers, letting yourself fall.

Your funeral was held a few days later, Aemond gave Vhagar the command to set your corpse on fire. As Vhagar saw the tears in her rider’s eyes, she let out a loud roar, full of sorrow. Aemond stared at the flames, incapable of moving as his cheeks were wet with warm tears.

As he turned to leave, however, he felt a certain uneasiness. He began looking around the field, and he swore he saw your figure standing behind a tree, watching him. He blinked rapidly, but you disappeared.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

That night after the funeral, Aemond cried silently as he clung to one of your dresses. It still had your smell, it was as if you were right there with him. In the dimly lit room, shadows danced like spectres, casting an otherworldly ambiance.

It was right there, through tear-blurred vision, that he saw you. Your ghostly figure stood next to the window, looking through it, an apparition bathed in a haunting glow. You were sobbing. Aemond's breath caught in his throat, the ache in his chest growing immeasurably.

“Y/N?” he asked with a trembling voice, standing up slowly to approach you. Your sobbing never ceased as you turned to see him. Your eyes were glinted with a seething anger, the tears you shed were like salt in his wounds, a reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon you.

Just before he could get closer to you, you climbed to the window sill. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he realised what you intended. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop you, but it was too late. You jumped, slipping through his fingers once again.

Aemond could not sleep well. After that, he began seeing you and feeling you everywhere. During his training, when he could not concentrate and fell on his back missing Cole’s attacks, he saw your figure staring at him from the roof. During his visits to the library, in the solemn silence, he could hear your sobs. During supper, he could feel your hand linger over his shoulder, just like the way you used to do.

He would see your reflection in the mirror, looking at him with pure anger, your face contorted with rage.

Every night, the same thing would happen. He would see you standing next to the window, sobbing, turning to glare at him just to jump afterwards. He had to witness your death over and over again, slipping through his fingers. It was driving him insane.

He was sleep deprived. He requested the maesters to give him something so that he could find sleep. However, your late visits never ceased. You continued haunting him, he did not know what else to do to stop this.

One night, there was a storm raging outside, loud thunders and lightning streaking across the sky illuminated the room. Aemond drank the tea the maester had given him earlier, trying to get some rest.

Your sobs interrupted his peaceful sleep. He rubbed his eyes and saw you standing there, looking at him with a mix of rage and sorrow. Before you could repeat the actions from previous nights and climb through the window, he dashed across the room and fell to his knees.

“Y/N, I beg you!” he pleaded through a strangled cry, his hands clutching his chest. You turned your body to him, watching as he cried before you, his other hand covering his face. “I am miserable without you, my love. I am so sorry for the pain and suffering I caused you!”

Your sobs came to a halt, listening to his desperate laments and pleadings. You approached him without saying a word and he lifted his head to look at you.

“I am living in torment, I am in agony, Y/N. I know I hurt you deeply, I know I deserve all of this” he moved his hands, gesturing at the room. “I’ll carry the guilt of what happened to you and our child with me, always.” His voice was full of remorse, his hands shaking terribly as he spoke.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling the weight on his shoulder starting to vanish. He could not apologise to you when you were alive, the guilt ate him. But now he had the opportunity to do so, even if it was too late.

Your hardened expression softened at his words, feeling your heart clenching at the sight of him like this.

“Aemond.” Your voice came out as a haunting whisper, as if the wind carried it, and it reached his ears, sending shivers through his spine. “I cannot leave this place. I am a prisoner here.” You explained as you extended a hand to caress his cheek. Your touch was cold against his skin, but he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“You caused me great pain, husband. This is why I haunt you every day and night.”

Aemond’s eyes opened and he rose to his feet. He took your pale cold hands in his and looked into your eyes. “I beg you to forgive me, Y/N. I cannot undo the past, I wish I could. But I need you to do that. You need to be free as well, I do not wish you to continue suffering.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes became watery. “I loved you, Aemond. I loved you til my very last day.”

“I still love you, Y/N. And I apologise for everything. You were too good for me.” A tear ran down his cheek, a bittersweet smile graced his features as the memories of your happy marriage filled his mind. Fragments of your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes would shine with love as you looked at him. Fragments of your life together before his mistakes.

Your foreheads touched. “I loved you, Aemond. But I cannot forgive you” you whispered and he gulped. He could feel your breath fanning his face, your lips were so close to touching.

Aemond did not know if it would be wise to kiss you, but he missed you so much and longed for your touch, your lips, his body and heart ached.

Your hands were carefully placed around his neck, and you chose to close the distance giving him a sweet kiss from your cold clay lips.

The next day after the ferocious storm, Aemond's lifeless form lay on the ground, next to the window. He was found by Cole and Otto, who walked into his chambers after not hearing word from the Prince all morning.

They gathered around him. His eye was closed, his slightly parted lips holding the faintest trace of a serene smile. His death was sudden, and it was said he died from the pain of losing his wife and child. It could have not been an attack, there were no signs of it, no signs from any wound in his body.

There were no signs of violence, other than the strange marks of slender fingers, like ghostly imprints around his neck.

taglist: @moonlightfoxx

[cringefailvox]

Yooo you have an Alastor + Vaggie-centric AU 👀👀👀 what are some of the details if you don’t mind me asking jagsjajhsjsk

OKAY SO. back in april, birdsaretoddlers and i were talking about the potential hilarity of a vaggie/charlie/alastor poly dynamic and then we accidentally got way too into vaggie/alastor as a concept, which spiraled into a whole au that has unfortunately not left the discord server but MAYBE. SOMEDAY......

the barest bones of it are essentially that vaggie represents everything that alastor finds most pathetic & baffling in other people: dogged, singular loyalty to a cause & a person based on sheer loving devotion, with no ulterior motives or plans beyond protecting and supporting that person. and of course she rubs him the wrong way extremely frequently, just as much as he gets on her nerves. she's nearly codependent with charlie while alastor would rather chew off his own foot than be tethered to someone in that way. he's the type of sinner who exemplified vaggie's mission as an exorcist, the kind of demon she wouldn't have thought twice about cutting down because he clearly deserves it. he's never felt remorse in his life and vaggie has been walking on her knees for a thousand miles in the desert repenting since the day she fell. they are diametrically opposed.

AND YET. alastor recognizes a lot of his own traits in her as well! she's guarded, secretive, violent, has a lot of trust issues, and possessive of what she considers hers. alastor knows exactly what that's like. but vaggie is mystifying to him, because he cannot for the love of g-d understand what kind of sentimental nonsense could drive her to recklessly put her life on the line for charlie over and over and over again, with no regard for her own safety and NO other motivations besides?? LOVE??? sounds fake but ok.

vaggie also sees some of herself in alastor too, as much as it rankles—she's reminded viscerally of herself in the early days after losing her wings and her eye, suspicious and traumatized and deeply mistrustful of charlie's good intentions. couldn't even fathom that kindness could be genuine in hell. she looks at alastor and all of his trust issues and decides "redeeming this guy is impossible, but i really think i could at least get him to stop biting," you know, like you'd think about a reactive shelter dog who keeps growling at your handful of treats. you'll never be able to take that dog out in public without a lot of precautions and low expectations, but at least at home, it'll trust you not to hurt it if it lays its head in your lap.

for alastor's part, his whole interest in vaggie starts off as a way to cuddle up to charlie (and piss off lucifer), but he rapidly gets way too invested because there's no such thing as doing anything ironically for long, and it's kind of his Move, yk? he worms relentlessly into someone's life until he firmly has their attention, and then when he realizes he's in too deep and tries to withdraw and they cling, he's like "?? leave me alone??" (bird: "the ol vox special gets him literally nowhere") but now VAGGIE is invested too bc she's reluctantly fond of this creepy weirdo who eats deer carcasses in his room and for some reason let adam almost kill him defending the hotel, he doesn't get to just crawl away and die from his injury now that she's finally starting to like his freak ass. of course alastor is a nightmare patient and vaggie's bedside manner is atrocious so they're really bad at it. but they're trying and that's what matters!!

(also, charlie is weeping with joy in the background of all of this—her two biggest supporters, getting along!! kind of!! she's so proud of them both!!!! [alastor has completely forgotten that this venture started off as a way to manipulate charlie. get polycule'd, idiot]).

hopefully one day we'll manage to turn this into an actual fic, but for now enjoy these highlights :]

[frostbitebakery]

Love the goo!Obi-Wan au. How did the 501st react when they had to work with Obi-Wan for the first time? Seeing their brothers from the 212th being unaffected by the creepiness

Thank you, Nonny!! 💜💜💜 Sorry this took a bit but I had to pick and choose how I wanted the 501st represented by Rex to react. Enjoy!

“Uhm.”

“Basically,” Boil says. “The rhymes are catchy though.”

Cody nods, lifts his shoulder in Boil’s direction. “They are.”

“Uhm.”

“You get used to it,” Waxer chimes in.

Rex holds up a hand. “No. No, we are going to backtrack a bit. What do you mean I’m standing in General Kenobi.”

“Only technically,” Waxer assures and smiles at the black smoke curling around his foot before wafting off.

“Well then!” Rex hisses out and rounds on Cody. “You stop laughing your ass off!”

Cody’s blank face doesn’t change under the accusing finger. Instead his eyes catch on something down the hallway. “Hm.”

The very last thing Rex wants to do is turn around. Unfortunately, being brave to the point of stupidity is anchored into his bones, so he turns around.

And is almost bowled over by a scream shattering down the hallway, a rush of dense, cold air freezing the blood in his veins. It’s too fast to duck, too consuming to not want to curl into a ball and weep. A clock is ticking down somewhere, taking every second backwards of Rex’s life and leaving him in the unforgiving grave.

“Must’ve dripped in the pudding again,” Cody comments just as his comm goes off.

A small blue version of the General pops up in the holo field, bowing deeply. “I apologize for what just occurred and for any inconveniences my lack of control may have caused.”

The comm cuts off and Rex has trouble blinking the afterimage from his eyes.

“So, anyway,” Waxer says as if this is all just another Taungsday and Rex’s hair didn’t just turn even blonder from shock. “You get used to it, really—“

The pad of a finger slowly strokes down the back of Rex’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Under the blacks. He slaps a hand against the sensation.

“Ha, yeah, and one time he made it seem like he was on fire and was intimidating the enemy but then he forgot how to turn it off again—“

Whispers in his ear. Loud and louder and standing right there behind him.

“So Commander Cody just got the fire suppression foam and was like, stop that! It was so funny—“

Hands tugging at his. At his wrists. Arms. Grabbing his jaw and prying his mouth open but nothing moves it’s all in his head.

“Rex,” Cody says and Rex is standing with the others at a T-section on the Negotiator.

He looks up, sees the understanding there in Cody’s eyes, the half-smile. “Don’t be afraid. He’s still General Kenobi.”

.

The General is red with shame and chagrin. “I cannot possibly apologize enough, Captain Rex.”

Which does a lot to alleviate Rex’s fears. Multiple. He’s been walking awake through every nightmare he’s ever had since boarding the Negotiator.

“My control is becoming stronger, overall, though it is certainly lacking in other aspects. I’m very sorry. Especially for the incident with the mouse droid—“

“We’re not talking about that,” Rex rushes out before remembering himself. “Sir.”

“Of course.”

And after that, it’s… easy. Don’t be afraid and there’ll be no loop feeding itself on his fear until he has a heart attack.

[starlightsuffered]

Crazy Girls

A/N - based off the song one of those crazy girls by paramore

Info - toxic relationship, angst, breaking and entering, obsessed reader, some mentions of sex

“Oh that’s so sweet Timothée , I agree we should slow down,” I said, plastering a smile to my face. When he said we needed to talk, I thought he was going to propose. I knew it’d only been a couple months but I was utterly enamoured with him. He was everything I wanted and things were going so well.

We were pretty sexual. We couldn’t keep our hands off one another. Our chemistry in that regard had always been strong and unwavering. Slowing down now would mean more romantic things for us. Long weekends together, cooking breakfast for one another, late night talks under the stars, and much more.

“I agree we should focus more on our connection and romance,” I said and pecked his cheek. He looked astounded. He was quite speechless for a moment. His mouth opened and shut like a goldfish.

“Noooooo…..” Timothe drawled with a quirked eyebrow of confusion.

“You’ve got it backwards,” he said in a stern voice.

“Huh?” I asked. It was my turn to cock my head in bewilderment.

“Okay, wow,” Timothée said in exasperation.

“Baby, calm down,” I said softly. “Think about our future. We’re gonna be forever.”

As I cooed at him I sauntered towards him. I placed a hand on his chest. I dragged my fingers down his skin. His eyes took on that dazed dreamy look he often had with me.

“No, no, goodbye,” he said shaking his head.

“I’m sorry you’re going,” I pouted. “I’ll be waiting for your text and checking in every 30 minutes. I love you.”

He gave me a withering glance before he closed the door. I waited the appropriate five minutes and then called him.

I called 100 times. I counted of course. He didn’t answer. I was pacing my house. My feet were even sore from it.

Why didn’t he answer? Why had he said those cryptic words before he left. His body language had been off as well. I was utterly anchorless without him. I wanted the security of him.

It was time for drastic measures. I left a voice note on his phone. I told him I was going to visit him, because we’d been apart too long.

I checked my phone every couple times on the bus. To my horror, no message from Timothée. I was finally at his apartment door. I knocked, and nothing happened. I felt an unsettling fear grip me. I NEEDED to see him. I was banging now, I called his name over and over as tears streamed down my face.

I hadn’t wanted to resort to this, but I was getting frantic. I took out the key I’d secretly copied that was for his door. I knew this seemed insane but no one could understand just how badly I needed to talk to him.

When I was finally in, I realised Timothée wasn’t home. I did feel a little more settled. I was in his area, his home, everything here could be added up to create the man I loved.

I made my way to his closet. I huffed his clothes. It felt good, but they were all clean. I needed something even more Timothée.

I picked a sweater off the floor. I sniffed it deeply. I shuddered all over. It smelled exactly like him. His unique scent and cologne had mixed together well. I felt tears well in my eyes.

“I’ll never love anyone else,” I whispered over and over. I didn’t know how long I stood there crying and smelling before the voice I wanted to hear pulled me out of my dream like state.

“Y/n? Why are you in my home?” Timothée demanded.

“Y-You weren’t answering me,” I said weakly.

“There’s a reason for that!” He growled.

“B-but, maybe I can change your mind? What do you want me to do? I love you so much.”

“You’re crazy,” he shook his head.

“N-no I’m not, I’m not crazy. I just love you,” I said emotionally.

“I’m gonna call the police if you do this again,” he said harshly.

“B-But,” I stuttered.

“Out,” he ordered. I was weeping as I took off the sweater and gave it back. As I left the apartment I heard him calling a lock smith. I realised he was right. Now I was one of those crazy girls.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[roguelov]

okay one last thought and then I have to go to sleep:

dream and hob teasing and edging y/n all night long while they're in the dreaming, so once they wake up, they're super desperate and horny but have to just go on about their day. as soon as they're back in the dreaming the following night, dream and hob are all over them😋 or maybe they tease them all week, finally getting their release on the weekend👀

*clawing at the walls* god yesssssss … and maybe our dear reader gets fed up in the end 🤭

…

“Look at you,” Dream cooed.

Your back was pressed into Hob’s chest. Your skin was burning up. You gulped down air, trying to say a word but all that came out of a needy whine. Their hands continued to skim all over your body as their lips descended on your weak spots.

“Please,” you managed to stumble out. “More, I - I need you both.”

“I know, love,” Hob whispered in your ear. “But, you just look so lovely right now. Let us have our fun.”

You groaned, writhing against him.

And you would have been there longer if it wasn’t for your damn alarm. You immediately shot up in bed, panting and clutching your sheets. The sensation of their hands and lips still lingered on your skin. You touched your neck where Hob’s lips were just at only to frown. Sighing deeply, you didn’t know if you should be thankful or not for your alarm.

You decided not to dwell too much on it and just go about your day. It was easy to distract your mind, but it was temporary. These feelings would not go away. And the nights were no better. You somehow got trapped between these two men, becoming their toy in a way. Yes, they would touch you, but they wouldn’t ever be enough. You would beg and beg for more, only to be frustrated in the end.

A week’s worth of torment.

By Friday night, you laid down into bed ready for what was to come along with a partial plan in mind.

“Ah, there you are,” Dream’s voice came from behind you.

Blinking, you had to reorient yourself. You were back in the grand bedroom in the Dreaming. And soon, all those memories from all the nights before flooded back. Twisting around, you threw a half-hearted glare at Dream.

“What is with the sour expression,” Dream asked, but his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Do not play dumb with me,” you huffed.

“Play dumb?” Hob called out, walking out of the bathroom. “What do you mean?”

Again, just how Dream’s eyes held a smug understanding, Hob had to hold back a smile from curling across his lips. You grumbled, “You two with your teasing all this week.”

Hob and Dream smirked.

“Are you frustrated, love?” Hob hummed.

In more ways than one.

“Shall we rectify it?” Dream asked. His arms looped around your waist, pulling you to his chest. He teasingly nibbled on your ear, making you shiver. “Would you like me to drop to my knees for you, my dear?”

You hummed. You liked that idea very much, but you had something a little different in mind. You looked between them, they each noticed a spark in your eyes. Something dangerous and thrilling. “How about instead you two be good boys for me and let me use you?”

Your words instantly made their cocks weep.

You craved your head, looking back at Dream. Your hand caressed his cheek, drawing him down to you. Your lips skimmed over his. “Can you do that for me?”

“I think we can do that,” Dream whispered against you. His eyes caught Hob’s and Hob eagerly nodded.

You pulled away from Dream, “Well it’s not ‘I think’ it’s ’you will’.”

Dream and Hob felt their skin crackle with excitement. “And what will you have us do, love?” Hob asked, his excitement hardly contained.

Your lips curled into a devious smirk. “So so much, my loves.”

[bakuliwrites]

This might be a little oddly specific, but what about The Arcana Main six with an MC whose family does not support the relationship? (possibly doesn’t like the LI, doesn’t want to give their blessing, overall just disapproves of the LI)

Thank you and best of wishes xxx

I would be delighted to write this one! Thank you so much for your request and I wish you the best as well 💜

M6 when MC's Family Does Not Approve of Them

It would certainly hurt Asra to know that your family doesn't approve of your relationship with him, or perhaps doesn't even approve of him. All Asra wants is for you to be happy, so knowing that he may somehow be contributing to your unhappiness is devastating to him.

He wonders often if your family is disapproving of him because of your history with him. If your family knows what went down between the two of you before, during, and after the plague. Or perhaps they're simply wary of the magician. Of his powers. "There's no point in speculating," you say to him one day after a particularly stressful visit to your hometown. Asra casts a troubled glance your way before pulling you into his arms and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You're right. All that matters is that you have each other.

He is a constant support in your life. If you have to visit your family, he is more than happy to be by your side, even if they don't care for him. And he's not about to let them take their frustrations or cruelty out on you. Fine, say unkind things about him. He can take it. But he's not going to let anyone hurt you. He'll stand up for you to your family. Whatever support you need from him, in whatever form, when it comes to your family, he's there for you!

His parents approve of you. In fact, they adore you! So he figures that the four of you (seven with Faust, Chimes, and Flamel!) can be your own little family 💜

Nadia is familiar with the feeling of family disapproving of a significant other. To say her marriage to Count Lucio was no picnic is an understatement, and with it came a lot of stress due to the fact that her family was incredibly displeased with him. But this doesn't mean that Nadia isn't deeply hurt by the fact that your family doesn't approve of the two of you being together.

At first, Nadia will probably go out of her way to try to win them over. Not in any ridiculous, over-the-top sorts of ways. But she'll offer any services of the palace, should your family need assistance with anything. She tries her absolute best to gift them with things that she knows they would like, and with your recommendations for what they might like/need.

After a while though, when nothing seems to be working, you sit her down and politely tell her not to bother anymore. "I just don't understand," you manage to whisper through the threat of tears. She lets you collapse into her, holding you close as you weep. She smooths away your tears with the pads of her thumbs and gives you a warm smile. "Sometimes things bear no explanation," she reasons, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips, "All we can do is carry on with our lives and do what brings us joy."

Nadia isn't petty. Your family is still invited to all events she hosts, to every party, and ball and what not. But her gaze is cold and disapproving when she glances at your family members from across the room. She's quick to defend you, too. Her support is invaluable to you, and she wants you to know that she'll always have your back, even if your family doesn't 💜

Julian is devastated that your family doesn't like him. He's aware that he's not everybody's cup of tea. Normally, that doesn't get to him. But the fact that it's your family cuts him deep. He's not worried about himself, though. No, he can handle it when people don't like him. He is, however, worried about what it all means for you.

He frets often about their disapproval. He wonders if you would be better off being with someone else, someone that your family actually approves of, but he tries to quash that unhealthy train of thought. The two of you have a lot of late night discussions and debriefs about your family. Especially if you've had to interact with them extensively, say at an uncomfortable family dinner or gathering.

"Maybe I should simmer down a little when we're around your family," Julian suggests, worrying that he's a bit too boisterous for them or something. You shake your head, "No, you shouldn't. You should still be you. If they can't handle it, that's their problem." He admires your ability to stay strong, even though he knows your family's disapproval is painful for you. He wants to stay strong for you, too.

He'll be right by your side if you have to attend any family gatherings. Julian will slip his hand into yours and squeeze it tight if he can feel that you're getting stressed, or press a soft kiss to your cheek. He'll defend you if your family has the audacity to say anything about your relationship. He knows you've got his back, too. And luckily, his family adores you. You, Portia, and Mazelinka are the most important people in the world to him, and that's all that matters to Julian 💜

I think it would break Portia's heart if your family didn't approve of her or your relationship with her. She lost her family young, but was able to make one with her brother and the grandmas in Nevivon, so I think she would really be hoping to include your family in her own.

Whenever the two of you go to visit your family, Portia always brings a baked gift to try to smooth things over. She is polite and courteous, offers to help out around the kitchen, and tidy up after dinner. But none of it seems to smooth things over with your family. She starts to wonder if maybe she isn't good enough for them, if you'd be better off with someone of a little higher status or something.

"Nonsense," you tell her back at her cottage, snuggled up in bed together, "My family's opinion doesn't matter to me anyway." She smiles ruefully at you, knowing deep down that that isn't true. She can see the way it hurts you, but nonetheless, you put on a brave face. "It's okay if it's not okay," she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You give her a small smile, squeezing her hand tight, "You're what matters to me, Portia," you reassure.

Portia gets feisty if she needs to with your family, if they're being cruel to you. But otherwise, she tries to keep the peace if the two of you do have to interact with them. She has bouts of insecurity, where she feels like maybe it would be best if you found someone your family approved of. But you are quick to reassure her, and your obvious love for her is enough to prove that the two of you are meant to be 💜

Though Muriel is reserved, I feel that a lot of him would have been hoping to be able to become a part of your family, given that he lost his when he was so little. Having grown-up on his own, Muriel hoped that your family would be gracious enough to accept him into their circle, but unfortunately, that's not the case.

He wonders late at night when his thoughts keep him up if his past has anything to do with why your family doesn't approve of him. He wouldn't blame them. "Maybe we should just go our separate ways," he offers one afternoon after a particularly uncomfortable luncheon with your family. You frown at Muriel, quirking an eyebrow up, "Break-up with me because you want to break-up with me. Not because you think my family would like it."

And with that, it dawns on Muriel that you're with him despite what your family thinks of him. That you care about him, truly and deeply. That this is probably incredibly painful for you, too. "I love you, Muriel. I don't care what anyone else thinks," you say to him, spelling it our clearly and precisely.

You and Muriel decide that you don't need your family to approve. The two of you, and Inanna, are a family. And Asra, and Nadia, and Portia, and Julian (though Muriel agrees to this begrudgingly). The two of you have people in your life that care about you, that love and cherish you. Blood doesn't always mean everything, and the connections that you and Muriel have formed together, the bonds you've made, are what matter most 💜

At first, Lucio is flabbergasted as to why your family doesn't like him. He's so likeable, so what gives??? But over time, it dawns on him why your family might not approve of your relationship with him, and why they probably don't like him at all.

For a long time, he tries to win them over with overly-elaborate gifts that increase in amount (and in price) in the hopes of winning them over. He's desperate to gain your family's approval, hoping that at some point, he'll happen to send the right present and suddenly, all will be well. All will be forgiven and Lucio will be in their good graces.

When this doesn't work, he makes a show of expressing his adoration for you. He tries to talk to your family and convince them of how much he loves you. But nothing works. Lucio starts to feel defeated. "Why don't they like me?" he whimpers one evening, after another failed attempt at winning them over. You smile softly, gently tilting his chin up to look at you. "It doesn't matter what they think, Lucio," you reassure, brushing your lips featherlight against his, "You're important to me. I don't care what they think, and neither should you."

He stops trying so hard to gain their favor, and instead opts to ignore their existence (unless you have to visit them, in which case he'll try his best to be polite, but will likely come off as curt). Lucio feels a swell of confidence at your words. Oh yeah, that's right, it doesn't matter what they think! Lucio loves you, and you love Lucio, and that's all that matters 💜

[hg-deranged-edition]

My contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! @akichania YOU ARE NEXT.

(WARNING FOR SUICIDAL IDEATION)

———

He lay across from him, fast asleep at night. Eyes fluttering gently in his sleep, off in a dream Steve would never hear about. Chest rising steadily, breaths deep and even, with the lightest hint of a snore accompanying him. Steve couldn’t help himself, he extended his hand and lightly cupped his cheek, to feel it’s warmth. Hot, as Billy usually was during his slumber.

Ever the light sleeper, Billy’s eyes instantly snapped open, mind lagging behind. When recognition flashed across his face, his eyes softened and his lips curled into the slightest smile. Steve’s heart swelled at the love he found inside them, the vulnerability he found within both assuring and terrifying. Steve knew he couldn’t really help when Billy was in trouble.

Billy murmured a sound that was probably meant to be questioning, and Steve just hushed him, trying to coax him back to sleep. Maybe curl him up into his arms so that Billy couldn’t leave. Billy just grasped his hand and held onto it, terribly, terribly gentle. Affection Steve didn’t quite deserve or earn.

With great effort, Billy’s tired mind managed to collect enough coherence to ask “’Was wrong?” and Steve cursed himself for not being able to get himself together enough to save face in front of Billy.

He hadn’t been sleeping.

Couldn’t, really.

“I’m just,” he began, “I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m just kinda upset.” Billy’s hand tightened ever so slightly, brow twitching together in worry. He was quiet for a moment before muttering “You’re not ‘just upset.’ You never are.” he paused, looking deeply into his eyes, and Steve found it horrible that Billy knew him so intimately when he didn’t deserve someone so… well, whatever Steven is.

Incapable. Is probably the word he’s looking for.

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Billy began anew, “but you have to know I care, right? So like, I can listen to you, even if it doesn’t make sense, and only you know what you’re talkin’ about. Gotta repay the favor and everything, right?” Steve nodded, not quite trusting himself to talk. He found the way Billy looked at him unbearable; so imploring and kind. Defenceless. It’s a beauty that suited his face, really. Billy laid their hands betwixt them on the mattress, and Steve felt a lump form in his throat.

He wanted to get closer so bad. He wasn’t quite sure he could do that without crumbling.

Despite himself, Steve felt himself speak.

“I. I’m just, I’m so sorry, fuck, Billy. I’m fuckin- dumb as shit, slow and I can’t even see what’s right in front of me, and I can’t even take care of myself.”

Billy’s face saddened, and he crawled closer to Steve. “Steven. Steve no, don’t say that, baby. You know you’re not stupid, we’ve talked about this before.” Steve hiccuped at that, and his first tear fell. “No, no I’m just. I can’t help but feel it. Dad’s right, I’m fuckin stupid as shit, I can’t do shit and I can’t even get college. I don’t understand things even if they’re repeated to me a thousand times and I- I can’t even-” at that, Billy just smushed Steve’s face into his chest, and held onto him tightly. “I don’t know what you’re on about. Your dads the dumbass, not you. It’s not your fault the man can’t explain things right and then gets mad at you for his own mistakes.” Billy pressed a kiss atop his head.

Steve just weeped at that, because Billy didn’t understand. Steve’s failure was Billy.

He completely, and utterly, failed him. Didn’t recognize that Billy needed help until it was far too late- his body having received permanent damage already and only awaiting it’s final blow. He should have noticed- should have realized that something was wrong, not clutched on so tightly to his and Nancy’s joke of a relationship. Should have gotten his head out of his ass and seen the reality in front him instead of being so damn hung up.

Because Billy was dead now. And Steve would never get him back, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he turned the past over in his mind.

Billy was still shushing him, arms crushing him as he only wailed harder. Couldn’t seem to be able to stop himself from crying, either, judging by the wetness seeping into Steve’s hair.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, “baby, why are you acting this way?” His hand was petting through Steve’s hair, a thousand gentle, repeated kisses gifted like they could ease the hurt away. Steve’s head hurt from crying, the sheer force of his sobs giving him vertigo. The last time he cried that hard was a week into the future, and for this past body, it was when he was 9 years old and begging his parents to stay back home.

Eventually, Steve managed to calm back down. Belatedly he noticed that Billy had been patting his back and murmuring a lullaby. One he realized was probably among the last few remnants of his mother’s love. “Thank you,” he muttered, “for everything.” His throat was hoarse. Billy just kept singing with a slightly pained look on his face. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

---

When Billy’s breaths evened out and his arms loosened, Steve opened his eyes again listlessly. And did nothing. For hours.

He was tired. So fucking tired. From crying, from watching but too afraid to really touch. He was promised an eternity with his love. He couldn’t wait for it to be over.

---

He felt himself begin to slip away, eyes unfocusing through their drought. He’d probably wake up again in a moment, beholding a sleeping Billy from the start all over again. Maybe he’d be too exhausted to keep up any facade of humanity, maybe Billy would curl into him and he’d shatter all over again. Maybe he’d just observe. Silent.

In the beginning, he’d really thought he only wanted this, this last moment with Billy, for all eternity. Now he understands that this stagnant memory was never what he truly wanted from Billy. Sure, he’d wanted one last embrace with the love of his life, not for closure, though. No, never for closure. The mere thought of it repulsed him.

No, he wanted to continue on with Billy. He’d only made a pathetic display of humility, a request born from fallacy. He wanted to wake up together, light streaming from the curtains, feel the warmth of morning. Wanted to get up and bake and make coffee and crack shitty jokes with the guy. Wanted to tangle his hand in his hair and feel disgust when it came back greasy. Wanted to live a life with the fucker.

This wasn’t a life shared together. It was anything but. It was a mockery of their love, the epitome of their shared fatal flaw. It was Billy desparate for Steve to open up, to tell him what’s wrong, and Steve’s throat closing up, locking down. It was Steve getting exhausted from asking where Billy got all his bruises from, only to be met with aggression. It was Billy being on the verge of crying when Steve still held onto the agony from his last relationship and couldn’t focus on Billy’s love.

And, a few days into the future, it would be Steve not recognizing that Billy was acting wrong. That his cold demeanor was caused by more than just a petty argument.

This, this situation, was sleeping with a cooling corpse. Getting lulled back into sleep every time panic ripped through his central nervous system. Being mocked with the face of his lover caring for him, when his own care wasn’t sufficient enough. By god, he should have picked Billy up long ago, thrown him onto the backseat and driven far, far away from here. To hell with everyone else.

But it was too late now, sin rooted too deep into his foundations. This was all he had left.

He sunk his fingers deeper into Billy’s, lashes fluttering lethargically. He should be grateful. Death doesn’t feel so permanent when the star of the funeral was right next to him. Most people yearned for this moment right here, no matter how grotesque.

Still, he couldn’t wait to be dead.

Feeling Billy’s pulse thudding against his skin, Steve sunk back into sleep, hoping to dream of tomorrow before he woke up again.

[yallemagne]

The way Mina emphasizes Harker. The way Jonathan sounds so vulnerable and scared. The way Lucy sounds just as vulnerable and scared.

She loves the way it sounds: Wilhelmina Harker. In the eyes of God, he's finally hers, and she's finally his.

She's so thrilled to finally wed Jonathan even if it isn't how they imagined, even if he can't stand for the ceremony, even if their only witnesses are strangers. She forgets that she's already referred to him as her husband because she's just so delighted that now it's true.

It doesn't matter to her that it isn't picture-perfect. In all likelihood, she never expected picture-perfect. Even in her immense joy, she still lets slip a little of her insecurity that she has no dowry to provide to him. But dowries, pah! Who cares! He'd marry her no matter what, and the same can evidently be said about her.

I gotta go into Jonathan's whole speech I---

'Wilhelmina'—I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him—'you know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and--'

The sound that plays! It swoops down like a bat over his head as he tries to think of what happened to him. There are also his ideas of trust-- they're very similar to Lucy's "A woman ought to tell her husband everything—don't you think so, dear?".

'--when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad.'

His voice gets deeper, more solemn. It feels reminiscent of the way Renfield talks. It's very haunting and it shows his dire understanding that, were they in England, he would be denied his right to marriage even if Mina still wanted him.

'The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' 

Such ease in those words! "With our marriage"! It's like a weeping sigh of relief.

'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.'

The words both read and sound just like wedding vows and the passion he has to muster for them is too much for his mind and body to handle, and he falls back asleep. But then all that uncertainty is deeply contrasted by his firm "I will."

Lucy speaks in a constant whisper, even while she's alone, she's so quiet. It is like how Mina says writing is like whispering to herself, but now, it's less comforting. Lucy's taken to writing in imitation of Mina because she misses her and wants to emulate the same behaviour that kept her friend thinking on her feet, but she really closely resembles Jonathan, noting others' feelings and privately planning what she may do to keep herself safe.

I don't know that she realizes Arthur is concerned for her. I think she believes he's still anxious for his father's sake, but she can't muster the gaiety needed to cheer him up in the same way Jonathan mustered all that passion for Mina. Because Jonathan is recovering, and Lucy is now suffering a relapse in her health. They both have the same beliefs about telling the truth in marriage, but in practice, it is very difficult for both of them. Jonathan struggles to remember, but he at least has his journal to give to Mina should she wish to know. Lucy only hopes that she can at least get well enough that her pretending will prove more convincing.

She says she'll try to persuade her mother to let her sleep in her bed, but she doesn't seem confident that she will. Mina would let her, but they're no longer on vacation together, are they? Her mother will likely scold her for being childish, but maybe if she provides a good enough excuse...?

She at least has to try.

[dollivication]

Hi beautiful 💋

First of all...

I want to make a man cry, make him cry ugly

Like imagine this, girl, imagine this with me...

Reader has been deeply interested in Nero, okay? And is constantly trying to get close to him in every way possible, trying everything! Gifts? Done. Praise? Fucking done.

He? Throwing her gifts in the trash in front of her-

But reader always get rejected, in the worst ways possible like trying to say good morning to him and asking if she can watch him train? GURL HE WOULD LOOK AT HER LIKE A PEST and tell her to fuck off-

Do you know that tsundere attitude? Well he Is worst- but he actually really likes her but he's so dumb that doesn't know how to respond because he's to afraid of looking stupid

But one day reader decide it's time to get her dignity out of the trash can, clean it and wearing it again and all the attention he was receiving from her is now ALL FUCKING GONE!

He is internally panicking, watching her avoiding his gaze, his touch and suddenly she start being mean to him-

And this bitch is a masochist he is willing to take any kind of attention even if it is negative, Doing everything possible to show off in front of her and steal her attention trying to get some compliments back or even being him the one who brings gifts now

And she throws them in the trash just like him, in front of his eyes and that's when he cries- and he cries hard because he doesn't know what to do! He was so afraid of looking lake an idiot but now it is happening- like

I WANT TO MAKE A MEN CRY not even in a sexual way, I want to make him cry and only want my fucking comfort

This was very long, sorry beautiful but I did really get into dmc 😞

Alsooo, can I be 🌮 anon?

HAILLOOOO !!! :3 and omfg…. OHMGYOGF… i’m giggling i’m blushing i’m tickled unbelievably pink by this it is INSANE..?? I WANT TO MAKE A MAN WEEP TOO YOU GET ME SO WELL… especially nero… ❤️❤️

nero will be PETRIFIED when yew stop showering him in attention… he immediately starts jumping to conclusions—did you find someone better than him? maybe you just had a bad day?? did you stop liking him????? whyre u acting so strange…

heart DROPS when he realizes that you’re actually respecting yourself and not throwing yourself at his feet anymore. didn’t girls like chasing the guys?? sure he was mean to the smallest things you did, but still, he thought you were into that!! :( poor critter doesn’t understand why you suddenly changed!

HES SOOOO DESPERATE JUST 4 YEW TO LOOK AT HIM AGAIN! laik.. even if yew look at him in disgust, it’ll make his stomach churn, maybe it’ll even make bile rise to his throat out of sheer fucking anxiety, but at least you’re looking at him, right? the butterflies in his tummy feel more like spiders than anything, it’s hardly a pleasant feeling yet for some fucked up reason it gets him going…

he’s never been good with keeping himself in control—he can’t remember the last time he’s cried. he couldn’t even believe he was crying over a girl! but it’s for you you you, and as long as it stays that way, he doesn’t mind sobbing out like a little baby <3 he just loves you so mauch…

even if you hurt him, stomp on his gifts, it’ll be worth it in the end because you’re actually paying him mind — they say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but for him? he’ll take either from yuuu ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა !!

auwaaa.. nero nero nero the man you are….. AND YES YES OFCOURSE!!! THE EMOJI IS ALLLLL YURS!! WELCOME TO RHE FRIENDS LIST TEEHEE!! IMS OSOSO EXCITED TO HAVE YEWW AWAAAA❤️❤️❤️

[mycurrentobsessionis]

Something that I do not understand is the idea of attacking real people for being "insensitive" about a fictional character's trauma. I have seen a lot of posts across the internet of people getting absolutely furious about people tattooing Astarion's scar on their backs. Then I see people "defending" this by saying "well, it's okay if you are a victim of SA." And I don't think that people really get that this immediate hostility and the subsequent qualifiers for who is "allowed" to engage in this activity without harrassment is dangerous.

I get that for a lot of people, Astarion's trauma is very personal. It hit close to me, too, for reasons that I am not sharing to strangers on the internet. His story had me weeping at times. And I think this is where that anger comes from -- people are conflating their own trauma with his, and what their response would be with his. This is normal. Stories are meant for people to connect and to see parts of themselves that are too hard to see in a mirror. I get it. I can't watch certain shows or read certain books because I experience so much transference that it causes me very real distress.

However, it's not fair to take that pain out on people you don't know. Astarion's scars are only really associated with him -- they aren't connected to any IRL symbol. There is no real harm in people having them tattooed on their back for whatever reason they choose. Also, expecting that people disclose their personal traumas to "justify" why they are allowed to get this tattoo is deeply unfair and cruel. Because now you have either harrassed someone who may have been attempting to reclaim control over their own body, or you've forced someone to share something deeply personal and private that they may not have wanted to.

Even if someone gets the tattoo for aesthetic purposes, it is ultimately that person's body and their choice. Policing others' choices for what to do with their own bodies is counterproductive to the core of Astarion's story, and I think more harmful than a stranger getting a tattoo that the vast majority of people will never see.

[delicate-fayette]

Yandere Clive Rosfield - Alphabet and Tarot Card Prompts

The Hermit - Is this yandere more relaxed, or capable of being more relaxed? 

No, not at all really. Or-I supposed it depends on which part of the game we’re talking about with Clive. If we’re talking about when he only just escaped the Imperial Army and stuff, he isn’t not relaxed in the slightest. He still hasn’t come to terms with Joshua and he still refuses to rest until his revenge is had. Which, really that lack of self-atonement likely bleeds into his obsession as well.

He struggles to relax around you, even if he is deeply infatuated with you. Hell, the fact that Clive’d self-aware of how unhealthy his obsession is may make him even more wary. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way, and as a result may be emotionally distant from you. Yet, I feel like in small, meaningful moments, he learns how to let go and relax just a little with you. He deeply loves you, and it becomes obvious in the tender moments when you’re both alone such as at night if you’re both sharing a bed, or after a battle and licking each others wounds. He’s a soft man underneath the cold exterior really.

The Tower - If this yandere saw their darling in danger, how would they respond/react?

This man would lose his mind. Legitimately he would just see red, and from his point of view it would almost seem like he blacked out, and upon awaking his enemies were dead, battered and slaughtered around him. To you however, he briefly turned into nothing but a killing machine, despite your pleas or attempts to stop him. It was…horrific to watch really despite everything you’ve likely seen.

Afterwards, when the dust settles he rushes to you in a daze, checking for injuries and nearly going into another fit when he spots one much too deep for his comfort. The next several hours are a nuisance for you, partially because you’re probably still reeling from the display from earlier and also due to Clive suddenly becoming a mother-hen in a matter of minutes. He won’t stop checking in on you, despite Tarja’s (and your) attempts to placate him and the moment you’re clear he stays glued to your side for the next several weeks with a wild and haunted look in his eyes.

Frankly, he was terrified of losing you. In that moment when he saw you harmed, his mind flashed back to that fateful night, and he snapped. He doesn’t fully recover from seeing you like that and that may be what triggers his yandere instincts.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Clive is very…shy when it comes to showing affection. Even a bit awkward. He likes gift-giving, noticing things that may catch your eye and bringing them to you later. Like flowers or luxuries like fresh, new clothing. He isn’t intense with how he shows his love, he’s very quiet and gentle. The only times he becomes rather aggressive is when he deathly afraid for your safety, and acts as your person bodyguard for weeks.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Overtime, he would show all of himself it you. Shockingly to him, it isn’t that hard to. He feels like he can breathe so much easier around you, and so in intimate moments he tends to spill his heart out naturally, wanting his darling to listen. You already give him emotional reprieve of course, but you allowing him to weep in your arms just lets him know how much of an angel you are to him. He doesn’t know any other being in this wretched world that is as forgiving as you, nor does he care to know them. He’s in too deep now, and is drunk on the feeling of being with you and giving all of himself to you. He only hopes you do the same, in time. Don’t worry, he’s patient.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

It is, but very subtle. In public, he acts a lot more like your bodyguard and the people around you likely tease you both about being a couple already with how Clive hovers over you. Around others, he’s as cold as he usually is, only warming up to few like Cid or Jill.

He still comes off as cold at times to you in private, yet there’s always a lingering feeling of something else behind all of his words and gestures. Longing, or yearning that can be easier to detect overtime. That may be even what draws you to you, the mystery and the feeling of belonging you feel around one another. Just ignore everything else about him that might be off-putting, like his staring that he tries to hide or the way he always seems to notice things about you he shouldn’t.

[amoralcrackpot]

For a Good Time

In the urine-soaked ambiance of a men's room stall located somewhere beneath the pier of a bustling California beach, a man had himself a little cry.

It was a sweltering summer afternoon next December. A steady drip-drip of indiscernible origin echoed across concrete walls and floors as the dull roar of footsteps and and even duller chatterings about the cost of parking and wait times at a popular seafood buffet seeped in from between the cracks. The putrid potpourri of many unflushed bodily fluids and solids clung to everything. And yet, here the man sat, pantsless, weeping atop a stainless steel toilet with no proper seat. Perhaps it was a self-inflicted punishment for a wrong committed. Perhaps the overwhelming assault on the senses served to drown out the thoughts and feelings of an overwhelmed heart and mind. Or maybe he simply had to poo, and this nightmare was his only option after a large helping of poorly cooked shellfish at a popular seafood buffet with far too few toilets of their own. I don't know, nor do I care. And neither should you, quite frankly. It should go without saying that such a torturous trek to the toilet is torment enough without complete strangers overanalyzing and intruding on every last sob, plip, or plop.

Fortunately for both of us, the well-dressed set of fake teeth with coiffed hair standing outside the stall with a camera crew thought otherwise.

"I'm Anatomically Incorrect, and welcome back to 'Who Are You, And What Are You Doing in Here?' the fake teeth with coiffed hair said into the camera, pushing the stall door open and revealing the man in all his shame for the audience at home. "This week, we've come all the way out to the men's room beneath Santa Carla Pier to speak with our guest, Mr. Murray Etta from Murrieta."

"Who are you, and what are you doing in here?" Murray Etta from Murrieta said from atop his toilet, unsure of what to do with his hands.

"That's correct."

"How exciting!"

"I hope we haven't caught you in the middle of something important."

"No, no," Mr. Etta chuckled. "I've just come in here to be alone and cry."

"Would you mind sharing your deeply personal emotional conflict with us and our viewing audience?"

"Oh. Not at all, not at all."

"Wonderful."

"You see, I just learned today that I’m..."

"Dead?" Mr. Incorrect interjected with perhaps a little too much glee in his voice. "Dying? Pregnant? Your own brother?"

Mr. Etta sighed. "Left-handed."

"My god," Mr. Incorrect gasped. "I never knew."

"Me either. Not until I went to my best friend’s funeral this morning and had to sign the registry. When I caught myself instinctively reaching for the pen with my left hand, I..." Mr. Etta said, trailing off for seemingly no reason at all.

After a moment of uncomfortable, fermented silence, Mr. Incorrect continued. "Have you sought medical attention?"

"I demanded my best friend’s widow drive me to the emergency room the moment it happened. But all they did there was ask me a bunch of questions like, 'What is wrong with you?' 'Do you have health insurance?' and 'Where are your pants?'"

"You weren’t wearing any pants?"

Mr. Etta scoffed. "Not after the fright I had. Imagine living to my age and having to learn something so horrific."

"I suppose I’d soil myself, too."

"Exactly! Thank you. My wife..." Mr. Etta said, then corrected himself. "Sorry - my ex-wife wasn’t so understanding."

"She divorced you at your best friend’s funeral?"

Mr. Etta nodded. "She saw that pen in my left hand and smelled that mess in my pants... Well. We both knew it was over right there and then. Fifteen years and two-and-a-half children right into the trash along with my disgustingly soiled pants.

"How depressing."

"Heartbreaking, really. I just purchased those damned pants."

[muzzleroars]

The song/piece "13 angels sitting guard 'round the side of your bed" reminds me of you fallen gabe Au especially with the archangels. It especially came to mind when is saw your most recent Micheal (I think I spelled that wrong) drawing.

I'm also curious on how it would go when the other archangels would react when they saw what Michael had done to himself (once again sorry if I'm spelling that wrong) or what Gabe would think when he saw Micheal like that.

And a side side note I like to think if Michael ever came to term with his situation he would show his wounds a lot more with his dress. Initially hiding them but eventually embracing them

(and would you mind if I drew what I was imagining?)

Thank you for your time! Love your art!

(see this!)

oooohhh that song is absolutely beautiful and haunting....immaculate vibes in general but just right for michael tbh idk how to describe it properly, but the sound as well as the album title feel like an echo of something holy, which is exactly what he is at this point. he is the ruination of god's kingdom made incarnate, he is so inextricably tied to it that this was almost inevitable in a sense - with the collapse of god's universe in his absence, michael would always have to follow suit because of how fully he gave himself to it. and when destruction didn't come, he enacted it himself and now he decays with the world.

all three of the archangels respond in their own way to seeing michael again, though grief is the obvious throughline for each of them. i think they all kind of....knew that michael hasn't been okay for a majority of his existence, that the war in heaven left some part of him broken, but that couldn't be spoken about nor would michael admit to it anyway. seeing him now, however, shows how deep those cracks ran, how the loss of god was truly impossible for michael to cope with when his only stability was tied to following his law to its letter. and to see him insist that this is still god's doing, to hear when he expresses to them his joy, his rapture at being kept in god's grace despite what he had done is deeply, disturbingly wrong - nothing in his tone or movement expresses that joy, his voice is flat and distant, his body noticeably still. he says he was saved from his fall, saved from death, like he can't see how much worse this is. like he doesn't want to see.

raphael’s emotions are highly charged yet highly mixed – he openly weeps upon his initial shock wearing off and he begs michael to be healed, to forget everything else he came back for. he is dying, he is rotting away, he needs help, he needs so much help as raphael’s heart breaks and he sobs as the healer who was failed. michael had seen as much pain as gabriel had, had been torn open in battle countless times, but raphael had always been there to stitch him back together. look now, as his flesh decays and he stinks of mold, raphael sees a sickness he doesn’t understand, a deterioration he can’t fix. yet when michael describes what he's done, when he relates how he severed his own light to serve god, raphael actually feels a burning anger burst in his chest that rarely takes hold of him just beside his despair. he did this...to himself. it's a terrible thing and the guilt he feels at his own fury nearly overwhelms him, how selfish it is when michael suffers so much, but he can't let go of it. because they have suffered too, they've gone through so much without him there - he was meant to be their leader, he was meant to take care of them. and now he comes back like this, his body eaten away and with gabriel already lost. yet raphael can't grieve anymore, he can't let anyone else in heaven die and let any more go to ruin...so he stays close by michael's side to desperately apply curative magic with little effect, like the futile, harried attempts to resuscitate a long dead corpse (michael tells him there is no need – why does he fear god’s works or seek to improve them?)

uriel – who awoke upon gabriel’s death but now suffers with severe fatigue and continues to pass out unexpectedly – is deeply distressed, stricken silent between michael’s level voice and raphael’s miserable, despairing sobs. he is still somewhat disoriented, thinking over and over that he’s simply trapped in a nightmare and that he just must weather it as he always has in the centuries he’s spent dreaming. he obeys michael’s orders quietly, raphael begging for his help but he keeps believing if he complies this will pass, this can’t truly be michael. it’s not michael, just a bad dream. but following him into battle against gabriel forces him to come to terms with this being reality, that this is what he woke to. he copes by attempting to understand what’s happened to michael, what went wrong, and if he can convey that to him in a way that might salvage something of his mind. this is not god’s work, god would never do such a thing to one as loyal as michael. he is trapped in death, and uriel seeks to make him acknowledge that, to finally let his pain out even if it’s far too late now. yet at the same time, he is overwhelmed in the existential grief of what it must be like to be michael now, knowing michael’s words are hollow and said only to protect his mind from confronting what he is, and in some ways...it’s cruel to try to force that understanding. uriel knows this, and if michael wasn’t determined to bring so much suffering onto gabriel as a result, he might just have let michael believe all the lies he tells himself. it could be god, he could let him pray for the hours a day he does if that could comfort him in his horrific, unspeakable state. but he is destructive and uriel wants to lead him back to reality as it is.

gabriel experiences a mirrored pain to michael’s – in the same way michael thinks of gabriel’s fall as his fault, gabriel sees michael’s current state as his own. michael, always so dogmatic, so unforgiving, so defined by god he felt more like his shadow than an angel in his own right, had only ever been saved from his own self-destruction by gabriel’s tempering. he counseled michael when he was going too far, knew better than even the others that michael was dealing with unending grief from lucifer’s fall...and gabriel protected him from that. seeing his body rotted open, seeing how he has finally given everything and ruined himself so catastrophically, leaves gabriel in unbearable mourning. michael, upon their reunion, seems so righteous, that his body is a gift from god and that gabriel simply can’t understand that now as a sinner in hell. he feels no pain, he grows new life upon himself, his halo still crowns his head in its glory...yet for all his words, gabriel hears the same reasoning michael has always used, just twisted to its extremes. everything about him is extremes, warped into a zombie’s body without the mind to match. gabriel cries for him, begs him to see beyond his pain, his regret...begs him to see that everything he did was because he worshiped and loved god so much more than anyone else. it’s admirable, it’s still beautiful of him, and he doesn’t need to hate what he is now. he is a reflection of his service, he sacrificed so much more than any other angel in all of heaven. please. see how beautiful that is. no, gabriel wishes it had never happened, he wishes michael knew he never had to hurt himself so, but it was his love that led him there, his love of god and all of heaven. please, come back. please find peace in that. gabriel wants michael to heal from this, whatever that looks like, but he fears he may be too far gone to do that.

(like i said, i am INCURABLY attached to happy endings, and i do like something. adjacent to that for michael. i don’t think he’s working his way out of his depression and he continues to be incredibly withdrawn, but i do like him reconnecting somewhat with his siblings, including gabriel (who’s actually the most adamant about helping him). he would be very private about his body at first still, even with his brothers, but i really love the idea of each of them offering their own jewelry for him so he can decorate himself in all their colors. it makes him a little more open with it over time, wanting them to see how deeply grateful he is for their gifts. additionally, raphael assists him by creating new preservative magic for him even if he can’t reverse the decomposition that’s already occurred. raphael starting his career as the first mortician in heaven)

[elliepassmore]

The Thirteenth Child review

4/5 stars Recommended if you like: Gothic settings, fantasy, fairytale retellings, healer + death

Big thanks to Netgalley, Delacorte, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

This was another one of my most anticipated releases this year and once again it didn't quite live up to my expectations. I'm not familiar with the fairytale it's based on, so perhaps it is following that more closely, but this book lacks the creepiness I've come to expect and love from Craig's books. Between one of the characters being a god of death, the plague sweeping the kingdom, and the ghosts Hazel sees, you would expect this to be on par with House of Salt and Sorrows in terms of spookiness...but it wasn't, nor did it have the less creepy but still tension-filled vibes of House of Roots and Ruin.

The story follows Hazel from when she quickens in her mother's stomach to when she is 18 and being called on by the king. While there's a decent mix of good and bad things happening to her throughout her life, I felt a distinct lack of forward moving tension throughout a lot of the book. When she's a kid, there's a lot of rich tension between how she's treated and the fact she's been promised to the god of death, Merrick. And then there's ~some~ tension after she begins training as a healer, but it doesn't feel active, it feels passive. The plague that's causing its victims to weep gold from their skin and eyes should be creepy and have lots of tension for Hazel....but she solves it almost immediately and then there's kind of just a lot of nothing going on. Even when Hazel is making things happen, she is very much a reactionary character. Curiosity kept me turning the page, but mostly from a "how is there still 40% of the book left" perspective.

All that being said, I did like Hazel as a character and I thought the concept was interesting (the concept, of course, is Death's goddaughter and not the mysterious plague). Merrick cares deeply for Hazel, but he's also a god and doesn't totally understand how humans think or work. Of course twelve years is a long time to a human...but to immortal Merrick it's nothing, and he doesn't understand why Hazel is miffed by his absence. Likewise, the idea that Death is training his goddaughter to be a healer is an interesting twist, made even more interesting by the flip side of that coin.

We do get to learn a lot about Hazel as she grows and I enjoyed following her as a character. In a way, I actually think this book would've worked a lot better if it really had been following Hazel throughout life, or at least farther through life than it did. Nettle & Bone is my favorite T. Kingfisher book and has a similar plot structure of following one character into adulthood, then having the bulk of the tension + plot occur, and imo it works very well. That aside, Hazel has a lot going on in her life and is no stranger to tragedy. She's able to keep a level head while also being compassionate to those she's caring for.

Leo is an infuriating prince...but he's also someone willing to listen and change. As snarky as he is, it's clear that he's also lost and at least some of his acting out is a result of that. When Hazel rightly calls him out (on more than one occasion), he actually reflects on his words and actions, and then takes steps accordingly. While I did think they knew each other too little for a romance to be feasible, I did think the budding romance between them was cute and I was rooting for them.

Hazel also grows close with Leo's two sisters, Bellatrice and Euphemia, though this largely happens off page. I would've liked to see more of this development because while Euphemia is a child and thus easy to like, Bellatrice is more closed off and I have a hard time believing she'd so easily make friends with Hazel. But apparently the two end up close enough to read each other's expressions with ease and for Bellatrice to tell Hazel her deepest secret.

There's a lot of scheming going on behind the scenes as well and while I guessed some of it, some of it still left me surprised. In that vein, I have to say that there's a lot of worldbuilding in this book, but Craig does it in such a way that it never feels infodump-y. There's quite a bit about the gods of the realm (obviously) but there's also some interesting information about medicine from Hazel's studies as well as about the politics of the country, thanks to Hazel treating the king. The way it's written definitely makes the world feel more expansive than just what's going on with Hazel and the rest of the country. I also liked the tidbits we saw of the gods and the various religious sects that follow them.

Overall, not my favorite Craig book and definitely not horror. I did enjoy the characters and particularly seeing how Hazel grew up. While there were some things I had issue with in this book, I still plan on reading A Land So Wide and Lenore's book.