#LIKE DID SHE EASTER EGG HERSELF

[indeliblescarspivotalmarks]

the last song on midnights is “Dear Reader”

the first song we inow the name of on The Tortured Poets Department  is “The Manuscript”

do with that what you will

[juststayquiete]

cosy night with yourself

[ellecdc]

Mother, im sitting here at 4am, eating mini easter eggs and ive had tge most brilliant idea!! (Inspired by @inkdrinkerworld 's fic)

Okay so, poly!moonwater and readers been having trouble sleeping due to tensions/problems with her pureblood family. As a result shes been taking more naps, but they arent restful. So reader were napping in Rems bed (the dungeons were too cold) but after a fitful 30 minutes she gets up groggy, sleep deprived and beyond frustrated. She stumbles her way down to the common room, pin point Sirius lounging across the couch and promptly throws herself down to cuddle with him and continue her nap. Everyone (minus Siri) is shook. Jamie even asks if she got the wrong person because Reggie was sitting over there (in which he got a one eyed death glare before she burrowed into Siris chest and passed out).

Now, what everybody else didnt know was that Siri had more or less adopted reader as his own (she remined him so much of Reggie, being her big brother was 2nd nature). And while Barty was her person, he was a little too crazy to be comforting in this situation ("y/n, i'll get rid of them for you. Its not hard to do so" "Barty, no."). And of course Siri nows how bad their kind of familys are so he'd been taking care of reader on the down low as an older brother would.

Bonus if Reggie then decides that looks warm and fuzzy and wants Siri cuddles too so he joins ( it took him so long to get to a point where he could let himself be vunerable enough to openly allow Siri to take care of him 😭)

aweeee poor reader. this ended up being way more serious than I thought it would be? like it's not funny at all, there's no humour (which feels odd to me, usually I can throw some jokes or banter in there) but plenty of hurt comfort???.......idk, I can't tell if this is any good, it feels very different from my usual pieces

poly!moonwater x fem!reader whose family sucks (but it's very Sirius-centric)

CW: mentions of insomnia, mentions of abusive families, making fun of only children (sorry), hurt/comfort

You were miserable to say the least; you couldn’t remember when the last time you had a restful sleep was, and nothing you did seemed to help.

The closer it got to the Winter Holidays, the more your mind seemed to spiral. Every time you began to relax, your heart pounded as if you’d accidentally leaned too far back in your chair, reminding you of your upcoming visit home. Every time you closed your eyes, you were bombarded with images of angry faces and violent curses being shot at you.

The Slytherin dungeons were too cold, and every time you found your way into Regulus’ dorm, Barty insisted on butting in, and though you appreciated his support, you couldn’t handle his threats promises to burn down your home with your parents in it. 

Remus and Regulus both suggested you perhaps talk to Madame Pomfrey about getting some dreamless sleep or sleeping draught, but you were too embarrassed to admit to your two overprotective boyfriends that you’ve used them so frequently during your life for this very reason that they had lost all efficacy. 

It had gotten to the point that you managed to get the most sleep in the library bent over the table with your face on your book whilst Remus and Regulus did their work (and sometimes yours), and that honestly left you feeling more painfully tired than you had been before your nap.

So, you were nearly falling asleep at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall over your chicken and roast potatoes when Remus gently nudged you and suggested you go lie down for a bit and you wanted to weep into your potatoes which was only slightly less embarrassing than sleeping in them, causing him and Regulus to bring you up to Gryffindor tower.

You’d kicked them both out of the Marauders’ dorm room after some time – Remus for snoring and Regulus because the sound of him turning the pages of his book was distracting you. He promised to stop reading, but then he breathed too loudly and you started crying.

You were overtired, emotional, and running on fumes.

You’d counted puffskeins, you’d had a warm glass of milk, you’d taken off articles of clothing and reconfigured your outfit numerous times (which was currently Remus’ jumper and no pants), and you’d tried every position imaginable to no avail. 

You think you might have perhaps gotten five minutes of sleep before you woke up with a start, a barely repressed scream grating through your teeth.

Feeling disturbingly weepy and no less groggy from your horrid sleep, you pulled on a pair of your sweatpants and grabbed the throw blanket from the end Remus’ bed before trudging down the stairs to the common room.

“You should have seen the look on Filch’s face- oh! Hi Y/N!” James called as you made your way over to the three-seater and stood over the black-haired boy currently occupying it.

“Oh, Trouble.” He cooed sympathetically at you before kicking his feet out, laying back, and opening his arms for you to join him. You quickly climbed on top of him, and he tucked you in between the back of the sofa and his side, bending your knee so that your thigh rested on top of his, and pulled the blanket over the two of you.

You let out a shaky sigh and felt the first few tears fall from your eyes and onto Sirius’ chest.

“Uhm...” James said loudly, looking over to both Regulus and Remus cuddled in a large plush chair from his place on the loveseat with Lily like ‘are you seeing this right now?’. “I think you’ve got the wrong wizard there, L/N.” He said with a nervous laugh.

“No, she’s quite alright.” Sirius gritted back at him, looking far more severe than James thought the situation called for as he rubbed his hand consolingly up and down your arm. 

James looked to your boyfriends, his face clearly asking all the questions that his mouth wasn’t.

“He helps, sometimes.” Regulus admitted, not looking particularly happy that you chose his brother over him, but not nearly as murderous as James figured he might look if he’d found Lily snuggled up like that with some other bloke. And it appeared as though the look of heartbreak on Remus’ face was caused more by your current sorry state and less about your current cuddle partner.

“But...your brother?” James asked, still befuddled over this development. “Doesn’t she usually go to Junior for things like this?”

Sirius scoffed. “Junior’s solution to almost anything is fire or murder.”

“Or both.” You whimpered quietly, causing Sirius to tighten his arm around you and bring his other hand up to continue stroking your arm.

“Besides, Barty’s an only child.” Regulus said flippantly.

“What’s that got to do with it?” James asked, slightly offended at the insinuation that anything may be wrong with him on account of his only child-ness. 

Regulus’ irritable demeanor over Sirius usurping you was quickly replaced by a cocky smirk at getting under James’ skin.

“Let me ask you this, Potter: last summer when Lily returned your letters unopened and called you an arrogant toerag after saying she’d rather date the giant squid, whose arms did you cry into?”

“He didn’t cry.” Lily laughed at the same time as James answered “Sirius’” without any hesitation.

“What?” Lily asked, looking slightly horrified that she may have actually hurt James’ feelings.

“Oh, all the time, every time, actually.” James said readily. 

“He got snot on so many of my favourite band-tee’s, Red. As a matter of fact, I expect retribution.” Sirius commented.

“And why do you think you cried into Sirius’ arms?” Regulus continued.

“Well...because he’s my best mate.” James said simply.

“You may think that’s the reason, but you’re wrong. It’s because Sirius is an older brother.”

James scoffed at that. “Please, that has nothing to do with it!”

“Have you ever cried in Remus’ arms?”

“No, but-”

“Pettigrew’s?”

James grimaced but answered honestly. “No.”

“No. Because they’re not older brothers.” Regulus said definitively.

“That actually makes sense...” Lily mused aloud. 

“You say that like you’re surprised, Evans. I know you’re not used to good idea’s coming out of men’s mouths, but I do assure you it happens more frequently than you might imagine.” Regulus taunted, earning him a pillow being hurled at his head. 

Much to James’ chagrin, his seeker reflexes caught the pillow before it made impact with his face. 

“Tosser.” James grumbled. 

“Would you guys shut up.” Sirius whispered, causing everyone to look over at you. 

Regulus couldn’t even find it in him to be miffed when he saw you sleeping what looked to be quite peacefully in Sirius’ arms. Your eyes were slightly swollen from your tears, and he could see the tracks they had left on your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose, but you looked so content. 

“So... all big brothers know how to do that?” James asked incredulously.

“I doubt it.” Sirius commented quietly.

“Only ones who know what it’s like to live in a Pureblood hellscape and needed to share his bed with his younger brother who was too scared to sleep on his own for years.” Regulus added quietly, staring unseeingly towards you and Sirius. Remus pulled Regulus tighter into his side and began rubbing his arm consolingly.

Suddenly, things started to make a little more sense to James. 

“I’ll write to mum.” James stated, causing both brothers, Lily, and Remus to look at him bemusedly.

“About what?” Remus asked finally.

“Y/N staying with us.” James said simply.

Regulus opened his mouth ready to argue; to argue that James didn’t have to and that he already took in both Sirius and Regulus. James didn’t owe Regulus anything. 

But Sirius spoke first.

“She should be with her big brother, Reggie.” Sirius said, shooting him an encouraging smile and wink.

And seeing how your breathing had fallen even with your mouth slightly ajar as you clutched to the fabric of Sirius’ jumper like it was a lifeline, who was Regulus to argue?

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (6/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, incest obviously, smut, the angst, injection of a sleeping drug, violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She had felt the closeness of his body all night: his arms locked her in his embrace every time she rolled over on the bed, with a murmur of satisfaction finding with her a new position in which he could snuggle into her.

Although he kept his hand on her bare buttock, desperately wanting to feel her skin, she did not perceive this touch as sexual per se: there was a need for physical affection in him that only another living, warm body could give.

He smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, mint gum and intense, masculine perfume. This combination dulled her and relaxed her making her fall asleep again immediately even when she woke up, his touch, his presence, their bodies entwined together soothed her.

She was sure that in the morning he would wake up horrified by everything that had happened, begging her to go to the pharmacy to get the pill that would prevent any unplanned pregnancy, the effects of their ill-considered excess.

He, however, took her again, more tenderly and slowly, making her feel so good, too good, because, after all, it should feel bad, it should be disgusting, it should hurt.

But it didn't.

She was too wet, he slid into her too easily, he was trying too hard to rub against the spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her, making her womanhood twitch with convulsions of sweet ecstasy.

She felt remorse for not standing up to him, for opening her thighs to him twice even though she had promised herself that it would never happen, that it was just her hideous deviation that she would keep to herself forever.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked when it was all over, and she froze, snapped out of her reverie.

"No." She muttered, knowing what he meant, what he was going to say.

She felt like vomiting at the thought.

He surprised her when his lips placed a warm, gentle kiss on her cheek.

"It's your body. But know that I'd like to be the father of your child. Someday. You decide when. If ever." He whispered in her ear and she froze completely, shocked.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Someday.

If ever.

How could he say something like that?

She felt a twinge of regret towards herself that something in his words brought her a strange relief.

He couldn't be her boyfriend, her husband, but he could be the father of her children.

"I…I don't know what I'll do yet. I need to think about it." She mumbled, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, not knowing what she was supposed to respond to his words.

She heard him swallow hard, as if something hurt him in what she said.

"Let me know when you've made your decision about...you know. Please." He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wanted to know what she was going to do.

Whether or not she would buy the pill in the pharmacy.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that even if she complied with his request, it wouldn't change anything.

"So that you won't answer me?" She asked in a shaky voice, hearing him lift himself on his arm at her words.

"I'll. I swear I'll. Hey. Hey, look at me." He said, but she didn't believe him, because she knew he would hurt her again.

They were destined to do so.

It was just a pleasant dream, nothing more.

"I mean it. I swear. I…" He didn't get to finish because they both flinched and pulled away from each other, terrified when they heard a loud banging on her door.

"Open up." Daemon called out and they both stood up as if burned, dressing quickly.

"Wait a minute!" She said, handing him his shoes and jacket.

"Go to the toilet." She whispered to him, running quickly to the door herself when she heard him lock himself in the room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

She swallowed loudly, trying to control her panic and opened it, looking at her step-father with big eyes. She opened her mouth, but he spoke up first.

"Get changed, we're leaving immediately." He said dryly, looking her over from top to bottom, his brow furrowed.

Did she overlook something?

Could he see what she had just done?

"But why so sudden? I'd like to have breakfast. Has something happened?" She muttered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Viserys is dead." He said, and she froze, feeling her heart stuck in her throat.

With a remnant of her strong will she held herself up from looking behind her, towards the toilet.

God, he'd definitely heard that.

"– what? – but –"

"They called the ambulance, Alicent found him dead in his bed. Who was banging on your door last night?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

She couldn't lie, she had to think of something.

"Aemond. We talked about the past." She whispered, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to leave it alone.

"Is he here?" He asked coldly, stepping inside, looking around the room. His step headed towards the toilet, and she stood in his way.

"Y-yes. He was drunk and fell asleep on the floor. You scared me, we didn't know what to do." She muttered, feeling burning tears of shame and horror under her eyelids, the fear that squeezed her lungs made her breathe with difficulty.

One more time, just this one more time let me lie, she thought.

Please, this one more time.

"Get out of there. Now." He directed his words towards the door, which opened a moment later.

Her uncle came out of there pale, trembling all over, though she had no idea whether from fear or because of what he had heard.

"Go to your mother. She needs you now. Your older brother is completely drunk." Her step-father said, and her uncle passed them without a word and left, not even bestowing a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, clenching her thighs together, feeling his semen begin to flow down her leg.

She took a deep breath, trying not to burst into sobs and to keep up appearances that nothing had happened.

When Daemon's hand touched her head and pulled her to him, making her hit his chest, when his arms closed her in a secure embrace, she burst out into a loud, miserable cry.

She was pathetic, she was dirty, she was worthless, a simple whore, a vessel for his seed.

He did what he wanted with her, and she allowed him to.

"We'll go to the pharmacy. We'll sort it out. Don't worry." He said, and she felt both gratitude and horror at his words.

We'll sort it out.

He knew.

Her distraught mother went with Alicent and her siblings, and she, Daemon and her brothers were to return home together. On her way out of the building she spotted her uncle smoking a cigarette, his gaze blank and absent, directed somewhere in the distance.

He heard their footsteps and turned, meeting her gaze – the way he lowered his head in shame, looking away made her feel tears under her eyelids.

Of course it had ended like that.

It was just a dream, nothing more.

"We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way. Your sister is feeling unwell." Communicated Daemon as they set off, driving out of the car park.

She looked at her uncle again through the window and saw that he was looking at her, his eyebrows arched in pain, his lips parted, as if he regretted letting her go without saying goodbye.

She swallowed hard, resting her forehead against the glass, unable to focus on Jace's or Luke's questions, fearing what would now happen to their grandfather's business.

That's what everyone was wondering now, she thought.

As they drove down to the shopping arcade near their house, Daemon stopped in the parking lot and looked at her over his shoulder.

"Are you going to manage on your own or should I come with you?" He asked, and she felt her heart squeeze with pain.

She was afraid.

"Can you come with me?" She muttered, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her cheeks. Jace touched her shoulder, terrified.

"Do you feel that bad? Did you poison yourself with something?" He asked and she nodded, looking straight into her step-father's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I poisoned myself with something very badly."

The experience of walking into a pharmacy with her step-father to buy a morning-after pill was one of the strangest and most uncomfortable things she had experienced in her life.

The lady pharmacist looked at Daemon grimly, as if she assumed he was responsible for all the fuss, putting her into a state of utter embarrassment.

Even though she tried to stand up to him, Daemon paid up and told her to hide the pack in her backpack as soon as they walked out of there.

"Read the leaflet carefully. Do everything as it says."

"I know." She muttered, for some reason bursting out crying again, wiping her reddened cheeks with her hand, trying not to think about the curious stares of other people around them.

"Everything has consequences. It will be fine. Don't worry. I won't say anything to your mother." He said, and she nodded.

It was the right thing to do, the logical thing to do, the safe thing to do.

This was the right thing to do.

When they got home, she went upstairs to her room and locked herself in, saying she wanted to take a shower. Daemon and her brothers were waiting for a call from her mother, and her stepsisters were in classes, so she had apparent peace and quiet.

For now.

She sat down on her bed and pulled a small packet with one pill inside from her backpack. She unrolled the leaflet and started to read, but couldn't concentrate.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Why did he say that?

Did he want to have a clear conscience?

She swallowed hard, burying her face in her hands, not understanding why she had doubts.

After all, she was so young, still going to university. How would she explain her pregnancy? What would she tell her mother? That it was casual unprotected sex with a stranger, that she could have taken the morning-after pill but was an idiot?

She wanted to call him, to talk to him, but immediately afterwards she thought that he would tell her anything so that he himself would not feel remorse, the end result being that she would be left with a swollen belly, grief and humiliation alone.

She pressed her lips together and took the tablet out of the packet, grabbing for the bottle of water standing on her bedside table and hesitated, wanting to put it into her mouth.

Yes.

No.

I don't want to.

But it's the right thing to do.

I don't want to.

But I can't do it alone.

I don't want to.

I could love this child.

I have always wanted to be a mother.

I'm scared.

No one will understand.

I don't want to.

She closed her eyes, stood up, went into her bathroom and threw the pill into the toilet, flushing it down, letting it flow along with her certainty that what she had done would have no consequences.

It will be what is meant to be, she thought, sitting down with no strength on the cold tiles, feeling an emptiness in her heart.

When Daemon asked her if she had done the right thing she said yes.

She wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he stroked her head anyway before walking out and leaving her alone.

By the time their mother got home it was late in the evening: from what she had managed to overhear it appeared that Viserys was really dead, that he had died in his sleep, that he had not suffered and that she was to go to the notary in two days' time to hear his last will.

That was what everyone was worried about.

What share of the estate would go to whom.

She shuddered, feeling the vibration of her phone in her hand, and froze when she looked at the display.

Aemond.

He was calling her.

She swallowed hard, locking herself immediately in her room, panicked, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She answered the call and put the phone to her ear, hearing a noise on the other end, as if someone was driving a car.

"Yes?"

She heard him grunt, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

"How are you?"

What kind of question was that?

What was she supposed to answer that?

It was great sex, uncle, maybe we'll be parents soon?

"I don't know." She said, walking closer to the window, not wanting anyone in the corridor to hear that she was on the phone.

She heard him swallow hard, feeling involuntarily how difficult it was for him.

Why was she making excuses for him so easily?

"Did you…go to the pharmacy?" He asked finally.

"Yes."

"And?"

"No."

There was silence on the other side for a moment.

"No, what?"

"I wasn't able to do it. I don't expect anything from you." She said in a trembling voice. "I'll manage on my own. If it turns out that…"

She didn't finish, preferring not to say it out loud.

She heard the sound of the key turning on the other side and the silence indicating that he had turned off the engine.

"I want this. If it's going to happen. I want to be a part of it."

"It sounds right only in your head."

"No. I mean it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to tell him first that she didn't need his pity, but reminded herself after a moment that this was the day his father had died.

She sighed quietly, looking out the window at the courtyard of her house.

"And you? How do you feel? With everything that's happened."

"Depends on what you ask." He replied, but his tone of voice changed, becoming cool again.

"About your father."

"We knew he was seriously ill. That this was probably his last birthday."

They were quiet for a moment, however there was something warm in that silence, some kind of understanding and comfort.

"You said you didn't regret it." He said finally, and she drew in a loud breath at the memory of what they had done.

She didn't know what she was supposed to answer.

She was sad, bitter, disappointed, but did she regret it?

No.

"I still think so. But I didn't get my hopes up about anything, if that's what you're aiming for. Daemon won't tell anyone about this. He won't…"

"Why was it so right?"

She froze, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at his question.

"Since it was wrong. So fucking wrong." He continued, as if his darkest, most disturbing thoughts were pouring out of him. "Then why it was so pleasant?"

"The forbidden fruit tempts most." She whispered.

She heard him swallow loudly, drawing in air deeply, as if something in her words pained him.

"Is that what it was for you?"

"I don't know. And for you?" She asked angrily, not understanding what he wanted to hear from her after so many years of silence, after he had come to her room in the middle of the night without a word of explanation and fucked her like there was going to be no tomorrow.

"I wanted…nevermind." He hissed.

"No. Say it." She demanded, hearing him twist in his seat.

"For eight years you pretended I didn't exist, I deserve this." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat so strong that she ran out of breath.

Don't hang up, please don't hang up.

"I want to try." He said at last, so quietly and uncertainly that she barely heard him.

"I don't understand."

"I would like to study archaeology. You wrote me that if I asked you to, you would help me get into university." He mumbled like a small, embarrassed child, startling her completely.

What?

"I…well, but…there are only two months left to submit the documents. What day is today? Thursday. Are you thinking about full-time or part-time studies?" She asked, walking over to her calendar, trying to count in her head how much time they had.

God, there was a desire in him to change something.

She knew that if she discouraged him, she might soon find out that someone had shot him in the head.

"Only part-time classes are an option." He replied finally. "Is it manageable? Do they have any…requirements?"

"Passed final exams in high school, preferably in history or a language." She explained. "There are also entrance exams, but they are not difficult."

"I had the best result in the history final exam in the whole class." He muttered and she nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"Good. That's very good, Aemond. It can be done. If you want, come to my University tomorrow, we can talk to my professor about whether a personal teaching plan would come into play if you got in."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, for students who are working at the same time."

"Really?" He asked, a note of hope in his voice that made her heart clench.

"Yes. Text me when you can be there, the professor has class until 3 p.m. Okay?"

"Okay."

"See you tomorrow." She said and hung up, looking at her phone screen in disbelief.

She didn't know why she jumped up and down with happiness, why she believed that things would change, that she would really get him back.

She wanted so badly to know that there was still hope for both of them.

Throughout the next day she feared he would give up and not come.

She thought with horror that he was, after all, a complete stranger to her.

What did she know about him?

Despite her doubts, he finally wrote to her.

How did he know where he was supposed to arrive?

She figured he might have looked it up on the internet and went out to meet him, intending to pick him up from the car park. When she saw his car pull into the driveway she approached him, keeping a safe distance. He got out of the car and automatically reached into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes.

"There's no smoking allowed on University premises." She said.

He lowered his hand in a gesture of impatience, furrowing his brow.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Let's go. We'll find my professor in the teachers' common room, he's just having a break between lectures." She said, and he moved behind her, looking around at the walls of the large, brick, old building from the 19th century.

"Does he know I'm coming?" He asked uncertainly, clearly tense.

People passing him looked at his face, at his scar.

She felt uncomfortable with the thought, angry for some reason that he couldn't just walk down the corridor in peace.

Was it always like this?

In the shop, in the office, in the restaurant, at school?

Everyone looking at him.

"Yes."

When they got there she knocked on the right door. Her professor, Mr Addams, was a hearty, grey-haired, rather short man with big glasses and a short, elegantly trimmed beard. He was a man of great passion and they immediately found a common language through which he began to take her on his private excavations as a help.

In this way, she managed to collect any savings of her own.

"Professor. This is my friend I mentioned to you." She said, glancing over her shoulder, her uncle's face pale and terrified, his healthy eye wide open.

Good God.

Her professor held out his hand to him, and to her relief he showed any social reflexes and shook it.

"My pleasure. Miss Strong spoke of you in all superlatives. Please, let's go to my office." He said, moving briskly down the corridor with a bundle of keys in his hand, and they moved to follow him.

Mr Addams opened the door to the room and invited them inside into a small study with a high window, all lined with wooden panelled walls, an oak bookcases filled to the brim with books, a desk and several chairs all around it.

The professor sat behind the table, sighing heavily, indicating their seats on the opposite side.

"I'm listening." He said, and she looked at her uncle. He gave her a horrified look, convinced apparently that she would do everything for him.

"So. My friend didn't have the opportunity to study because of his job. I was wondering if there would be the possibility of personal teaching plan or part-time study in that case." She said finally. The man raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin.

"Classes can be studied in part-time, but you have to do a lot of practice hours on excavations, as you know, Miss Strong. They are obligatory." He said.

"Yes, but my friend works at night. He could take part in them during the day. Right?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle grunted, tense, not knowing where to look, his fingers clenched into fists.

His face then when Jace took his boxers from him, his loud sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he stood up to his waist in water.

"Yes. Yes, that would be possible." He replied lowly, trailing his fingers along the armrest.

The professor nodded.

"Well, if that's the case, then please prepare yourself for the exams. Then we'll see what comes of it." He said and rose, nodding at them.

"Is that it?" Her uncle muttered, looking at her with big eyes, as if he expected to be questioned for hours by this man.

"Yes." She replied. "Thank you, Professor."

When they went outside and said goodbye to Mr Addams they stood in awkward silence, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"If you'd like, I'll wait and drive you home." He offered, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, pretending to read something interesting on a poster hanging on the wall.

"No need. Mum will pick me up." She replied.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and grinned under his breath.

"They pick you up and drop you off like a little girl?" He sneered, making her feel an unpleasant sting in her heart.

"Ever since someone put a rape pill into my drink, yes."

His expression changed, filled with sudden shame and discomfort. He grunted and scratched his chin, embarrassed.

"Do you know who did this? I can take care of it. For your comfort." He added, as if to make amends to her for his ill-considered words.

"Larys Strong." She said, and he looked at her shocked as if he didn't believe she had said that.

"What?"

"I already told you. He was telling me about my father."

"But it wasn't him who put it into your drink, it was one of his people, right?"

"He asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no. Then he ordered water for me. I took a few sips from it and struggled to get to the bathroom."

Her uncle stared at her wide-eyed, breathing loudly through his nose, his lips pressed together in a way from which she felt fear and a cold sweat on her back.

"Son of a bitch." He hissed, running his hand over his face, turning his head away, clearly thinking of something she didn't like.

"Don't interfere. Go home." She said impatiently. He looked at her, surprised.

"And when are you going to teach me?" He muttered.

"What?"

"For the exams. I need you to help me. How do I reconcile what I have to do at night with studying if I don't know where to start?" He asked, and she sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I'll pass you the study books somehow." She said finally, giving in, recognising that she had no choice, that whether she wanted to or not, she had to help him get out of this life that was destroying him every day.

She didn't want him to die.

He stood over her and stared at her, his warm breath enveloping the top of her head.

"Can I touch your hand?"

She lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes, one blank, staring dully ahead, the other red with emotion, his full lips parted involuntarily in an accelerated breath.

She held out her hand towards him, and he took his from the pocket of his trousers, grasping her little fingers in his.

There was something frighteningly natural about the way they intertwined, how perfectly they fit together, how right they looked in a tender embrace.

"Walk me out."

And off they went together, walking down the University's sidewalks, holding hands as if they were a couple.

There was something childlike and naïve about it, about how tightly their fingers clasped together, how close the embrace was, how much they needed proof that nothing was over between them.

She thought it was a pathetic attempt to reclaim their lost childhood.

She let go of his hand as they stopped at his car and watched as he got in without a word, only to drive away a moment later without even bestowing a single glance on her.

She spent the rest of the day during class unable to focus on what she was hearing, pondering how she was going to fool Daemon and her mother into thinking she was spending time with someone else while she was actually helping him study.

She concluded, when she saw her stepfather's face behind the wheel and not her mother's, that it might be worth it to just stop lying.

When she got into the passenger side of the car and Daemon set off, she began to speak at once.

"I'm helping Aemond get into University."

Daemon snorted at her words, surprised, frustrated and intrigued all at the same time. She clamped her hands on the fabric of the backpack lying on her lap, dreading his answer.

"Interesting."

Is that all?

"I want to help him prepare for his exams. He has very little time."

"No."

She swallowed hard hearing him say the word coldly and confidently.

"Why?"

Daemon switched on his indicator and turned at the crossroads even though he should have been driving straight, leaving her stunned.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" She muttered, feeling her heart start to pound like crazy with terror.

"You'll see."

They stopped in one of the busiest streets in the city: her stepfather had told her to get off, so she did, moving a moment later right behind him towards one of the pubs.

"Not open yet, mate." Said a tall, stocky man in a black suit stopping him with his hand.

"For me it is. Mate." He scoffed.

The man wanted to say something, but someone from downstairs called out to let them in.

A woman.

They went down the stairs inside: apart from them and the bartender, who was mopping the floor, a beautiful black-haired woman was sitting at one of the tables, bent over a laptop. Seeing her stepfather she stood up and approached them with a smile that was both seductive and disturbing.

Her eyes were unnaturally green.

"Well, well. Fucking Alys Rivers. The world is small." Daemon said and shook her hand in a gesture as if they had once been partners.

"What brings you here?" She asked softly, directing the gaze of her bright eyes at her, her voice melodious and deep.

The woman examined her figure from top to bottom, as if she had just been looking at something tasty.

"I came to show my step-daughter the brutality of life." He explained, glancing at her over his shoulder with some kind of pride, as if he was just about to teach his son some very manly and important things.

Alys Rivers cocked her head at his words, glancing at her with a look that frightened her.

As if she had heard of her before.

"Oh. I see. Well, I won't disturb you. It was good to see you. Give my regards to your wife." She said and returned to her seat, clicking something on her laptop again.

Daemon moved forward and sat a table at the other end of the room. She sat next to him, tense, and after a moment a man came out of the back room who had not noticed them, walking straight towards the black-haired woman.

It was only when she saw his face that she understood why her stepfather had taken her there.

He had three long scars on the left side of his face.

The man only noticed them when the woman pointed her finger at them. He nodded at them and Daemon reciprocated the gesture, looking at her.

"Guess who left him such a beautiful reminder."

On the way back home, she was silent, because that was also the state of her mind: it was empty. No thought, no feeling, no sound or word flowed through her: images from outside the window flashed before her eyes, as if she were watching a film.

A passive observer of someone else's life.

"Robert wasn't the only one. There are seven others. Most recently Tyland. They were in arrears, and Otto is very much on his word. I worked for him, just like your one-eyed uncle." He said, and she looked at him shocked.

"What?" She muttered.

"I slammed them with a baseball bat until they looked like a red tomato. They had all their facial bones broken. They looked like completely different people afterwards." He said, and she lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort, horror, disbelief.

She rarely thought about what they did to people who didn't pay them on time because she knew that if she started doing it, she wouldn't get a single peaceful night again.

"Your uncle is now his dog. The faithful hound he has raised for himself for eight years. Even if some part of him would like to run away, he knows he cannot bite the hand that feeds him. A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise."

"Don't speak about him like that. As if he wasn't human." She exclaimed in pain, looking at him in disbelief. Daemon shook his head.

"You don't understand. He's brainwashed. He's trapped in his big cage and he thinks he's free. But as soon as he tries to take a step too far, Otto will react and you'll get the message from him that he's not going to university and he'll never see you again. If it was just about fucking, I'd be able to understand it. I also did… reckless things when I was your age, but you get involved, naively mistaking his euphoria at meeting you after eight years for affection that could change anything."

Each successive word from him was like needles that, one by one, drove into her heart, a bucket of cold water that made her begin to quiver, red with shame, sadness and regret.

Some part of her knew he was right.

She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the face of a man with three scars.

He had done this to him.

How could the hands that touched her so tenderly, so softly, do such a thing?

A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise.

She knew that the comparison her step-father used was cruel and derogatory, but she understood in a way what he was warning her about.

Her uncle was lonely and manipulated by his grandfather, full of complexes and insecurities that made him cling to what was safe and familiar, which if there was too much risk would cause him to withdraw.

She realised that he would never choose her.

What happened between them was pure coincidence, the result of their collision in a place and time beyond their control.

A desperate attempt to connect again.

She spent the rest of the day in the garden, watering the flowers and weeding around them, trying to calm and soothe herself. The sight of them, those beautiful, vibrant colours of their petals gave her pleasure, comfort in a state where she felt she would never experience any other joys in her life again.

The next day her mother and Daemon went to the notary to hear her grandfather's last will. Everyone was tense and sullen from the morning, knowing what it meant.

A war of influence was looming over what Viserys had left behind, pubs, clubs, businesses, more than half of their entire family's source of income.

Jace and Luke were restless, looking out of the windows once in a while, talking loudly about the fact that whatever their mother was getting, Otto would surely want to take from them by force, and they would never agree to that.

"Stop it." She muttered, sighing heavily. Baela, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand in hers, sensing her uncertainty.

"They're coming back!" Jace called out as he ran out into the driveway and they followed him, looking with big eyes at Daemon's and his security guards' cars.

Her stepfather stepped out of the car with a broad smile as if he was the winner of some world championship, however, her mother was pale and her face expressed horror.

"Everything. Viserys bequeathed everything to your mother in his will." He said spreading his hands as if he had received a blessing from God himself.

Jace and Luke ran up to him and hugged him as if it was the best day of their lives, but she and her step-sisters felt exactly the same as her mother.

Terror.

Everything.

Her uncles, her aunt, his second wife got nothing.

"How can this be?" She mumbled, shaking her head.

"He left them some big estates by the sea and in the city. I don't give a shit. Tonight we're celebrating, my dears, we're having a banquet!" Daemon exclaimed as he walked into their house, but she approached her mother, who was barely on her feet.

"Mom?" She muttered.

Rhaenyra looked at her and shook her head, following her husband into the house.

She knew what she was thinking about.

Otto will never leave it like this.

"Each of you will have a bodyguard assigned to you from today. We are reinforcing the security of our home, each of us can now be a target. You do not speak to anyone from that part of the family without consulting me or your mother." Said her stepfather, holding a glass of champagne in his hand, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, giving her a protracted, uneasy look.

She lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort in her stomach, having the impression that she had forgotten how to breathe.

Taking advantage of the fact that Daemon was in euphoria and he, along the other men who worked with them had made a party, she went back to her room. She lay down in bed hearing their laughter and loud conversations downstairs, not understanding where their reason for joy came from.

Did they love killing each other so much?

She shuddered as her display lit up – she reached for her phone with her hand and unlocked the screen as soon as she saw that he had texted her.

She swallowed hard, looking around, wondering if she should do this.

Everyone was downstairs, the security guards were drunk.

Maybe she could sneak out?

She knew the code to the gate, maybe no one would notice her if she went out the back door.

Uncertainty, fear and trepidation squeezed her heart, but some part of her wanted to believe that he really cared, that in a situation where all seemed lost he was willing to reach for the one thing that gave him hope.

Today he lost everything, she thought.

Can I take more away from him?

So she packed her books from her first year into her backpack and left the room quietly in her sweatshirt and shorts, not even trying to go for her shoes, heading for the stairs. Apart from one drunk, sleeping security guard and two men talking in the kitchen, she didn't see anyone.

She lay down on the floor and began to crawl forward, feeling like a commando on an important mission, seeing from a distance that they didn't hear her. She rose as she entered the dark hallway and quietly opened the door.

She lifted her gaze up to the camera facing the exit and cursed under her breath, stopping halfway.

She had completely forgotten about it.

What now?

She looked around, trying to remember exactly what the image from the cameras she had seen once looked like when she and Daemon were searching for something on the recordings.

One, two, three, four she started counting and spotted an area she was sure the range of none of the cameras included. She ran in that direction, propped a bucket lying next to her feet and struggled to climb the wall, pulling herself up with a groan of effort, leaping over to the other side, almost breaking her legs.

She hissed, falling onto her hands – when she lifted them she saw that she had scraped her skin there and on her knees.

She sighed heavily, recognising that she would survive such injuries and that they would be nothing compared to what Daemon would do to her if he found out she had escaped.

She'll just give him the books and go back home.

She breathed out loud when she saw his car around the corner, its engine and lights on. He opened the door from his side, looking at her with big eyes, and she quickly pulled off her backpack, giving it to him.

"Take this and get out of here." She muttered, but his hand grasped her wrist.

"– come here –"

"– I have to –"

"– come –"

She stared at him, panting hard, knowing involuntarily what he wanted, feeling the squeeze between her thighs at the thought that she wanted it too.

Comfort.

"– I –"

"– it won't take long –"

He closed the door behind her as she let his arm pull her around the waist – she clumsily sat on top of him, trying to make herself comfortable on his lap in such a tight space. She lifted herself up on her knees to slide her shorts off while he looked at her with a misty gaze, unfastening the belt to his trousers.

"– good girl – such a good girl –" He breathed out, releasing his erection immediately, throbbing and dripping with desire, ready to give her what she needed.

There was no time for any other kind of caress, so she positioned herself over him, lowering herself slowly onto his thick, smooth tip, feeling how wonderfully he opened her for himself, stretching her warm, moist walls.

"– fuck – fuck, baby –" He muttered, clamping his hands over her firm buttocks, panting and moaning loudly along with her, sliding into her in one, deep thrust.

The feeling of him deep inside her was full of tension, her interior suddenly stretched to the limit on his throbbing erection, which he began to thrust slowly into her with trembling, tentative slaps full of impatience.

"– ah – G-God –" She mumbled, feeling how her slickness helped him to force his way into her body again and again, filling her so wonderfully.

Why it felt so right when it was so wrong?

Her hands embraced his neck, their foreheads touched each other as his palms on her waist forced a quick, sharp, violent pace on her from which her nipples hardened, the pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen caused by him rubbing her where she needed it made her gasp.

"– Aemond –" She mewled, trying to find a rhythm with his body, rolling her hips back and forth, filling herself again and again with his swollen, hot manhood, feeling pleasant, warm tickle in her belly.

"– do you hear it? – do you hear how well you take me? – only you – fuck –" He gasped, pounding into her with loud, wet slaps of their hips, listening how her twitching cunt clicked with his every push. His hand sank into her hair as his moist lips brushed hers, inviting her into the warm, sticky kiss full of their saliva.

Their tongues licked and teased each other, intensifying their sensation, building a swift path to their fulfilment, their bodies slammed against each other greedily with their embarrassingly loud moans of pleasure.

It seemed to her that they were too ashamed and shocked by the situation, by what they were doing, and how pleasurable it was, how liberating it was, to fuck in his car against everyone and everything, the sticky juices of their forbidden fruit running down their thighs each time his cock sank into her weeping pussy again.

She was terrified that, despite the speed and brutality of his thrusts, his hands caressed her body so tenderly, stroking her hair, her neck, her back, her buttocks, her cheeks, allowing his lips and tongue to join hers in loud, chaotic, wet kisses full of their moans.

She couldn't stop the tension that was growing in her lower abdomen, the pleasant tickling in her fingertips and the clenching deep between her thighs that proved she was about to come.

"– where? –" He mumbled into her mouth, her hands stroking his sweaty, soft cheeks, letting the messy, greedy thrusts of his hips give her the pleasure she so needed, her lips parted wide as the aggressive, stupefying fulfilment full of relief shook her body.

"– here – right here, uncle –" She gasped, feeling only pleasure, only relief, only bliss.

He groaned loudly, helpless, and came hard inside her, throwing his head back, panting heavily along with her. He hugged her face to his sweaty neck, exactly as he had then, that night in the hotel room, his half-hard, pulsing manhood filling her with the remnants of his seed.

"– I think I'm in love with you –" He whispered in a trembling voice, making the sound stuck in her throat with emotion.

She parted her lips, not knowing what to answer him, thinking with embarrassment that she somehow reciprocated his feelings.

His hand slid off her head while the other continued to stroke her bare buttock, his soft erection still throbbing deep inside her as his lips placed a warm, soft kiss on her forehead.

"– forgive me –"

She only drew in the air loudly, shocked, and clenched her hands on his black T-shirt when she felt the needle jab into her neck. Her squeal of horror, grief, and disbelief sounded unnatural, as if she were a small animal being butchered.

Her body became numb, the image around her became blurred and unclear, a heavy, dark sleep descended on her mind as she simply relaxed in his arms, feeling his hand stroke her head again, his cheek nestled against her forehead all wet.

He cried.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Jump then fall part.3

Description: In which Aeron is Y/N's knight in shining armour and Benjicot has a soft spot for Bracken ladies crossing the border (this may be an Easter egg for future crossovers with The Blackwood Knight series 😏)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Playlist:

Fearless~ Taylor Swift @ithilwen-blackwood you are so right about Aeron being Fearless coded.

Somebody to You~ The Vamps

Hold my Girl~ George Ezra

Warnings: Canon typical misogyny, mentions of a panic attack, angst, swearing, I don't understand basic geography so I'm just making things up topographically

Y/N had hoped that taking a walk along the bank of the Red Fork would help clear her mind from the swirling thoughts that had consumed her mind of late since her return to the Riverlands. To her dismay, the gentle babbling of the river and the quiet beauty of the landscape she called home did little to distract her from thoughts of Aeron Bracken. Detained by his duties that morning, they had arranged to meet later that day. Her truest friend since she was but a girl, even the separation of many years had failed to sever their bond. Quite the opposite, and that is where the problem lay. Y/N had thought about Aeron Bracken often during her time in Kings Landing, constantly wondering whether he missed her as much as she missed him. When her father had informed her of their imminent return to the Riverlands, Y/N was delighted at the prospect of being reunited with her old friend. Whilst she had adapted to life in Kings Landing and forged new friendships, none had been as strong as the one she had made with the young Bracken boy.

She had convinced herself that everything could be just as it had been when they were children, determined to befriend him anew. But she had not counted on the butterflies that had arisen in her abdomen upon seeing him for the first time as a young man, a knight. He struck a dashing figure in the garb of his order and the colours of his house. She recalled thinking him pretty, almost like a woodland sprite as a child with his long locks of hair and sharp features. In that moment, she thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. She found herself wanting to trace the outline of his cheekbones with her fingertips, to run her hands through his hair, which she rejoiced to see he still kept long, and she wanted to gaze into his warm brown eyes forever as they bore down into her own.

She did not know what she had been expecting, but Aeron Bracken was no longer the gangly boy she'd trusted enough upon first meeting to break her fall from the Brackentree. By the end of the evening Y/N feared that she might be falling in love this time, against all reason. He was the heir of Stone Hendge and would one day be Lord Bracken. Worse, he had been her closest friend and she had hoped he would be again. Y/N had no desire to jeopardise their friendship now they had been reunited.

While Aeron had by no means acted coldly towards her when his uncle had reintroduced them, she could not but notice how reserved and shy he seemed around her that first evening, holding her at somewhat of a distance. Several moons had passed since then and their rekindled friendship seemed stronger than ever, and there were many times when Y/N was certain Aeron shared her sentiments. He had never expressed it through words, but she had thought she had understood it in his actions.

By the way he would always read to her, knowing that she found the sound of his voice comforting, shoulders or arms always somehow brushing as they sat by side. By the way he would often bring her the flowers she adored so much, when she knew the Eastern part of the Bracken Woods where they could be found were nowhere near the training yard from whence he had come. By his gentleness towards her, always holding a hand out to help her over an obstacle and walking her home each day. And by the way he would gaze at her so attentively, looking at her as if she were the most interesting thing in his world no matter what their course of their current conversation was.

Yet Y/N was nervous to broach the subject, aiming to encourage Aeron through her own affectionate gestures and always hoping that her feelings for him were reciprocated. Mulling over her options, Y/N realised she had reached the outermost boundaries of Bracken lands, nearly stumbling over a pile up of boundary stones. Immediately turning to return back the way she had come, a jolt of raw panic pierced her heart as she spotted four Blackwood Knights storming angrily towards her. The one closest to her had a face like a storm cloud, his booming voice breaking the tranquility of the landscape.

"Bracken wench. Did you think you could just waltz right into Blackwood lands?" He sneered at her, voice dripping with venom. She opened her mouth to explain that his anger was misdirected, she had not crossed the boundary and was not strictly speaking a Bracken, but as he continued to glare furiously down at her she realised that she had chosen today of all days to wear a dress of mellow ochre, closely resembling the colours of House Bracken. She was immediately certain that nothing she said would carry much weight and started to take small but hurried steps backwards away from him, suddenly hoping Aeron would turn up and immediately cursing herself for the thought. It was not his responsibility to rescue her from every scrape she found herself in, she was no longer a child, and she would rather face a hundred shouting Blackwoods than see her knight endanger himself for her.

To her dismay the Blackwood Knight continued to advance towards her, suddenly taking hold of both her elbows in a bruising grip and aggressively shaking her.  "You think you can do whatever you want, don't you? You smug Brackens. But these are Blackwood lands and there are consequences for crossing them."  Panicking in earnest now, and finding herself unable to speak, Y/N feared the Blackwood would strike her or kill her where she stood, his anger so palpable and his iron grip searing through the fabric of her dress.

Her mind frantically fought for a way out of this situation, but before Y/N could act upon any of her admittedly half-baked escape plans she felt the Blackwood release her arms as he was abruptly shoved away from her onto the ground. A gentle but firm hand encircled her wrist, and she was swiftly pulled backwards as her rescuer took up a protective stance in front of her. Her relief at the realisation that the shoulders now concealing her from view were Aeron's was short lived, quashed by an intense wave of fear and nausea at the danger she had unwittingly placed him in.

Samwell was starting to get on Aeron's nerves. He'd been badgering him all day to tell Y/N how he felt, Tully girl be damned. He'd then been insistent on meeting Y/N with him after they'd finished in the training yard, much to Aeron's chagrin. The two had become dangerously conspiratorial, often banding together to tease him, and Aeron was unhappy to have to share Y/N's attention. His mood soured further when Jon and Edmund (who he always thought resembled a peacock) had similarly decided to tag along. He found himself marching along the Red Ford to meet Y/N with his friends in tow.

Distant shouting caught his attention as they passed close to the border. What he saw directly ahead of him had him seeing red and breaking into a run before his friends could fully comprehend what had set him off. Before he'd fully come to a stop he used his momentum to forcibly shove the Blackwood brute he'd seen manhandle Y/N away from her. Pulling Y/N behind him he tried to push her gently backwards towards Samwell who'd been hot on his heels.

"You dare attack a lady?" Aeron seethed, hand clasping the hilt of his sword. The Blackwood Knight had stumbled back up to his feet, three more Blackwoods hovering just behind him. "The stupid girl trespassed on our lands!"

Aeron stepped forward threateningly, glaring at the craven bastard who dared to insult Y/N. "They're Bracken lands, and if you speak another word about my lady you'll regret it." Suddenly Aeron felt a smaller hand grab his, tugging him backwards. "Please Aeron, it does not matter."

Y/N's voice was barely above a whisper and tears streamed down her face. It was all Aeron could do not to fell the Blackwood responsible where he stood for causing her state of distress. He wanted to hold her and comfort her, but he did not trust to turn his back on the Blackwood Knights when she was still in danger.

Samwell stepped between Aeron and the Blackwood. "The lady meant no harm, let's set the matter to rest." His tone was placating but firm and, for the most part, the Blackwoods seemed to have tired of the whole affair, turning to walk away. Aeron turned to look at Y/N, lightly cupping her cheek and bending down to look into her eyes. "Are you well my love?" She looked quizzically up at him, slowly nodding but still visibly shaken, trembling slightly. Aeron took deep breathes, trying to root himself to the ground and will himself not to do something reckless.

He might have successfully calmed himself enough to walk away as Y/N had asked, had he not heard the Blackwood bastard mutter under his breath "Bracken whore." Aeron removed himself from Y/N in the next second, his sword drawn and pointing directly at the Blackwood's heart, the sound of metal echoing throughout the clearing as more swords were drawn. Samwell quickly grabbed Y/N's arm to lightly drag her further backwards. The Blackwood Knight looked almost surprised at the unbridled rage on Aeron's face.

"What's all this then?" The smug face of Benjicot Blackwood as he strolled calmly towards the scene, as infuriatingly confident as ever. "Brackens can't fucking keep within the boundary lines" one of the Blackwood Knights snarled. "Your Knights attacked a lady, Blackwood" Aeron snapped back. "She should not have come so close to the border then!"

The young lord of Raventree seemed to assess the truth of the situation in mere moments, his eyes darkening. "I am sorry for the lady's distress, I will not permit any of my Knights to attack a woman on my lands" the last part addressed to his fellow Blackwoods. Benjicot turned slowly back towards Aeron, his expression far more serious than Aeron had ever seen it in any of their past interactions. "I trust you will honour the boundary stones in future Bracken."

Aeron said nothing, just glowering back at the Blackwood boy as he watced him turn away, signalling with a wave of his arm for the Blackwood Knights to follow. Aeron watched them walk away for a few moments before turning back around, looking for Y/N only to lock onto her a few yards away hyperventilating, a panicking Samwell frantically trying to calm her down. Aeron sprinted over, pushing Samwell aside. "It's ok Sam, I've got her."

Lowering himself to her level he cupped her face, trying to get her to meet his eyes all the while trying to reassure her in hushed tones only she could hear. "Hey, hey it's all OK. You're safe, no one will harm you, I swear to you."

Still struggling for breath, Y/N gasped out "I thought he'd kill you. And it would be all my fault." Aeron felt his heart stop for a moment at Y/N's heartfelt concern for him but any satisfaction he would have felt from such a confession was diminished by Y/N's sharp intakes of breaths and tear-stained face, which pulled at his heart strings. His primary concern was to calm her down, starting with assuring her that he was ok. "None of what transpired is your fault." Grabbing her hand, he pressed it firmly to his chest. "Can you feel my heartbeat beneath your palm?" Y/N looked up at him, nodding slowly. "I am unharmed." He spoke slowly, looking into her eyes, trying to keep her focus on him. Y/N's breathing slowly began to even out as she continued to feel the steady beat of Aeron's heart and the comforting heat of his hand atop hers, holding it in place over his chest.

Aeron did not know how much time they passed in this manner. After a time Y/N slumped onto him, her head coming to rest in the crook of his neck in exhaustion as he supported most of her weight. Tentatively adjusting his hold on her, Aeron moved his hands up and down her back in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

"I could not bear it if they'd hurt you because you were defending me." Y/N's voice was muffled by the fabric of his tunic but he heard her easily.

Tilting his head down close to her ear, Aeron replied in a soft tone "I will always defend you."

Y/N loosened the tight grip she had on his tunic to look up at him with eyes still blurry from tears. "Why?"

"Because I love you." Aeron had envisioned many scenarios for how he would confess his love to Y/N. But in the end the words fell from his lips almost without his permission. He had been so concerned for Y/N's safety, so angered to see her harmed and in tears, so grateful for her concern for him in spite of her own safety, and so relieved to see her well that the words came naturally. "What?" Y/N's eyes had widened  almost comically.

Aeron mustered all of the courage he possessed, taking a deep breath. "I said that I love you. I will always defend the woman I love." He shut his eyes briefly, lowering his head and waiting for her response.

"I Love you too, you silly boy."

His eyes snapped back up to meet her waiting smile.

"I think I have loved you ever since you coaxed me into jumping out of that tree."

He moved his hands to her waist, holding her in place and slowly moving his face closer to hers, noses lightly brushing against one another. "That is not exactly how I remember it, but I have loved you just as long."

Y/N laughed at that, bringing a hand back up to his tunic to pull him closer.

" May I kiss you?" Their close proximity had made Aeron braver than he'd normally be and the words left his mouth before he could rethink them.  Y/N responded by gently pressing her lips to his own, pulling away shortly afterwards. Aeron found himself chasing her lips and pulling her back towards him by her waist as she brought her hands up to his shoulders to grant her more leverage as their lips moulded together once more. Their first kiss was not the sweeping embrace of legends, it was clumsy and inexperienced, noses bumping against each other and teeth knocking together. Aeron found he did not care, pouring all of the love he felt for Y/N into each brush of his lips against hers.

Feral pretty Bracken defending his lady.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress

[lilith-of-stardust]

Mrs Chapman's Boarding House is a venerable Fallen London institution where Londoners of all walks of life come and partake of the soup and lounge in the numerous parlors. That, however, was only after the Fall. Here stands Mrs Chapman's circa 1862, significantly more Euclidean in nature.

There were some poetic liberties taken to make the canon appearance of the house play nice with the physical limitations of the Sims (The attic room was at least two hours of my life...). The bottom four photos are the parlor, Archie's bedroom, Griz's desk, and the kitchen.

Mrs Chapman's Boarding House on the gallery or search user CrownedCorvine

Some other liberties & Easter eggs (& some spoilers!):

The canon appearance of the building is a triple decker; but in-game there's mention of how few rooms are currently available. Given that the attic room is very much not a part of the triple-decker setup, the building has been shortened to two full stories + attic. There is, however, an extra room, which begs the question: why did Moss need to take Archie's room...? I guess we'll never know. Perhaps Horatia had someone in mind she was keeping it open for.

As the heart of the house - in a manner of speaking - it stands to reason that Horatia would keep the room off of the kitchen for herself, though initially intended as a the servants' room.

Horatia strikes me as someone who would be at the vanguard of health and shell out for indoor plumbing the moment it was readily available; cleanliness is next to Godliness, after all. The main bathroom on the first floor has been expanded and had a soaking tub installed in recent years.

With the rest of the house heavily decorated and cozy, Horatia's bedroom is her space to reflect and clear her head, and therefore is sparse, save for a tin-type photo of her father above her bed.

There are no directly biblical art pieces in the Sims so instead of the lion and the lamb on the mantelpiece, I went with the rooster, which historically has been used as a symbol of recognizing one's own sins and seeking redemption in Christianity. I hope Horatia doesn't mind the replacement.

The mannequin is dressed in what I usually purchase for my MCs to wear in MotR: the taupe gentleman's greatcoat and top hat.

On the desk in the attic, there's a book from which a Sim can learn the spell "inferniate" - this is as close as I could get to a Sim being able to write sigils, which burn when written on normal paper.

Griz's grew up around tenant farmers and specifically mentions horses when you ask her about her childhood; the horse statue on her desk helps stave off the homesickness for greener pastures back on the estate, though it seldom strikes.

There are glasses on Archie's bedside table, referencing the fact if you pursue the manifesto plotline, he'll reward you with the dark posing spectacles.

Horatia is known for her cooking, and, when she can, she leaves baked goods in the parlor. Here, there are some Yorkshire puddings... or, if you're a nasty American like me, some popovers.

Of course, the Sims doesn't allow for strange sprawling and recursive architectury (yet) so I will not be attempting later iterations of Mrs Chapman's humble abode. :)

[roxanneslosteyes]

⚠️SPOILERS FOR TNMN NIGHTMARE MODE⚠️

I saw people saying maybe the nightmare residents represent something about them so I'm going to give my two coins of what they could mean if this is the case outside of being easter eggs characters

TW: Brief mentions of eating disorder, fear of blood, fear of pregnancy, Childhood trauma (Not really super detail), misogynistic and other fears, PSTD (not detail), insomnia, self esteem

Again these are few of the residents not everyone is going to be mentioned!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mia: Her nightmare counterpart is the princess of death, so it could be that she might be pregnant and scared of dying in childbirth or scared her unborn baby dies in some way

Nacha: Pests are known to be bugs or animals that could cause problems for crops, livestock, food, etc. Maybe she has a fear of animals and bugs because she is a chef and food in kitchens in a café or restaurant normally attracts mice, rats, ants, flies, etc OR the place she works at has very unhealthy kitchen or someone really hates her guts and makes her scared with bugs and animals that cause pest when she is working

Anastacha: Her nightmare counterpart causes misfortune since Anastacha might not know her father (Francis), she might feel like she caused her mother (Nacha) to suffer by being a single mum and living in apartments even compared herself to her classmates who has houses and parents (mum and dad since this was 1950s.) While she has a single mum with no knowledge of her father. But another guess based on theories by this fandom that Nacha was married and cheated on her husband with Francis (playing on the milkman child thing) causing Anastacha being an "Affair baby". So if this is the case, Maybe Anastacha knows she is an "Affair baby" and thinks she caused misfortune on her mother and her mum's husband by being born from an affair.

Elenois: since she is a model, she most likely dealt with very misogynistic men, maybe the misogynistic men demonised her.

Selenne: she has low self esteem and thinks she causing problems for everyone.

Francis: Fear of blood

Izaack: Eating disorder

Roman: He probably has put people in deep debt

Lois: insomnia since her nightmare counterpart creates nightmares and I did look up if nightmares are related to insomnia and found out it can cause a high risk of nightmares (Correct me if I'm wrong!)

Gloria: Fear of death

Angus: He is probably doing shady business

Steven: PSTD from his time in the military

Mclooy: Fear of going insane (probably due to doppels)

Robetsky: Maybe he got trauma from hunting, probably when he was young boy

Albertsky: Childhood trauma (Maybe whenever he was born and years he was teenager and child the punishments he got were very cruel)

[mellowsadistic]

Easter Bunnies - Part 3

Melony woke up from her nap feeling strange. Her first thought was of chocolate. Daddy had said she could have some of her Easter eggs after her nap, and she could feel a rumbling in her tummy. But her second thought was about why she was taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t a baby, after all. Only dumb babies needed naps. She lifted her head off her pillow and looked around blearily. She was sharing a crib with Jackie. Her friend was still fast asleep, sucking her thumb peacefully, and she was giving off a strong smell of urine. But then, Melony thought, as she lifted the covers and looked down at the sodden adult diaper around her own waist, that could just as easily be her…

She blinked. Her head felt funny. Or had it been feeling funny before? She put a hand to the top of her head, but there was nothing there. No bunny ears. Where had they gone? A slight frown creased her brow. Why did she want them so badly anyway? They were just a pair of stupid bunny ears. They were for little girls. Or were they for big girls too? Her frown became more pronounced. She was pretty sure she’d seen grown-ups wearing bunny ears. Girls in sexy outfits. So they couldn’t be that immature.

Melony got up on her knees, and her mouth twisted into a grimace as her nappy sagged heavily. It was so full of wee-wee that it almost touched the plastic sheet of Jackie’s crib. Her outfit definitely wasn’t mature. Adults didn’t wear yucky wet diapers. She put her hands to her chest, and her felt her breasts through the fabric of the yellow t-shirt Daddy had dressed her in for her nap. But little girls didn’t have these.

Then it all came flooding back to her in a rush, all her memories, all her awareness. “Oh my God…” she whispered. She started shaking Jackie awake. “Jackie,” she hissed urgently, panic rising inside her. Their boyfriends were trying to turn them into overgrown toddler freaks! “Jackie, wake up!”

Jackie’s eyes fluttered open and she pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop. “Dada?” she murmured sleepily.

“No, Jackie, it’s me! It’s Melony! Wake up! You’ve got to remember who you are!”

Jackie rubbed her eyes with her fists and blinked up at her. “Mewwie?” She clambered awkwardly up onto her knees too, then she grinned. “Mewwie!” she squealed, and wrapped Melony in a tight hug. “I wuv you!”

Melony cringed. She could feel her friend’s braless breasts squishing against her. “I love you too, Jackie,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but right now we need to get out of here.” She extracted herself from the cuddle. “You’re not a baby, Jackie. You’re a grown woman, remember? You’re twenty-four years old. You’re training to be a doctor!”

Jackie cocked her head, still grinning. She let out a gurgling giggle that suggested to Melony she hadn’t understood a word of what she’d just said, or perhaps she just thought they were playing.

Hazel stirred beneath the sheets of her mattress on the floor. She yawned and stretched and got to her feet; as the Hello Kitty covers fell from her body, she was revealed wearing nothing but a soaking wet pair of training pants. It was no wonder the room smelled like pee – all three women had wet themselves in their sleep.

“Hazel!” Melony said urgently, turning her attention to her other friend.

Hazel blushed and covered her padded crotch with her hands. “Acc-see-dents doesn’t count when it’s naptime,” she mumbled shamefully. “Daddy says.”

“Hazel please! You’re not a toddler! You’re an adult!”

Hazel beamed. “I a big girl!” she declared proudly, putting her hands on her hips and standing with her legs wide, making the droop of her pull-ups obvious. “Not a baby wike you and Jackie!”

“No!” Melony pleaded. “Hazel, we’re all adults! Our boyfriends have done something to us! You’ve got to wake up!”

Hazel shook her head in a superior way. “Am awake, Mewwie,” she said. “Siwwy baby!”

At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened and Peter came in.

“You!” Melony snarled, getting to her feet and gripping the side of the crib, glaring at her boyfriend. “What the hell have you done to us?!”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “That’s no way to talk to your Daddy, little one,” he said, sternly. “Keep that up and I’ll have no choice but to put you over my knee.”

“You’re not my Daddy!” Melony shouted furiously. “And you can’t talk to me that way! I don’t know if you drugged us or hypnotized us or what, but when I get out of here you’re going straight into a fucking prison cell!”

His expression quite calm, Peter walked up to the crib and lowered the bars. Then he took Jackie by the hand and helped her down onto the carpet. “Hazel,” he said, turning to the nearly nude young woman, “be a good girl, take Jackie and go and find your Daddies, okay? I think they’ll give you some of your Easter chocolate! But Mellie’s being a naughty little girl, so I’m going to have to give her a spanking before she can come downstairs.”

Jackie’s eyes widened and Hazel giggled. “Yes, Mewwie’s Daddy!” she chirped, and she took Jackie by the hand and skipped out of the room in nothing but her pissy pull-up, dragging her infantilized friend along beside her.

Once they were gone, Peter turned back to her. He pointed his finger at the floor. “Come here, Mellie. Out of the crib. You’ve earned yourself a sore, red bottom, young lady.”

“You’re crazy!” Melony shouted. “I’m not gonna let you spank me, you monster!”

“In a minute or two, you’re not going to have the will to resist, darling. Not when Daddy gives you a stern look. Your mind will be regressing back to babyhood any moment now.”

“W-what do you mean?” Melony stammered, as a chill ran through her body at his words.

“There we no drugs, sweetie,” said Peter. “No hypnosis. Just your special bunny ears. They made all those wonderful changes inside your head, just like they did with your two little friends, and the effects are totally permanent, baby girl. This is just a little bounce-back, that’s all. Jackie had hers yesterday, and Hazel had hers just before we arrived today. One final little burst of adulthood before it’s back to diapers forever.”

“No…” Melony whispered. But she could already feel it happening in her mind. Her head was getting fuzzy again. Soft and fuzzy. Like it was full of cotton candy. She shook her head fiercely. “No!” she shouted. Her face was burning with humiliation at the thought of being stuck as an adult-sized toddler for the rest of her life, being gawped at and cooed over by strangers, by her friends and family, by her lunatic of a boyfriend. “I’m not gonna be wike… like that forever!”

“I’m afraid there’s no going back now, baby,” Peter said gently. “If you had any last things you wanted to say as a grown-up, now’s the time, because in a few moments you’ll have the behaviours and intellectual level of a three-year-old.” He grinned. “But I’m going to treat you like you’re two.” He looked her over thoughtfully. “Oliver wanted a happy toddler girl who’s proud as a peach to sit on an oversized child’s potty and pee in it in front of a crowd,” he said. “Hazel was always so shy before, but now she’s quite the little exhibitionist, as I’m sure you’ve noticed! George just wanted to see Jackie transformed into a dim-witted baby, barely out of infancy, without a thought in her pretty little head. She was so smart before; I think George finds it funny that she’s now too dumb to even tell when she’s pooped her pants.”

Melony could only stare at her boyfriend in horror. It was getting harder and harder to hold her thoughts together, and there was another problem too – the rumbling in her tummy from earlier had changed into a different feeling, a fullness in her bottom. She clenched her rear tightly.

“But I wanted something a little different from both of them,” Daddy went on. Peter. His name was Peter, not Daddy. “I wanted the sweet spot; a girl who’s just mature enough to want to be out of diapers, but who has to wear them anyway. I think that would be perfect for you, Mellie.”

Mellie shook her head again, her lips forming a pout. “No!” she whined. Her head felt so empty. So light and fluffy. Fluffy like a bunny. “Don’t wanna… Don’t wike…” The pressure in her bottom was building, becoming impossible to control almost as quickly as it had first appeared.

“Go on, baby,” her boyfriend cooed. “Any last thoughts before it’s back to baby-land for good for big girl Melony?”

Mellie looked up into his eyes. A mixture of fear and anger and confusion burned in hers. “Gotta go poopy!” she blurted, and then bent her knees, screwed up her face, and started to poop her pants.

Above her, Daddy laughed. “That’s my little Mellie,” he cooed, patting her on the head. She let out a loud grunt and pushed a load into her nappy, quickly followed by a long gush of pee-pee. “That’s Daddy’s little stinker! Melony the big girl is all gone now, isn’t she? It’s just silly baby Mellie left, ready to spend the rest of Easter toddling around in a dirty diaper. Ready for a lifetime of loving cuddles and strict discipline from her Daddy. Finish up making your whoopsie, baby, then move that messy bum of yours out of the crib. Your big girl brains might have leaked out into your nappy, but Daddy hasn’t forgotten that you need a spanking!”

The End

***

If you want to read more evil stories about women being transformed into overgrown babies, I also post on SubscribeStar.

[welcome-to-green-hills]

So if Amy isn’t in the film, who would give the humanity speech to shadow?

Hi Hon❤️✨

I’ve shared this thought before, but I’m more than happy to talk about it again. I definitely think—and strongly feel—that moment needs to go to Sonic. Not Amy Rose. Please understand that this is not a hate post towards the character. This post is meant to be a reflection of the characters that we know and how they would respond the best to an emotional situation.

The conversation that Amy Rose had with Shadow worked because we got to grow up with her. Through a progression of years, we’ve watched Amy Rose go from cheerleader to becoming her own hero. We’ve had the pleasure of seeing her love the world around her over time. We’ve seen her form relationships with people, we’ve seen her create a life for herself everywhere she goes, we’ve seen her tag along on adventures and prove her worth, and we’ve seen her experience the good and bad that come with life as both a heroine and a civilian. That’s why the moment worked so well in Sonic Adventure 2; we got to grow up with her throughout the games and experience life through her perspective. And because we got that perspective of her “growing up,” her conversation felt much more meaningful in order to trigger a locked memory in Shadow.

This moment wouldn’t work in the films. We wouldn’t have the same relationship that we’ve formed with Amy Rose in a 2hr+ movie as we did in a span of 30-odd years. It wouldn’t feel natural and heartfelt either. The moment would feel like a forced interaction that pays homage to the games. However, this interaction would work best with Sonic Wachowski because we are watching him grow up. We’ve seen how Sonic Wachowski handles the bad and the good in SCU through a progression of years.

This moment needs to come from Sonic. He will have the a level of compassion that Shadow would need in order to snap back into reality. Believe it or not, Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to be compared to as something dangerous. The whole point of Sonic remaining hidden for years (from both humans and other species) is because of his abilities. His power is controlled by emotion; when unchecked, it can be dangerous. But when controlled, he can master it. That needs to be a conversation with Shadow, considering he’s viewed as both a weapon and hope for humanity.

Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to lose someone that he loves because of him existing. It’s a guilt that resides in both of them where it feels like it’s their fault for the loss of a life. Granted, their experiences are different in how they both loss their loved ones. No one will understand that better, and relate to Shadow better, other than Sonic.

Sonic will have a better understanding of how humans function in the modern world. We’ve seen a healthy balance in how humans respond to extraterrestrials coming to earth. The humans have either welcomed them with open arms, acknowledge their existence and move on, or try and steal their power. Sonic knows the wide range of response; he can vouch on the behalf of those that are kindhearted.

As much as I love Amy Rose, I don’t believe that this moment should come from her. This moment needs to come from Sonic. And that’s okay. Don’t include her into the film to act as an Easter egg. Include her for the right reason. Give her a proper moment that outshines that one. I guarantee you that she is so much more than that. I hope that this answers your question, my dear.

[violetasteracademic]

Hi ! , I'd like to ask what you believe Elain's role as a spy will be like ?

Hello darling anon!! I have a few different ideas on how this will play out, but I am extremely lasered in on Vallahan for the next ACOTAR book. My thoughts and theories are a combination of things SJM has shared, explained, or alluded to in interviews along with threads I picked up in the books. So this is basically going to be a major explanation of my best guess as to what the next ACOTAR book is about and a total crack theory post! Enjoy!

I've shared this interview a few times, and I'll share it again now, but this is sort of the foundation of my processing. Yes, the interview is old, but she has continued to reaffirm everything she has said here in more recent interviews and confirmed that the original plots and structures have largely remained the same:

What stands out to me here is this: the structure of the spinoffs is that they are each standalone novels with a different romantic pairing but come together to form a backbone. She has gone on to explain that each spinoff book has its own mini plot that fits into one larger ongoing plot. So looking at how ACOSF was structured, I believe that played out in this way:

Mini plot- The Valkyrie, The Blood Rite, and Briallyn as a villain.

The larger ongoing plot: Koschei, the ongoing power plays as the world restructures itself after the war, new treaties, and avoiding a second war.

Within the romance and the mini plot of the Valkyrie, Nesta was building her relationships, strength, and skills with her best friends while also building her dynamic and theme with her romantic interest as a warrior and a general. Nessian is now locked in as that notch in the backbone. Feysand are locked in as the leaders with unmatched never before seen powers. Elain, Nuala, Cerridwen, and Azriel are going to expand as the eyes and ears. Together, these couples, the leaders, the warriors, and the eyes and ears, form the backbone of the Night Court and the future of Prythian.

I have a very specific idea of where Elriel's book is headed, and I could absolutely be wrong. There's honestly so many different directions this could go and Sarah has given herself a lot (sometimes I fear too much!) to work with. But to distill it down, I see Elriel's book playing out this way:

Mini plot: Nuala and Cerridwen friendship, a rescue of Azriel in a reverse Sleeping Beauty/Snow Queen retelling, Vallahan, and The High Priestesses/Queen of Vallahan as the mini villain.

The larger ongoing plot remains the same and does not resolve in this book.

How did I get here? Something incredibly important to note is that Vallahan is where the priestesses like Ianthe (the corrupt ones making a play for power) hid out during UTM. So there is already a clear alliance between Vallahan and the Priestesses (who might also be allied with Koschei but were at the very least allied with Hybern.) Morrigan is struggling to get Vallahan to sign the treaty, and if she continues to fail to do so, then reinforcements will have to be brought in. The next logical move will be to figure out why they won't sign. This sounds like a job for the Seer and the Spymaster.

There's a very small detail that has me utterly convinced that this is the mission Elain will be brought in on. And it is small. And I'm sure someone who hate reads my content will screen share it to call me delusional. Idc. Here it is:

This interview took place in May of 2017, exactly 1 year after signing the spinoff contracts (read the whole transcription here) and around the same time ACOWAR was released. Considering how this all plays out, she pitched the spinoffs while she was writing ACOWAR using some specific fairytale retellings. We already know the Valkyrie and their role in Norse Mythology, we are well aware that Swan Lake and Vasilisa the Beautiful are extremely Vassien coded, which leaves the ❄️Snow Queen❄️ for Elriel's story. And then there is this extremely small easter egg that I will absolutely lose my mind over if I'm right about (but I kind of think I am!):

Elain was dressed in blue winter furs during the war against Hybern, despite the heat. Then Feyre gifted Elain another blue cloak at Solstice to keep her warm while gardening in the cold:

Sarah continues to make a point to dress Elain in winter clothing- and then when she shared her infamous drafting post on Instagram, what was the setting she chose to select to set the mood for her writing process? A winter wonderland.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sarah J. Maas (@sarahjmaas)

Oh yeah, Elain and Azriel are headed to Vallahan baby!

And I believe it will lead to the discovery of Vallahan in alliances with the corrupted High Priestesses. Where we go from there? I'm not sure. But I also know that the Starsword, Truth-Teller, and HoFaS have added another layer by revealing that there are caches of magic stored in the lands by ancient powers. I wonder if there is more to the ancient mountains of Vallahan than we are aware of:

And then of course during this conversation, Mor reveals that Vallahan is planning something. But she doesn't know what. And we need to find out.

Now, a lot of this points to Morrigan of course, but I have always held the belief that Morrigan will play a huge role in Azriel and Elain's book. Azriel and Morrigan are already meeting regarding Vallahan as of ACOSF:

Theory wise, I am a believer that Morrigan and Azriel are Cauldron mates. I know not everyone is, and I could still see SJM going either way but I do think Azriel being in Vallahan with the woman he loves and believes he is supposed to be with along with his friend whom he has loved for many years and may be breeding bonded to his honestly sooooo juicy. I love it. It's not a love triangle, nor do I think SJM would ever write a love triangle between two women, but it is a deep and complicated situation

But there is also the element of the retellings. I believe this mission in Vallahan will lead to Azriel either being lulled to sleep (Sleeping Beauty) or he will be spelled and taken by the Snow Queen. Maybe there will be a little mix of both. And I definitely think the priestesses have consistently shown their power in being able to lull and lure through Ianthe, Merril, and Gwyn:

With the High Priestesses connection to Vallahan, and their spies in every court, I would not be surprised if this ancient lulling power was heavily influenced by Vallahan or at the very least also found there.

My opinion is that Vallahan will contain some ancient secrets that will reveal even more knowledge about the Cauldron, Koschei, possibly the Valg and Asteri, and all the things we are also now roping in with the multiverse. I think Azriel's Starborn heritage is likely to be revealed in this book as well. In fact, this is part of the reason I think SJM is being so quiet. I'm genuinely curious if she had to do some rewrites after HOFAS and is working to make some difficult decisions about how much crossover she wants to have in the series. Considering she completely scrapped her first draft of HoFaS, I wouldn't be surprised if she created some implications for herself in ACOTAR that she now has to deal with. It's a very dense and complicated web!

Okay so, specifically, how do I see Elain playing her role as a spy? The thing is, Elain already has spied for the Night Court. Her sight is literally spying. She looked in on Koschei, on Vassa, on Hybern. She found the exact location of the Suriel. She is already doing exactly what Azriel does- gathering information for her court that has literally changed the tides in a war. The only difference is that Azriel hears it while Elain can see it. She has already shown her stealth- stepping out of the shadows to kill the king of Hybern. Sneaking up on her family members and making them wonder if she is taking lessons from the wraiths or Azriel. Dressing herself down and blending into the background. She is already doing it, and will only continue to step up and do more!

Vallahan not only will not sign the treaty, but they are up to something. Azriel is already on it with Morrigan. Elain's sight will stand to provide information even Azriel himself cannot find with his network of spies and shadows.

Vallahan is being severely under-looked as the next location and mini plot for the next ACOTAR. But with the snow queen, Elain pointedly always dressed in and gifted winter clothing, the connection between the High Priestesses like Ianthe and Vallahan, and Vallahan being perfectly fine with another war:

I think this is where we are headed. Elain's sight will help uncover the threat and the secrets of Vallahan. And I believe there will be much to discover, and a man to save with her besties.

What do you guys think? Do you see the Vallahan easter eggs? The plot potential? Or do you have completely different ideas on where the next book is headed? I'm pretty convinced of this as the foundation, but will be delighted if I'm completely wrong and totally surprised! However, considering Sarah said she planted so many details about the next book in ACOSF and the Snow Queen is the only fairytale retelling not accounted for (at least for those of us who believe in Vassien and Swan Lake) it all makes a lot of sense to me, and all of the details about the luring and lulling powers of the priestesses is highly relevant.

[chernabogs]

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  It knows no law, no pity.  It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed. 

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass. 

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move. 

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest. 

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him. 

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery. 

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend. 

Naturally, it didn’t last. 

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response. 

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.” 

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell. 

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions. 

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg. 

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia. 

But the empty seat felt an ill omen. 

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well. 

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose. 

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had. 

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all. 

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development. 

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again. 

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself. 

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something. 

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands. 

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more. 

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders  of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling. 

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white. 

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach. 

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body. 

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope. 

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her. 

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far. 

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind. 

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more. 

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?” 

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands. 

“And this is mother?” 

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble. 

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?” 

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.” 

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now. 

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers. 

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe. 

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this. 

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book. 

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress. 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

 “Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included. 

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection. 

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?” 

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.” 

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees. 

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.” 

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?” 

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.” 

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.” 

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away. 

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

[imagines--galore]

||Wishing on a Snowflake||

Summary: The Spirit of Winter meets the Evening Star aka The Blue Fairy herself. And sparkles fly. Pairing: Jack Frost x Eve The Evening Star aka The Blue FairyOC (Rise of the Guardians) Rating || Genres || Warnings: General Audience. No warnings. A/N: So one of you requested that I continue TWO SPIRITS MEET. So I'm gonna do that! I hope you like this!

Clutching the piece of paper to her chest the little girl looked up to where the stars peeped out after the rain clouds began to pass away. Spotting the brightest, shiniest star of all she bit down on her lip, large doe like eyes darting over her shoulder to check if someone was behind her or not. Finding the door to her bedroom closed she turned excitedly back to look at the sky and squeezed her eyes shut, crossing her fingers as she did.

"Please! Please! Please!" She pleaded. "Let daddy come home for Easter! I want to hunt Easter eggs with him."

Unbeknownst to the little girl a small ball of blue light emerged from her little chest. Hovering around the girl for a few seconds the light, bobbed her lightly on the nose before streaking towards the sky, leaving behind a light blue streak which hung in the air for a few seconds before disappearing.

The little girl satisfied with the wish she had made, snuggled into her bed, clutching the photograph to her chest as a stream of sand streaked into her room and an image of a man and a little girl appeared running on top of her head in golden sand as slumbered, a sweet smile on her face.

                                      ———————————–

The fourteen year old wiped his tear streaked face. It didn't clean his face and he didn't seem to care either as he shuffled along the pavement. His clothes were rumpled and slightly torn, his glasses hanging crookedly from his nose, his left eye swollen and black, lower lip cut and bleeding. He was limping slightly as he walked towards a bench and sat down. Keeping his head lowered so he wouldn't attract any attention from the people around him he wrapped his arms around his backpack, almost protectively pursing his lips as his eyes welled with tears again.

His ears echoed with the voices of what the bullies had called him. Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak. The chant was endless in his ears. He clamped down on them, whimpering as he whispered to himself. Wishing the chants would leave his mind. Leave him alone.

A small ball of yellow light wiggled out of his chest, right where his heart rested, it hovered in front of the boy for a second before darting up towards the sky.

                                      ———————————–

The young woman frowned as she observed the details of the next weather report playing across her computer screen. A piece of paper suddenly caught her attention, resting underneath her mouse pad. She tilted her head in confusion as she tugged at the paper, unfolding it and reading its contents. A smile lit up her face as her eyes scanned the page.

Biting down on her lip to keep herself from smiling even more she folded the piece of paper, tucking it safely into her bag. She glanced up to find a pair of brown eyes looking at her expectantly. A small dip of her head had the pair of eyes light up and the person to grin back at her. Turning back to her monitor screen she sighed as she glanced at the clock. She honestly wished the time would fly by quicker.

A little ball of pink and red light wiggled out of the woman's chest. It seemed to be quivering as it hovered near the woman. Flying forward the little ball hovered near the brown eyes man who had smiled at the woman, seeing him glancing at his watch as well. A small ball of pink and red light emerged from him as well. The two balls of light circled each other before streaking out of the open window.

                                      ———————————–

The room was empty except for a figure curled up on the bed. The figure was crying, every sob wracking their body. They were muttering over and over under their breath. A small ball of white light, tinged with green appeared out of nowhere and streaked past the figure and out of the room through the open window.

It flew till it reached a graveyard where it spotted a group of people gathered around a coffin as it was being lowered into the ground. Streaking forward the ball of light hovered at each corner of the coffin, turning entirely white as it did, before hovering over each person gathered around and then flew upwards.

                                      ———————————–

The little girl's nose was pressed up against the glass of the display window as she stared at the small snow globe that adorned the display table. She looked to be from a poor family. Her clothes were slightly torn and her hair was messy and framing her small figure like a black curtain. Her breath fogged the glass yet she wiped impatiently at it every time, so as to not loose sight of the pretty ball of falling snow in the glass window.

Standing a little ways away from the girl was an old woman. Slightly bent forward with age. She gave a small smile as she gripped the girl's hand in hers. The little girl smiled back before casting one last look at the snow globe and walking beside the old woman. The young man inside the store watched as the little girl walked away. He glanced at the snow globe before turning back to his newspaper. A small ball of purple light emerged from his chest, streaking past the half opened door of the shop making its ways towards the sky.

                                      ———————————–

The balls of light were slowly met with other balls of light. All in different colors and hues. All streaking from the Earth below making their way towards the brightest star shining in the sky. Suddenly they changed course. Veering slightly towards their right the balls of light flew towards a castle in the distance.

A castle resting on clouds.

The castle seemed to be made from blue marble. It stood tall and proud and yet somehow welcoming as it shone in the light of the full moon. The tallest tower, seemed to have a shining object placed on top of it. It shone and twinkled with the brilliance of a thousand diamonds and yet it was not a diamond. The castle didn't have a door or anything of the sort. Instead it had a large window where the door normally would be. The window opened up to a wide balcony. There were different shades of blues for every tower and every window ledge. The top of the towers were a deep gold as were the windows. On either side, of every window of the castle, fluttered sheer white curtains made from the purest gossamer. They fluttered every time a ball of light streaked into the room, which was almost all the time.

A ball of white light streaked forward, causing the curtains to flutter even more, with the speed it was going at.

Inside was total chaos. Colorful balls of light streaked about, making small whooshing sounds, as they maneuvered between the many marble pillars that stood about in the large room. On every side of the room were huge compartment like shelves that hosted different balls of colors. They seemed to be moving of their own accord as they settled into a specific drawer, which opened automatically when a ball of light was near.

The ceiling of the room was decked with thousands upon thousands of twinkling stars, with the middle of the ceiling shining with the most brilliant star of all. The floor was polished and the marble looked just like the clouds the castle rested on, giving one the impression that they were walking on clouds.

In the center of the room was a globe that twinkled with small white lights. The globe was made from the same blue marble as the castle and the land masses were golden in color.

Right next to the globe different little figures hovered around. They were fairies of emotions. All of them different colored and no bigger then five inches. A pair of wings fluttered on the back of each little creature, the ends pointed, the clear wings shining with intricate designs.

Their job was to identify the many emotions that came with the balls of light. They hovered around, darting from one point of the globe to the other, chattering to themselves in a language only they seemed to understand.

"Hunger! Stop giving all those treats as the child wishes!"

Well not just them.

Right beside the globe, amidst all the chaos happening around her, stood a young woman. She looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. She had a pair of glasses, perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue with specks of white in them. The whites looked like glitter in her eyes as she gazed at the fairies going about their jobs. Her hair was golden and soft as they fell to her shoulders. Her frame was small and slim, adorned with a deep blue halter dress that seemed to be made of the same material as the curtains, although it was not sheer. The dress ended at her knees, from where the straps of her greek-styled sandals started.

Her hands rested on her hips as she glared at the violet colored fairy that hovered in front of her. The fairy chattered, gesturing with her arms as she did. Blue sighed as she shook her head.

"No, Hunger. No more wishes for more candy or chocolate Easter eggs. Not more than necessary. I don't want Bunny to complain to me the next time I see him that he got one too many orders of those wishes. Or for Tooth to moan about rotten teeth." The fairy seemed to deflate before she fluttered back to her duties. Pushing her frame-less, glasses so that they were perched more firmly on her nose she turned to the other fairy hovering next to her.

"Yes, Innocence? What is it?" The fairy only smiled as she gestured to the ball of light in her hands. Eve leaned forward and smiled at the wish inside. She nodded. Innocence smiled before flying towards a small bag of white glitter. Carefully picking out one of the specks of light she threw it at the globe where it met another little light. The light seemed to shine brighter for a second before going back to the way it had been.

The young woman smiled in satisfaction as the image of a little girl played across the globe briefly, showing her running towards a man who looked to be her father.

"Job well done Innocence!" She called out to the little fairy who blushed slightly at the praise. One of the fairies rolled her eyes as she deposited a black colored speck to a light. Eve shook her head.

"Now, now Envy. There's no need to be mean." The fairy seemed to humph making the Spirit chuckle lightly. Suddenly her laughter stopped when she caught sight of a stream of lights outside.

The Northern Lights.

Her eyes widened as she moved towards the balcony, mouth slightly agape.

Something was wrong. North never used the lights unless completely necessary. A feeling of dread passed through her.

The children were in danger!

As if sensing the shift in her emotions the globe filled with lights blinked out but came back just as suddenly as they had gone.

The fairies around her paused for a moment as well. All at once they gathered around her, little faces imploring for answers. She nodded at her little assistants, trying to sooth them as much as she could.

"I'll be back soon. You guys continue with your jobs. Sense!" A gold colored fairy flew forward. The Spirit pointed at her. "You're in charge!" The fairy saluted. Walking towards the large window she continued to give orders.

"Happiness. Bring me the wishes for Bunny!" A yellow fairy flew forward holding a pouch almost as big as the fairy herself. "The rest of you keep doing whatever you were doing!" She took the pouch, tying the strings around her waist, securing it at her side.

The fairies nodded before they returned to their respective jobs, each emotion sorting through wishes. Eve however stopped Innocence, the youngest of all the fairies.

"I want you to come with me Innocence." The small fairy nodded eagerly before flying towards a small hook where a white cloak and a small pouch hung from. Eve quickly walked over to it. Wrapping the cloak around her she grabbed another small pouch from the hook, fastening it around her waist. Waving to her remaining fairies she quickly ran towards the large window jumping out. As soon as she did the wind picked her up and she was flying towards the North Pole.

                                      ———————————–

An old guard looked up in time to see a Shooting Star streak across the sky before it disappeared. He grinned as he made a little wish before returning to his radio.

                                      ———————————–

Eve flew as fast as she could towards the North Pole. She could already picture North giving her that special look he reserved for children who had been naughty. She rolled her eyes.

"Argh! Cannot believe I am late!" She grumbled under her breath, cloak flapping behind her as she rounded the last mountain and North's workshop came into view.

"Late again Eve! You are going on naughty list." She mimicked the old man, deepening her voice and shaking her head fondly. She made a mental note to ask for emergency snow globes from North.

Eve flew through the open window and into the Globe Room.

"Woah!"

Eve came to a sudden halt in mid air. Innocence collided into her. Her glasses slipped down her nose at the bump but she smiled softly at the small fairy, pushing her glasses back into its place, before turning to face the other Guardians.

Or what they were doing anyway.

Eve sighed as she landed on the control panel of the Globe, surveying the Guardians. Bunny and North were having another fight on which Holiday was the best, Christmas or Easter. Honestly she found both of them tiring since she always had to deal with all the wishes as they came in. Arranging them, categorizing them before sending them off to North and Bunny respectively.

She would never tell either of them what she thought though, out of fear that they would start lecturing her on the importance of both the holidays. Again. She had lost count after the first fifty years of all of them working together.

Tooth was busy giving instructions to her little assistants as they hovered about her, darting away every now and then to gather up a loose tooth.

None of the three seemed to notice that she had arrived except for a certain golden man.

Sandy looked at her with a brilliant smile, waving. She smiled back.

"Hi Sandy!" Glancing at the bickering Guardians and the busy fellow Fairy, she turned to him with a confused glance.

"Any idea what's going on?"

The Sandman proceeded to explain to her what had happened using pictograms formed with sand at the top of his head as he poured himself a glass of eggnog. She frowned as she listened, or rather looked, at what he had to say. Her eyes widened.

"Pitch was here!?" She asked. Sandy only shrugged before shaking his head slightly, making Eve bite down on her lip in worry. Innocence hovered next to her reaching forward and tugging at her lower lip. Eve let out a noise of surprise before loosening her lip. She smiled at the fairy.

"Thanks Innocence." The little fairy only chittered, sounding like a little bird, telling her off on biting on her lip since it was bad. Eve shot the fairy an apologetic smile.

Before she could announce her arrival to the other Guardians something caught her eye.

The Moon was moving towards the window she had entered from.

Man In The Moon had something to say.

As one she and Sandy glanced at each other, before turning to gain the attention of their fellow Guardians.

Eve pulled at North's arm trying to get his attention. "North! You gotta listen! Man In-"

"Eve! Nice to see you could join us." North greeted, patting her on the back, his voice thick with his accent. Eve smiled giving a small nod, secretly glad he hadn't told her off for being late, before getting back to the matter at hand.

"North-"

"Eve! Would you please tell Bunny that Christmas is clearly the best Holiday! I mean when is any other day that I get so many wishes from children than on Christmas."

Eve winced. Normally she would look at the two Guardians as they went back and forth with there banter, as it got rather amusing for her. But now was certainly not the time.

"Actually Nort-"

"Oh please! Sheila! Why don't you tell North here how I get the most wishes on Easter." The Easter Bunny crossed his arms over his chest, giving a smug looking, his nose twitching slightly. Eve glanced at Sandy her eyes desperate before turning back to her two fellow Guardians looking expectantly at her.

She could see Sandy trying to get the Guardian's attention by waving his arms and making pictograms with his sand but the two had already turned back to arguing, leaving Eve to turn, in desperation, towards Tooth.

"Tooth! You gotta listen to me!" But she was cut off by North who placed his hands at the side of his hips, turning towards Tooth.

"Tooth! Can't you see we are trying to argue?" He scolded, his voice soft. The fairy stopped mid instruction and turned towards North.

"Sorry." She threw up her hands slightly. "Not all of us get to work one night a year." She smiled at her fellow fairy and Sandman.

"Right you two?"

Sandy responded with an arrow above his head pointing towards the moon, but Tooth had already turned back to her tiny fairies, giving them the location of the next tooth. Eve slapped her forehead in frustration while Sandy slumped next to her as North and Bunny continued to argue.

Being just about at the end of her patience Eve prepared to yell at her fellow guardians but a loud jingling made her stop and her eyes snapped to look at Sandy, wearing a grumpy expression, had grabbed an Elf by its hat and started to wave it about back and forth. The noise finally got North's, Bunny's and Tooth's attention who turned to look at Sandy and Eve since she was standing next to him. Dropping the elf he made a pictogram of a moon pointing upwards just as Eve shot her hand out.

"Man in The Moon!" She said through gritted teeth.

North turned to where they were pointing and threw out his arms.

"Ah! Man In Moon!" He turned back to look at the two guardians.

"Sandy! Eve! Why didn't you say something?"

Eve's mouth opened to retaliate but Innocence quickly shot forward, placing her small hand on her lips, shaking her head as she did. The Fairy sighed before nodding. It wouldn't do to start another argument when the children were in danger. It wasn't very often that Man In Moon would speak to them.

North had turned back to the Moon, now shining brightly into the room.

"Its been a long time old friend. What is big news?"

Instead of taking a step forward, Eve floated forward, her arms hanging at her sides. Her white cloak covering her entire dress, brushing the floor slightly. The Moon shone even brighter, in one particular spot.

The Guardian Panel.

It was built into the floor in the shape of a star and each corner of the star had a painting on it. Each painting representing the Five Guardians. A painting of Sandy, then of North, then Bunny and Tooth respectively and on the last corner a painting of Eve.

But none of the guardians were looking at the intricately painted Panel. They were focused on the image that appeared on the panel. Or rather the shadow of a person that Man In Moon wanted to show them.

Eve's eyes widened and she shared a glance with Tooth, as Bunny straightened and voiced what every one of them were thinking.

"It is Pitch." For some reason North patted his belly, before looking up at the Moon.

"Manny! What must we do?"

Eve looked back towards the middle of the star, where a panel had sunk into the floor and opened up to reveal a diamond like stone emerging from it. It shone as bright as Eve's star on the top most tower of her castle. Her eyes widened as Manny shone his light on the stone.

"Uh! Guys! You know what this means?" Tooth asked, obviously wanting to make sure that she was thinking the same thing as the rest of the guardians. Eve shook her head, still staring at the stone, unblinking.

"No way." She whispered, floating forward slightly.

"He's chosen a new Guardian!"

Eve felt a flash of excitement go through her at North's words. They were going to get another Guardian! That never happened!

Bunny seemed to think so as well.

"What? Why?"

"Must be big deal! Manny thinks we need help." North answered, stepping forward.

A laugh of disbelief escaped Bunny who turned to North. "Since when do we need help?"

Tooth was looking at the stone in excitement. "I wonder who its gonna be!"

Sandy created the image of a four leafed clover above his head.

"Maybe the Leprechaun!" Eve shrugged at Tooth's suggestion.

"Maybe its The Spirit of Halloween." She crossed her arms across her chest, the light of the moon reflecting off her glasses, making it hard to see whether she was joking or not. Beside her Bunny had his paws clasped together as he prayed under her breath.

"Please not the Groundhog! Please not the Groundhog!"

All five guardians looked to the stone as an image appeared. Eve glanced at Sandy who grinned back at her in excitement. She smiled back. North was almost bouncing on his toes as he looked at the image forming on top of the stone.

The image solidified and Eve felt her eyes widen at the new Guardian.

"Jack Frost!" North announced, his voice low and filled with surprise. One of Tooth's fairies had a little fangirl moment as the little thing fainted. Innocence hovered up to the image peering at it, in simple curiosity.

"Er...I take it back the Groundhogs fine!"

Eve rolled her eyes at Bunny, chuckling lightly, as she caught sight of Tooth with a dreamy expression on her face. Since she was standing next to her, Eve cleared her throat to get her attention. Tooth glanced at her before straightening herself a sheepish look on her face.

"Well as long as he helps to... uh to...protect the children. Right?" She gave her input as well, making Eve giggle and for Tooth to shoot a playful glare in her direction.

"Jack Frost!"

Bunny was freaking out now.

He really needed to let that one blizzard go. Eve shook her head.

"Lighten up Bunny!" She called out to the almost hyperventilating Guardian. He seemed to not hear her as he went on with his rant.

"He doesn't care about children! And all he does is freeze water pipes and mess up my Egg Hunts! He's an irresponsible, selfish-

"Guardian!" North cut him off, smiling.

But Bunny was having none of that.

"Jack Frost is many thing but he is not a Guardian!"

He was suddenly hit in the face with a ball of blue light which exploded in a small shower of blue glitter and a piece of cloth was stuffed into his mouth. North's loud and big belly laugh drowned his muffled protests. Eve narrowed her eyes at him, her hand already inside her pouch to take out another little Wishing Dust.

"Will you quit being so dramatic?"

Shaking his head at the now struggling Bunny, North turned to Eve.

"Eve. I suppose it is time you step up." The blonde girl nodded, smiling as she reached into a pocket sewn in her cloak and pulled out a piece of paper. Her little fairy hovered next to her as she readjusted her glasses and looked at the piece of paper. Well it wasn't much of a piece since it had grown in size as she unfolded it. Sparkling eyes roamed around the map, taking note of the tiny symbols that were scattered all over the surface. Spotting a snowflake making its way across the globe she smiled and looked up.

"He's moving around now. But as soon as he settles I'll let you know."

North nodded.

"Good! Good! Well now while we wait, would anyone like fruit cake?" He offered just as Bunny managed to pull the cloth from his mouth.

Eve glanced back at her map, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

It’d been awhile since she’d seen Jack. She’d missed him.

[russellsppttemplates]

Could we please have dad mick feel like I haven’t seen him for ages, you can pick but oh I love dad mick 🥹

"Mama", Aurora whispered loudly as she pushed open your and Mick's dedroom door and giggled as she noticed you both still sleeping, letting her siblings walk inside before she did the same. Harriet smiled cheekily and walked towards the bed first, seeing you twitch your nose and snuggled into the mattress. Suddenly, something jumped on the bed and the room filled with little giggles as you opened your eyes slowly and smiled at the three kids.

"Mama, papa", Sebastian squealed excitedly, "the Easter bunny came. He left lots and lots of eggs!", he announced.

"Happy Easter, my loves", you said, rolling onto your back and shaking your husband awake, Mick groaning as he slowly woke up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Aurora was the last to join everyone on the bed, finding a spot between you and Mick at your knee level.

"Papa and Mama also have a present for you", Mick said as he sat up straighter, the kids' eyes wideninh as they watched their father lean over the bed and pull a bag out.

"Happy Easter, little Schumachers", Mick said, placing it on the bed so they could open it together.

"Look, it's bunny ears!", Harriet shrieked as she out them on her head, prompting Sebastian and Aurora to do the same.

"Oh, they have their fluffy tails, too!", Sebastian said as he got up, putting the little clip on white fluff on his pyjamas pants, "I'm a little bunny!", he smiled.

After helping the girls do the same, the three of them hopped around the room, pretending to be bunnies, "Oh, we should get Angie and Hazel!", Aurora suggested, "can I get them, mama, please?", she pouted.

"Sure, just be careful on the stairs, darling", you said, sitting up straighter and cuddling up to Mick, "they look so funny, I'm not sure what's best: Harriet's ears or Seb's white fluffy tail on his butt", you mumbled into his chest.

"Look, mama! I gave Hazel my tail!", Aurora said as both dogs walked inside the bedroom, Angie seemingly running away from the kids and shielding herself in your protection while Hazel walked slowly, her own tail wagging with the new accessory.

"Are you afraid they'll get to you too, Angie? Mama can protect you, don't worry. Papa got those, by the way", you snitched Mick as the Australian Shepherd looked at him sideways.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Hey. This might be very stupid, but i hope you answer this.

Today I accidently got sucked into your blog, which is ironic since I'm a huge swiftie. (but I'm not here to hate on you, I swear)

The thing is for months I've been doubting where I stand on that. Like if i should call myself a swifte or not. when I was young, I used to worship the ground she walked on. but in the past year, I've slowly realised I've been very sheltered. like the problems people point out about her sometimes are actual real problems, but my brain just doesn't know how to respond to that as it has been taught taylor swift is a goddess and can do no wrong. Since your posts are tagged with #exswiftie, i figure you'd understand.

I am not from america, so I can understand then politics part of it all only to a certian extend. the other things, I just dont know what to say to that. The most i can reply is..."yes that is a bit of a problem". I feel don't feel like a swiftie at that moment.

I had fed my mind this narrative that people who hate taylor swift passionately are like untrustworthy or just a walking red flag, or just "don't get it". Now after reading your actual breakdowns I understand you have a rather educated opinion and perception of things. Which clearly rules out my narrative.

I don't know what I feel like I have to define where I stand on this, I just do. I know I genuinely enjoy her music a lot, even there are songs I don't want to hear more than once. I love the whole swiftie lore, digging deep on each lyrics finding out what they mean, finding clues easter eggs just losing my mind over surprise songs. Then i see this other side, which can't be defined with anything less than deeply toxic, which makes me question whether or not this thing i love so much is genuinely good or not.

Hello dear, apologies for the delay in reply :) I am happy to chat with you. I hope that you did not think I would ignore you.  

I was also a Swiftie for nearly 15 years. I got her debut record as a Christmas present in 2006 or 2007. Though I cannot remember which year it was, I loved her from the start. At 10 years old, I was immediately interested. My mother approved of me owning her music simply because she was inoffensive. She didn’t curse or talk about sex, in the beginning, so she was deemed appropriated for my childhood self.  She and I have since grown up. She is now a terribly pretentious bully- and, well, I grew up much too poor and much too hungry to turn into a bully like her. 

The problem- and something I think you’re very much aware of- is that Swift has built herself up in her fandom as perfect. She encourages fans to defend her every action- and rewards them for their efforts through “Swiftmas” or “Secret Sessions” or “hidden easter eggs that only the smartest- most dedicated fans will figure out.” It’s all methodically calculated to keep up an air of reciprocity between Swift, as the fearless leader, and her band of merry misfits- the fans.  

You are not dumb for falling into her rhetorical situation - she's set the marketing strategy up on purpose. It’s specifically created to attract attention- and, to make people feel good, or productive, by participating in her marketing strategy. She gives people an image of herself as a poor innocent victim of the media, or of any critique, and then rewards people for defending her. In Literary study, we call this “Pathos” as the rhetorical appeal to emotion through messaging- textual work of some kind. Rhetoric like this can be found in all sorts of media- commercials about starving children or beaten dogs, charity event banners aiming to persuade someone to donate. It’s all predicated on the appeal to our common emotion, or human capacity to empathize with each other. For, every time fans are rewarded by her attention- after defending her from a perceived enemy, or figuring out some hidden clue- they feel closer to the idol, they feel happy to have her attention. They get that emotional impact of believing they are helping Taylor Swift, or understanding her better on some more human, connected, level. It’s a game of risk and reward for her. Never mind that none of this altruistic- she gets paid through our attention on her- and if you are not directly lining her pockets with your cash money, she does not actually care about you. It’s the image of caring she projects that matters much more than the fact that she doesn’t actually care.

I’m sure you can think of many more examples wherein Swift has played this game of attention and reward with fans. It’s everywhere- her easter eggs are a great example. Sometimes her use of Pathos is benign- non malicious, therefore a non-issue. However, she often weaponizes this rhetoric in a way that is harmful.

This interplay she sets up, between herself and her fans, is made more intensive through her pathos- heavy approach to Rhetoric. To further illustrate, one of the ways people often explain Pathos is by saying that it represents our, as human beings, judgement affect. We see, or hear, the narrative Swift espouses and make judgements about it. If she says: The music critics are sexist towards me. We say: 1.) Sexism is morally wrong, 2.) Taylor Swift is facing sexism from Music critics, Therefore.) The music critics are sexist and morally wrong, because they are criticizing Taylor Swift.

So, all the critics are bad- and we don't need to listen to them. It's also a way Swift creates permissive attitudes towards attacking anyone who critique's her- because she can so easily label them all as sexist.

She uses this basic syllogism to justify leveraging her fans against all kinds of people- it's not just the critics. I just wanted to give a concrete example, and I will go more in depth on this subject in another post.  

She is playing with people’s emotions, while she is also self-victimizing,and leveraging her audience’s innate human rejection of, for instance, sexism as it offends our personal values. No one is saying that sexism isn't morally corrupt; however, Taylor Swift points to valid criticism and calls it sexism so that her audience will attack. People often have valid critique of Swift- She just doesn't want to face critique at all- ever. If people say her music is too self-centered- Swift says that is Sexism. If people say her music is boring- she calls it sexism. If people say her music is shallow and only centered are relationships- She calls it sexism. When, in reality, it's valid criticism that has nothing to do with her being a woman. Only ever writing songs about your own myopic, self-centered perception of interpersonal relationships is shallow. Her music is objectively boring, because it's derivative. Her music is completely self-centered- and she only admits to that when it benefits her, but when critics say it, she calls it sexism.

Please don’t think badly of yourself. I am not here to hate on you either- I was you. I am not here to hate on anyone at all- I just want to share how my own knowledge, and expertise, of rhetorical appeals and literary analysis can expose Taylor Swift. Swift relies on this rhetorical technique to thrive, she obfuscates the truth, schemes, and manipulates people into thinking her music is the best thing on Earth- or thinking that she is literally a Saint. Clearly- nothing on Earth is that perfect- So why does she need her fan base to consider her a genius, and a saint, so badly?

Personally, I have no problem admitting I have flaws. I think most sane people can admit to their flaws. It’s not a bad thing to have flaws. So why does Taylor Swift react to all criticism like it’s the worst thing on Earth. Why does she have a whole song about calling critics “mean/ and a liar/ and pathetic/ and alone in life” (“Mean” 2010). She has the nerve to call that song an “anti-bullying” song; yet, is it so clearly bullying that random critic who wrote a bad review about her concert one time in 2009? She really hated that guy- and all he was doing was his job. She called him a drunken loser for just doing his job. 

She's written so many songs about how all her critics are just stupid, morally corrupt, or sexist: "The Man" (2019), "Mean" (2010), "But Daddy I love Him" (2024), "New Romantics" (2014), "Shake it Off" (2014), "I know Places" (2014), "Anti-Hero" (2023), "Paris" (2023), "Blank Space" (2014), "I did something Bad" (2018), "Dancing with our hands tied" (2018). There are more songs wherein she carries this theme of "everyone is out to get me, and they all hate me for no good reason" but I think I've listed enough.

The general message is all over "Evermore" and "Folklore" too every time she calls the general public "Clowns" or "masqueraders"

It's just everywhere- her subtle devaluation of legitimate criticism. Trying to chalk it all up to the critics being simply dumb, sexist, or malicious in some way. Perhaps some people are mean- true- but to generalize every criticism as evil? That's just her actually playing a victim card. There's no way every single critic, or person who doesn't like her, is evil, bad, or malicious in some way. Okay?

I’m tired of her claiming to be an amazing person and an amazing poet- when she is just not either of those things. She’s not a kind person- it's all over her music in the ways she maliciously hurts people for fun. She’s not an amazing poet either. I have a few college degrees- and one pass through her work, with a serious intention of literary analysis, I discover that her writing is plain, banal, and derivative. 

She wants everyone to compare her to Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, and Shakespeare. So, I’m doing what she wants and taking her work seriously enough to critique it. Except that, in critique, I find out why it’s all poorly written- and why it’s just a bunch of thinly veiled conservative iterations of the same boring message over and over. All she ever says in her music is “poor me” and “I hate” (insert person- Kim K., Kanye, Matty, Joe, Jake, John, Scooter, Scott, Harry, Calvin, the media at large, anyone who critiques her, and men in the music industry as a whole). She has the longest list of enemies I think I’ve ever seen- and the funny thing is that all these people avoid her at all costs. None of these people talk about her- yet she is still singing, writing songs, and getting her fans to post memes about how awful they are years, even decades, later.  

It all gets a bit tiresome? No? Personally, I don’t wish to live a life full of such self-pity and hatred- so why should I listen to it in music form? Ya know?  

In my posts, I am attempting to find the truth. I don’t want to “hate” on anyone or anything- but I am going to seek truth in her work.  

I will be posting more about how she devoids Shakespeare of his social reformist efforts. I’m going to post more about how she twists the meaning of every literary reference she’s ever made. I am not kidding, she has misrepresented, and misinterpreted every single literary reference in her entire discography. It’s astounding how hard Swift tries to sound thoughtful- without actually being thoughtful. I will be posting about how she only ever name-drops to either tear other people down or self-depreciate herself in effort to seek pity. I will be talking more about her use of rhetorical appeals to both attract an audience, keep their attention through risk-reward trade-off, and manipulate them into fighting her battles for her. I will be talking about how she upholds a bunch of harmful stereotypes in her music. She often alludes, or blatantly includes allusion to colonialist attitudes. She’s used the LGBT community for profit without making any real activist efforts. She’s leveraged feminism like a weapon against other women- yet never actually has feminist themes in her music. She’s just so painfully hollow- upon closer inspection.  

I don’t hate her as a person. I think she’s unethical, sure, but that doesn’t mean I hate her, want her to die, or anything extreme at all. I would never wish harm to another human being. In fact, after seeing a lot of the harmful stuff in her music, especially about her kind of fucked up views on relationships, I sincerely hope she gets some professional help and finds some peace in this world. When I critique Taylor Swift it’s about her work and her brand- It's not about her personhood.  

I just think that no one Earth is above reproach, or critique, and we must all be held accountable for our own actions. She’s the one that puts her work out there for people- It's therefore completely appropriate for me to discuss her work. 

Edit: Oh and I want to add- I wish you luck in figuring out what you really think about Taylor Swift. If you ever need to talk or vent more- my inbox is always open. :) With peace and love- bye bye

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (2/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, the angst, woman on the rape pill, suicidal thoughts, therapy ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The memory of that holiday haunted her for many years; a mixture of sadness, melancholy, regret and longing blended into one in her mind making her live in the past and present at the same time.

Although she had trouble remembering what she had been doing the day before, she remembered perfectly the expression on his face that day when Jace had taken his boxers from him – she saw the exact moment when he closed his eyes, heartbroken, and burst out sobbing like a small child.

Although he pretended to be an aloof boy who was unaffected by anything, in that moment his mask broke before her eyes showing how vulnerable he was.

The fact that he pushed her away after she helped him hurt her, but it didn't stop her from doing what she did next either.

"What is this? Are you still sleeping with the light on?" Jace asked, looking in her backpack for his book that he liked to read before bed.

She pressed her lips together, covering herself more tightly with the duvet.

"Yes." She muttered.

Jace snorted and shook his head.

"Only babies sleep with the light on. You need to get over your fear. You're already big." He said finally, unplugging her lamp, taking it with him.

"– n-no – I –" She whimpered, but her brother simply turned off the light and left her room.

"– you'll be fine –" He called out, and she hid under the duvet, panting heavily.

Her imagination always caused her clothes lying on the chair or various objects standing on the desk to remind her of disturbing, frightening shapes in the dark.

She was very afraid of them and of the fact that if she closed her eyes and just lay there, the monsters would slowly approach her until they devoured her.

She pulled the duvet slowly off her head and swallowed hard, seeing that the wardrobe was ajar, one of the long dresses spilling out of it like a glistening black ooze. She thought she heard a rustling sound and jumped when something hit the windowsill.

She thought she couldn't stand it – she burst out crying, pulled herself up and ran out of the room.

She didn't know where to go, afraid that if she complained to her mum about Jace he would later tease her even more or that worse, Rhaenyra would admit he was right.

That's why she stood in the corridor, terrified of being surrounded by darkness on all sides.

She walked to his door, knowing he would be furious, and opened it, breathing heavily – she heard him rise on his arms, his sleepy face with furrowed brows directed towards her.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled, trying to calm her breathing. "– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He said impatiently.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She confessed with shame, feeling like all those children who wet their bed in their sleep and had to wake their parents to change their sheets.

Her uncle looked at her for a long moment before giving in, agreeing reluctantly, threatening to kill her with his own hands if anyone found out. She climbed onto his bed with relief and, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, slept peacefully that night and all the nights that followed.

Despite his initial frustration with her daily nightly visits, he eventually allowed her to read books with him or even cuddle with him.

She noticed that the fact that she didn't tease him like her brothers did made him calmer around her and therefore, in essence, nicer.

She liked the fact that he stopped avoiding her, taking her along on his expeditions – they searched in the sand for unique treasures: old coins, unusual stones or shells, cartridges and other objects of interest.

They invented their own missions and tasks, pretending they were great explorers of ancient temples hidden under the desert sands, and dug deep holes hoping to really find something.

Usually they discovered beer bottles, however, it was all about the whole process, not the result, pretending that traps, poisonous insects or great windstorms lurked everywhere to force them to turn back from their path.

She enjoyed the way he made her feel with him as if they were characters from a book or a film: as it usually happened, although typically the partners didn't like each other at first, later they became inseparable companions, and each new day was another episode of the series in which they played leading roles.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking side by side with her by the sea shore – they were just returning from an expedition where she had found lots of beautiful, large shells in which she believed mermaids' songs were enchanted.

She wanted very much to be a mermaid and hoped they would help her succeed.

However, his question turned her thoughts away from the matter, making her heart beat harder in her chest.

"No. And you?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle pressed his lips together, looking everywhere but at her.

"No."

They were silent for a long moment, embarrassed to be talking about such unusually adult matters.

She wondered if he wanted to ask her for advice on some amorous matter, to make her help him win the heart of the girl he secretly fancied, and she felt a twinge in her stomach at the thought.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked further, startling her. She blinked, looking at him with amusement.

What was he getting at with these questions?

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She said truthfully.

"Do you like me?" He muttered, and she giggled, feeling a pleasant, warm sensation spread through her heart.

"Yes."

"So?"

"What are you asking?"

She saw him press his lips together, clearly not wanting to appear a fool if there was a misunderstanding between them.

She thought she would take pity on him.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said warmly.

Her uncle looked at her, his eyes shining in hope, embarrassment and disbelief. He hummed, pondering her words, terrified and excited at the same time.

"…but only when we're alone." He muttered.

"Alright."

Later that night he kissed her for the first time and did so repeatedly for many days afterwards.

His lips were pleasant to the touch, warm and moist, his hands touching her face full of delicacy and tenderness.

Years later, she realised that their kisses were a simple pressing of one lips against the other, without finesse or tongues, the way one would kiss an aunt or a mother on the cheek. There was nothing ambiguous about them – it was just that adults did it too, and it made them both feel more mature.

And then he came to her, pale, and although they had arranged another trip, neither of them had gone to the beach that day.

"– I'm breaking up with you –"

She shook her head, feeling her heart stop for a moment.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, feeling the cold sweat on her back, her throat squeezed tight while her eyes filled with burning tears of disappointment.

He had deceived her, used her, played with her to frustrate her brothers.

And then Luke hit him on the head with a bottle, and its shards smashed into his face. As Aemond and Alicent drove to the hospital, her grandfather, Viserys told her mother to return home.

"– it was an unfortunate accident, but it would be better if you left sooner – your presence will only make things worse, Alicent needs to cool off –" He said, her brother, Luke, as she did, sat on the couch and was shaking, whooping with tears.

Despite her desperate pleas and her attempt to escape, her parents locked her in the car saying it was better that way and drove off, without goodbye, without explanation, without compensation.

All the way home she cried, clutching in her hand a piece of paper with his phone number on it, which she found slipped under the door of her room that same morning.

She spent the next few weeks pretty much just crying and sleeping, refusing to eat or drink, feeling that her life was over before it really began.

The boy who broke her heart had been hurt by her family and she didn't know how she was ever going to look him in the face at the family table again.

It turned out that her mother had simply only been in contact with her grandfather from then on, saying that perhaps it would be better that way.

That maybe this would separate them from this world.

At the time, she didn't understand what she meant.

The first text message she sent him was when she overheard her brothers talking, saying that her uncle would now have an artificial eye like a terminator.

The sense of guilt and regret that he was left alone with this didn't give her peace that night, and although she hadn't slept with the light on for a long time, she liked to imagine with her eyes closed that he was lying next to her.

It calmed her down.

She took her phone in her hand, chose his number in her contacts and began to text everything that was on her heart.

But he never wrote her back even though she sent him hundreds of messages: ones about her daily life, what she was doing, reading or listening to.

She send him Christmas and birthday wishes, asked about his health, how he was doing at school, but never got any response from him.

Many times she thought about calling him, but she still kept the card he had left her, which said under his number:

CALL ONLY IN A LIFE-THREATENING EMERGENCY.

She was afraid that if she called him saying that she simply missed him, she would anger him even more. Her parents no longer spent Christmas with his family, and after her father was shot dead, presumably for trying to escape the mafia life, she completely broke down.

Her mother decided to send her to therapy when she started high school.

She remembered clearly the smell of that clinic and the doctor who sat in front of her: a middle-aged man with round glasses on his nose, his voice calm and quiet, full of patience and understanding.

All around them were plants in pots and it made her feel a little cosier.

"Tell me about the friend you mentioned to me on your last visit." He started and she pressed her lips together, feeling cold sweat on her back and discomfort in her chest.

She was afraid to tell him what they had done, who he was.

She was afraid of his appraising gaze, of the fact that he would think she was disgusting.

"He was… my uncle."

The doctor corrected his glasses on his nose, intrigued and concerned at the same time.

"How old was he then?"

"He's two years older than me."

"Oh. I see." The man smiled, as if with a kind of relief that surprised her. She grunted quietly, twisting in her seat.

"He really is my uncle. My mother's brother from the second marriage."

"I understand, however, your age has surely made you treat each other more like cousins. Am I wrong?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No."

"You said that when your brother took your lamp, he let you sleep in his bed. Something happened then?" He continued and she shook her head, horrified at what he might have implied.

"N-no. I… we just slept next to each other. Sometimes I'd cuddle up to his arm or his back when I was scared. It made him angry that I was coming to him, but he felt sorry for me."

The man nodded in understanding and smiled.

"You felt safe with him."

"Yes." She confessed with shame, looking down at her hands, feeling her heart in her throat.

"Are you two still friends? Are you two supportive of each other?"

She pressed her lips together, feeling tears burning under her eyelids, unable to get the words out for a moment.

She couldn't even look him in the eye.

"No."

"Why? What happened?"

"He lost his eye because of my brother."

"Does he blame you for that?"

"No…I mean. God." She muttered, burying her face in her hands, feeling like she was about to vomit or pass out.

This had been weighing on her heart for too long.

She needed to confide in someone.

"He, during that holiday… he asked if I would become his girlfriend. We kissed. Fuck! I didn't know about it, neither of us knew we shouldn't do it! That it was wrong, that we were too closely related." She exhaled with difficulty, finally bursting out crying, feeling hot, overpowering shame flowing in waves through her body.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How long were you two together?" He asked.

She wiped her red cheeks with her palm, trying to calm and focus.

"A few days. Maybe a week."

"Why did you stop being together?"

"Because he broke up with me. He told me we couldn't be together." She mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. "It wasn't until later that I realised what he'd found out, what incest was and what we'd done."

"There is a seeker nature in children. They watch adults and want to behave like them. Until their parents introduce them to the rules of the world it seems to them that the world doesn't have them. Even more so when it comes to social norms. Neither you nor your friend knew at the time that such relationships were not universally accepted. Up to that point you were family to each other, but also girlfriend and boyfriend. Looking at a child's decisions from an adult's perspective is ineffective."

He explained, making her, for some reason, feel better. She looked at him and shook her head.

"It's just… he was close to me. He was a good looking boy. He was kind to me. I felt safe with him. He didn't want to take advantage of me, I know that."

"So why are you creating a situation in your mind that what you did was the result of your premeditation when neither of you knew then what you know now?"

He asked, and she remained silent, not knowing what to answer him.

"It's just… ever since then I've felt a constant, heavy, overwhelming shame, crushing me like a stone." She muttered without strength, feeling that she had probably expressed the core of her feelings in this.

The man nodded at her words.

"It's natural. Shame accompanies us as a regulator of decency in our lives. I once read about a theory that God, when he banished Adam and Eve from paradise, did not make them bare: they were like that, they just realised their nakedness, and original sin made them feel shame for the first time. It is shame and fear of punishment that make us not walk naked in the street, that we guard our intimacy."

On the bus ride home, she reflected deeply on his words, feeling as if she had awoken, as if her senses had sharpened, allowing her to see the world again as it was.

She realised that all her life she had been punishing herself for feeling something for him and that it felt good, even though some part of her was telling her that she should be disgusted with herself.

She decided to forgive herself.

She felt much better and even started dating, trying to forget what had happened, to create a relationship that wasn't stigmatised.

Although she was smiling, she resented herself for looking at those boys, hearing the sound of the sea in the back of her head, his voice coming to her as if from afar.

I'm afraid of monsters too.

Everything changed when one day she received a message that made her heart stop.

She had no idea what she should be thinking: only a year after her father's death, her mother had begun dating Daemon, who had at first frightened her, and although Rhaenyra had said she wanted to end with the mafia half-world, the man she had married shortly afterwards had drawn them even deeper into it.

Daemon was an unpredictable and dangerous man, but loyal to his principles, his family and above all – her mother.

In some strange way, incomprehensible to her, they truly loved each other.

What she appreciated about his character was that he gave her and her brothers a choice: he said he did not intend to condemn them to sink into his world, but if they chose to go their own way, they were to devote themselves to study and education.

She and Luke chose to study, but Jace, to her and her mother's despair, wanted to be like him.

They eventually moved into his large house on the outskirts of the city together with his daughters from his first marriage – at first it was quite strange and awkward, even more so when they ate all together, but then Baela and Rhaena opened up to her, becoming, in her eyes, part of her family.

Daemon could sense when she was lying: he would then look at her with furrowed brows and say that he wanted to talk to her in private, which always made her heart pound like crazy with fear.

She was genuinely scared of him.

"I know you're hiding something inside. I can feel it and I don't like the fact that you're not being honest with me." He said coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette, standing with her in the garden.

She lowered her gaze, pale, not knowing what to answer him.

"I won't play your father, but I can see that you are lost. You isolate yourself, you rarely see your friends, you're still studying. You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it and you'll regret it one day."

She couldn't describe how much his words hurt her.

They hurt her because he saw right through her and described her life in a few simple words.

You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it.

It sounded better than the thought that she had no desire to live at all.

She felt that something had been missing inside her since that holiday, some part of her heart had been ripped out and thrown into the sea, and she felt defective, her interior filled with an emptiness.

Despite being surrounded by many people, she was lonely.

For a long time she wondered what to make of the message she had received: its tone made it seem as if there was something she and her siblings had not been told about her father's death.

She feared it was some sort of mafia hijacking, a trap for Daemon and one of her brothers – she decided she would tell Baela where she was going so that if she didn't return someone would start looking for her.

"Heavenly Beach? It's a dangerous place. I'll go with you." She said, concerned.

"No. I was supposed to come alone. It's just… if I'm not back by three o'clock wake up Daemon and tell him where I am."

"Do you have your pocket knife?"

"Yes."

She told Daemon and her mother that she was going to a friend's for a sleepover: the frustrated look on her stepfather's face told her that he didn't believe her, but apparently even he, knowing her nature, didn't suspect what she wanted to do.

Heavenly Beach belonged to his rival.

To her father's brother, Larys Strong.

She arrived by taxi, surprised at how large crowds stood waiting to enter the club. She wondered if she should wait in line with them, but after a while her phone vibrated and she got another message from an unknown number.

So she did, and the broad, bulky man told her to open her backpack and show him what she had inside.

She thanked God that she had hidden her pocket knife in her bra.

The man nodded for her to follow him and together they went down the stairs to the underground consisting of several large rooms in which music was booming, the flashing coloured lights around her made her feel as if she had gone blind. She swallowed hard, spotting her uncle in one of the VIP boxes.

Larys Strong had indeed greeted her with a bouquet of roses.

The thought that he was the one she would be talking to reassured her, and that was her mistake.

"I'm very glad you came. Sit down, please." He said softly, his smile warm and welcoming while his hand pointed to the other side of the couch, a safe distance away. She smiled too and sat down where he indicated to her, sighing in relief.

"Forgive me for only contacting you now, but this matter keeps me awake. I know you are the most cautious of your siblings, which is why I preferred not to take the risk and invite your brothers. I fear they would take it badly and it could lead to some…complications." He said, making her feel an unpleasant squeeze in her stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. But first, let's order something to drink. Would you like a vodka and coke?" He asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, thank you, I don't want anything." She muttered.

Larys nodded at a man standing nearby, who approached him after a moment.

"Ned, get me a whisky and a glass of water for this young lady." He said calmly. The man nodded and disappeared after a moment, heading towards the large bar behind her.

"Back on topic: I am in a very difficult situation. Unfortunately, the person who was involved in his death is also a close associate of mine, which makes everything very complicated. However, I believe that my brother deserves for at least one of his children to know the truth." He said, getting serious suddenly, and she listened to him in suspense, horrified.

"Otto Hightower ordered his murder. Harwin was still snooping around, looking for hooks on them, even thinking of co-operating with the police."

She stared at him dully, feeling a complete void in her mind.

Otto Hightower had ordered his murder.

What?

As the man placed a glass of water in front of her and a whisky in front of her uncle her mind was in a state of complete panic. It made her forget what Daemon and her father had always told her.

Never drink anything that has not been poured into a glass in your presence.

"Easy. I know this is difficult for you. You have to be careful with these people, they are dangerous. Drink some water, it will help." He said, and for some reason she listened to him, grabbing the glass, taking a few deep sips from it, feeling that she was trembling all over from nerves.

Viserys's associate was her father's murderer.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" She muttered, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling strange, as if her head was spinning.

"You have to be careful. Anyone who enters this world once will never leave it again. Don't try to cooperate with the police." He replied with a smile, his tone slightly changed, as if what he saw before him and her reaction pleased him.

It seemed to her that the music around her had begun to quiet, as if it was coming from far away, she tried to focus her thoughts but was unable to.

The cold sweat of terror and fear ran down her neck as she realised what had happened.

What she had done.

"I'm sorry, I feel sick from what I heard. I'm going to go… to the toilet." She muttered, getting up from her seat with difficulty and walked ahead towards the sign she could see from afar.

She was dizzy as if she had drunk ten shots, the burning tears of despair making her barely see where she was going.

The light in the bathroom almost blinded her – she locked herself in one of the cabins and slumped to her knees, breathing heavily, pulling her phone out of her backpack, thinking with horror that if she called Daemon and Jace and they raised hell in here, they might shoot them.

She needed to call someone they wouldn't hurt and then it dawned on her.

Aemond.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

The screen of her phone seemed blurry to her as she struggled to type in her code and began searching for his number in her contacts. When she finally saw his name she clicked on it and put the phone to her ear, leaning her head against the wall, feeling the cold tiles under her buttocks, the female voices coming from behind the door seemed to her to be just a dream.

"– please – please, please, please –" She muttered, hearing that there was a signal, that he hadn't thrown or blocked that card.

She swallowed hard when the sound silenced and she heard a noise on the other side.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled in a trembling voice feeling tears of terror, helplessness and fear run down her face, her body numb and heavy.

"– what is it? –" She heard his voice, cold and matter-of-fact, and although he sounded very different from when they were children, a wave of heat and a familiar, pleasant sensation she hadn't felt in years ran through her body.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She cried out, bursting into sobs, thinking about the fact that she was about to lose consciousness and they would do whatever they wanted to her and her body.

Daemon warned her.

Never lie to me.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –" She heard his voice as if in the distance.

She furrowed her brow, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, where she was, and what she wanted to do.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered finally, looking around her thinking that indeed, this room looked like a toilet.

She felt that she was very tired and just wanted to sleep.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked further, his voice sounding as if he was furious.

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, feeling her mind drifting away and remembered that she had seen palm trees before entering this place.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She muttered, and then her mind enveloped in complete darkness.

She thought she felt the touch of someone's hand, heard someone's voice, but she wasn't sure if it was a dream or reality.

When she woke up, she was blinded by the light – she hissed and covered her face, only realising after a moment that she was lying in her bed, in Daemon's house. When she turned her face she saw her stepfather sitting in a chair, looking at her with eyes she knew well.

He was furious.

"I asked you. I thought you were a smarter girl, but you are clearly just a plain, naive idiot." He hissed, as usual saying exactly what he was thinking.

She pressed her lips together, feeling pain in her heart at his words, realising that she had a huge black hole in her memory.

"What happened?"

"You called Aemond. They could have raped you there, and instead of calling me you called the person who could have helped them." He scoffed, raising his voice, annoyed.

"He was here?"

"And how do you think you got here? That you were brought here by a fairy?" He sneered, and she swallowed hard, looking at him with wide eyes.

Even though she should have felt horror at what had happened to her, all she could think about was feeling his hand, hearing his voice.

And then she remembered.

His voice.

His words.

You don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows.

[inky125]

Mary Linton and Jack Marston meeting in 1922

Okay but these are just my headcanons for the very improbable scenario that they end up bumping into each other in the future. / My headcanons for what they would do with their lives after the events of rdr/rdr2

(I'm going to explain them under the cut)

Okay so, starting with Jack:

I want to believe Jack lived a more or less normal life after killing Ross, successfully getting away with this one (1) murder, and having that as a skeleton in his closet. Not finding peace really, so the whole revenge thing doesn't fix his miserable life but he can go on to try to do something with his life. Gunslinging doesn't really have a place anymore here.

When the US joined WWI I know that boy DID NOT join the US Army, he would NEVER join the group that killed his dad, or make the same mistake as him and make a deal with the government. He would rather be jailed for dodging the draft, what will they do, threaten him with what? He has nothing to live for really, so they can't make him. I don't think he cares much if he gets shot (he has a like saying as much in rdr when he duels Ross).

After the whole jail thing he'd go back to a more or less normal life, I'd guess he would have to have a regular job and write whenever he's able (I want to believe that one Easter egg in GTA is canon...it is to me...), but I don't think he'd be able to make a living just from writing.

As for Mary, I always wondered why Mary was dressed the way she was during the credits cut scene in Rdr2. Because I'm guessing it takes place in 1907 (given that most cut scenes appear to happen at the same time more or less than the epilogue). But I wondered why Mary was dressing in black; I mean, during the Victorian era there were very specific mourning traditions, especially for women. Wearing black was pretty much a part of a social thing, you'd publicly mourn. The extension of your mourning would depend on who died and what was your relationship with them.

And here is the thing, Arthur had died 8 years ago by then, we could assume Mary had found out shortly after of his dead because newspapers in the Rdr2 universe love to brag whenever law enforcement/Pinkertons kill renown outlaws. (Even Arthur and Hosea get mentioned years later in some sort of article in 1907 too). And additionally, we know that Mary kept up with how the gang, especially Arthur, was doing through the news on the newspapers. So again, it wouldn't be crazy to assume she knew about Arthur's death back in 1899.

So then, why is she wearing a black dress to visit his grave in 1907?. Black is the color of mourning, but as far as I am aware (and correct me if I'm wrong) it was not required to visit a grave back in the day. So I like to headcanon Mary mourning Arthur like a widow, because widows would have to wear their black weeds for 2 years (there were different periods of mourning, for instance Mary's clothes could be classified under the 'half-mourning' type, meaning there has been at least 6 months since her loved one passed away, meaning she could now wear some jewelry, other colours, ect.

But here is a little extra, Queen Victoria popularized among some women the practice to never abandon their period of half mourning, and especially, keep wearing black the rest of their lives even if they move on, as a sign of love for their dead husband.

Mary and Arthur never got married, but I like to think Mary lived as a widow for him. Continuing with her life as normal, of course, but always having that bittersweet ache in her heart, dressing in black out of respect and love for him and the life they couldn't have. Even if she had wanted to move on from him after she realized they couldn't be together as Arthur wouldn't leave the gang, I think she would have folded if Arthur had gone after her (I mean she did re-initiate contact after they were supposed to never speak again), and I think she was still preparing herself emotionally when she heard the news that Arthur was dead, ironically not moving on from him.

She didn't remarry, Jamie made good money and maintained her, Mary knew the kind of life she didn't want and she could be respectable and old as a widow. Plus marrying someone new at her age would be a titanic task.

I think Mary kept her mother's brooch Arthur returned for her as her reminder of him, given that she returned the picture and the ring. In fact she's wearing it when she visits Arthur's grave in-game!. So I kept that

It just warms my heart to think of the very few people left who knew about the gang finding each other in usual ways. Maybe next time I'd do Sadie or Charles. I'm just a sucker for this kind of things