#WHO HAS BEEN DRAWING A BOOK FOR HIS DEAD BROTHER FOR YEARS EVEN IF HE'S FORGOTTEN WHAT HIS BROTHER LOOKS LIKE

[dykedivorce]

if any other bitch in konoha had been gay apart from sasuke none of this would have happened to my son naruto.

[nariism]

come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him—  hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow? 

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help. 

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you. 

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[rustytrident]

beelzebub who has obscure knowledge because he cares so much about his brothers' interests, they become his, too – or, a slight beelzebub character study at 3am because i need it and so do you.

beelzebub who can name every constellation in the night sky of all three realms, who knows both astrology and astronomy, who has read all of belphie's essays and research papers, who was there when they were written.

beelzebub who knows how to play (and cheat, and win) about every casino game, who knows how to do fast math even if he doesn't really care for it, who checks the fucking stock market every morning to see if mammon's mood will be affected by it or not.

beelzebub who knows the difference between the scent of white and red roses, who knows how to properly do your (and his) makeup, who has memorised which products are good for his complexion and how many times a day he needs to apply sunscreen, because asmo swears that the fridge light hits him as much as the sun would have in the human world.

beelzebub who can quote jane austen and poe and shakespeare and euripides from memory, who makes references from books that were destroyed with the library of alexandria, who knows about every breed of cat there is, who listens to satan explain whose fur is the thickest and whose the softest.

beelzebub who will rewatch tsl for hours, who will carry boxes upon boxes of games upstairs, who will (poorly) draw ruri from memory, who will know how to play most games levi hyperfixates on and the plot from most anime he has rambled about.

beelzebub who knows even the most bizzare of genres of music, who can taste the difference between a thousand year and a thousand and one year aged demonus, who immediately recognises the jazz song lucifer is playing when he wants to spend quality time with him but doesn't want to disturb him.

beelzebub who, if you ask him about his interests, will reply that he doesn't really have any, who will search within him for an ounce of self, who will give up after a while because he is six beings in one, and he doesn't know if there's room for one more.

beelzebub who decides that it's okay to be a mosaic of his favourite beings, who finds out that he has been carrying seven in him all along, who gazes in your – a human's – eyes and understands why she fought and why she fell and why she tried so much.

beelzebub who, in his spare time, will go in the human world to visit museums and archaeological sites and long abandoned villages, who will reminisce about when everything he just saw was once new and shining, who will retrace the steps he took aeons ago, alone this time.

beelzebub who often feels lost, who grieves and eats and grieves some more, who carries the memory of his sister because he once read that one truly stops existing when they are forgotten, yet smiles when he sees red roses and shiny coins and old books and video games and cursed records and the starry sky, who sighs into your neck right before he falls asleep and promises to never forget the way your skin feels under his.

beelzebub who, without you asking him, tells you he likes flowers and animals, who likes everything the sun touches, whose eyes glimmer when you ask him to tell you about yarrows and their meaning and their colours, who will explain in a heartbeat, just for you.

beelzebub whose self is a wounded one, a fighting one, whose self is a memory box he just keeps adding into, a scrapbook of eternity's erosion, who finds happiness in the little things, in the simple things, who binds his family together.

beelzebub who loved and loves and will love until there's nothing of him left, until he is the last one remembering, until the night sky is no longer a painting, but just an accumulation dead stars.

[cyb-rdva]

Karma Akabane Hcs + <Random>

(Re-do)

Most likely to Get out of his bed late eventhough he's been awake for hours.

Whenever his parents go home once a year he feels rather uncomfortable around them or strange.

He reads, Be it Comics or Novels, he'd definitely like thriller, Action, Sci-fi and might also like found-family trope (He's coping).

Listens to classical music secretly

He finds horror movies illogical, would definitely call the characters dumb during a suspenseful scene.

He doesn't show his anger, He could be angry but still act like his usual self and you'll never know he was, he'd definitely release his anger out on guys who lurks the dark alleyways with dark intents.

Considered as a dark knight like batman or diluc by some women.

Definitely had saved a plenty amount of people from getting harmed at night.

He's a night owl and wakes up early (His sleep schedule is unhealthy)

He draws, you've seen the drawing he made of korosensei in the sequel movie right?

His room is tidy and Almost unfitting of his personality, his bedroom has shelves with tons of books in it, some figurines, a pc setup and all that shiz.

Many scars on his hands and arms, you can't fight without getting a few cuts obvi

Random : Karma's eyes doesn't have any sparkle or shine like the others do, and in anime logic, those who don't have shine on their eyes are either depressed or dead inside :(

He likes any desserts that has strawberries

Fond of kids, he'd be approached by a pre-schooler and he'd immediately become a big brother figure.

Him and Kayano have a sibling-like bond, kayano as a little sister to him and him being kayano's big brother even though he's younger by months.

Career over love

Not that sporty, He's a nerd who knows a few sports and that's that.

I remade my old hc post, the old post wasn't that old but it's still an old post.

[alexlovesfanfics]

Part 2 of changes I would have made to Heros of Olympus.

Obligatory disclaimer: I do not think I am better than Rick Riordan and what he has created is amazing but that doesn't mean we should not criticise it and it's important to be able to step back and see the issues or missed potential of a piece of writing

There would be at least 1 year gap b/w the PJO and HOO and both Percy and Annabeth would be 17, making them significantly older than most of the cast who all (with the exception of Jason for reasons I will get into) would be 13-15. This means Percy and Annabeth would be mentoring them.

Also as a benefit of the gap I would love to see Nico and Percy's relationship be slightly better though that's just because I love them

Grover would take the place of Coach Hedge and help Percy and Annabeth with mentoring the others. Also he and Nico would talk about Bianca as he was in the quest with her and her friend. Grover would help Nico with accepting that Bianca's death was mainly the fault of Talos.

Jason would still be 16 along with Reyna and Octavian. The three would have been friends pre-HOO (I have a whole trilogy planned for them that I will Inshallah write in the summer) and Octavian would start dating Jason shortly before TLH. He would also assume that Reyna would have assassinated Jason for political reasons (credit to @percabeth4life for this entire arc idea)

Jiper would become canon shortly before Mark Of Athena in the months after The Lost Hero. Octavian would be extremely upset about this and this would probably cause issues.

Percy would be called Perseus among the Romans

Percy would help Octavian search for Jason and get all the water life and Pegasi to look for Jason which would bring the 2 close and create a point of tension between Percy and Jason as Percy would be upset on Octavian's behalf that Jason went and dated Piper without even breaking up with Octavian (BC he didn't remember their relationship at first)

Percy also wouldn't sleep for months and instead wake up at the owl house (it was supposed to be wolf house but it's funny so I'm'n keeping it) at the same time as Jason showed up on the bus and he would be Praetor for several months slowly regaining his memory

Instead of just remembering Annabeth, he would also remember Grover because of the empathy link

Nico and Hazel's relationship would receive more focus. In the Cupid Scene, Hazel is there instead of Jason and Cupid instead of out right outting would instead subtly hint at him to do so. He'd talk about queer ppl in the myths and how being gay is okay and how you should accept yourself and not hide it and make Nico promise to try before giving them the staff. Hazel would ask and Nico would admit his crush on Percy. While surprised (40s kid) she would accept him unconditionally because that's her brother

Frank would be 14 and they wouldn't get together until a few years after the books

Hazel and Frank would have more focus and would have interest they still took part in like Hazel still drawing (maybe doodling in the corners of pages during meetings)

Percy and Annabeth wouldn't be as interested in moving to CJ. Like yeah Annabeth would immediately use it as a reference for New Athens but Percy hates strict rules and CHB is both Percy and Annabeth's home. It's also close to where a majority of their support system (Sally, Paul, Chiron, Annabeth's siblings, Clarisse bc you pry her friendship with them out of my cold dead hands, e.t.c). Also Annabeth is v ambitious and seems like someone who would eventually want to go to a very prestigious university. Emphasis on eventually as I think both she and Percy would take a break from school to recover from their trauma and get in a better headspace for dealing with all that

Tartarus would be far worse but while Annabeth would freak out at the Akhlys thing, she certainly would understand why Percy did it and wouldn't make him promise not to use those powers again

Piper and Annabeth would not get along at first. Annabeth enjoys girlie things and was friends with Silena so Piper insulting the Aphrodite cabin and looking down on girls for being feminine would not fly with her. While I do think this would change as Piper accepts her femininity (see previous post ABT changes I would make to HOO) I think Annabeth would be closer to Hazel and be like an older sister to her

Also Hazel would have dark hair and dark eyes like a normal black girl. No exotic bs. Same with Piper.

Frank would have dyslexia too because I am living proof that Asians can have learning disabilities too.

These are all for now. Will probably add more

[bitcell]

the crucial thing about mystery twins current storyline is that, although they’re siblings, and qbagi has been looking for qcellbit for years and years, she doesn’t know him and he doesn’t know her. time changes people, and even if it hadn’t, the person qbagi is looking for is not the person qcellbit currently is. maybe, once upon a time, cellbit was the brother who gave her mystery books, taught her how to decode ciphers, but that person is dead and the more bagi insists on finding him or trying to bring him back from the dead, the more cellbit will distance himself from her. that’s why he burned all the things that were supposedly his last night, but didn’t burn the drawing bagi made of them. he respects her feelings, but he can’t give her what she wants, he can’t be who he used to be. the truth is cellbit sees himself as a monster because of all the things he had to do during the hunger games and when he was locked in prison, those things are what made cellbit be who he is. and finally, when he came to terms with how he felt and accepted the “monster” within him, those news came and he’s back at where he was before. what if he became a monster because he was destined to be one and not because destiny forced him to be?

[thatguyfromforest]

Mammon looked around.

This is one of the few evenings when the whole family gathered in one room. Lucifer did not write his endless papers, Levi did not watch the next anime marathon, Asmo did not go to a party, Satan did not close himself in the library, Beel did not stay late for training and Belphie did not sleep (well, almost did not sleep).

The topic of conversation was changing every minute, everyone was involved and it seemed that nothing could be better. The TV was hissing softly behind him, a pleasant warmth was coming from the fireplace, causing drowsiness. Mc was here too. She sat opposite him between the twins, stroked Belphie's hair, who had fallen asleep on her lap, carefully passed packs of snacks to Beel and smiled.

Oh, whatever Mammon would do for that smile. Whatever he would do to wake up seeing that smile, fall asleep next to her and so on from day to day.

You're the love of my life.

"Didn't you recently write a diploma for the university?" Lucifer asked, and all attention turned to Mc. She smiled guiltily, as if she had done something wrong and lowered her gaze.

"Exactly! I remember what you said about it" Asmo nodded and moved closer.

"How did it go? What do you think to do with this next?" - Satan closed the book and turned to Mc, waiting for an answer. But for some reason she was silent. She was still smiling and looking at the floor. Mammon felt uncomfortable for some reason.

And most importantly, why does no one but him pay attention to this change of atmosphere? Why is she silent? What's wrong? She didn't pass? Or she's going to...

"Mc" he called. "what do you want to do next? Will you leave us? Will you leave me?"

The room went cold in an instant. He blinked and now it was just him and Mc in the room. There was no fire in the fireplace, no TV, no one nearby. Just the two of them. She still had her hand in her lap, as if Belphie was still lying there.

"This is cruel Mammon" she whispered "It's not even fair"

"What ya talkin' about?"

She looked up at him, still with the same faint smile.

Now this smile did not bring happiness to his soul.

Only cold fear.

"I've been dead for a long time Mammon. I have no future, I left it in this house. There is only the past in which I can't breathe"

Mammon blinked again and now there was no one in the room but him. He jumped to his feet and looked around. Something is missing. Something's wrong. Where did everyone go? Mc?

His trembling legs led him towards her room by themselves. The step turned into a run, and he could no longer notice that her drawings, which she gave to the brothers, were missing from the walls, her little garden was not visible from the window, and there were no cute pink slippers at the entrance.

He opened the door with such a bang that it seemed the whole Devildom heard it. Moonlight illuminated the outlines of the room, covered with a century-old layer of dust. No one has been here for years. But how so, Mc went out of here to hang out with them, he saw for himself.

This is some kind of joke. Another failed prank by Belphie and Satan over Lucifer.

Mammon went into the room, trying not to make unnecessary sounds, as if he could disturb someone. The bed is neatly made, notebooks are stacked on the table, empty flower pots are on the window. It's the same as always, except...

Neatly standing vase on the shelf. In the corner, almost invisible. Mammon didn't remember her.

The realization came only when he opened the lid and looked inside.

Ashes.

****

Mammon inhaled so hard that his chest ached. His eyes were open, but his vision was hazy, he could not even see the ceiling of the bedroom. He almost fell off the bed, but managed to roll over and immediately grabbed his throat. It was as if water had been poured into his lungs, he could not take a single breath.

It is not true. It is not true. It is not true. It is not—

He jumped out of bed and immediately collapsed on the floor. His legs refused to obey him, but Mammon forced himself to stand up. Not seeing where he was running, he just trusted his instincts. A long-learned path.

The house was quiet, as well as behind the door of her room. He opened it, not caring about the silence. He went straight to the bed and only then was able to exhale.

Mc was lying there, wrapped in a huge blanket like a caterpillar. She sniffed softly and made a funny whistling sound with her nose. His legs betrayed him, and Mammon collapsed to the floor, having managed to catch on the edge of the bed. From a thud, Mc stirred, mumbled something and removed her hair from her face.

Mammon grinned nervously and immediately put his hand over his mouth. He didn't care that he could wake her up, just another second and he wouldn't be able to restrain the hysteria that was bursting out of his throat.

"Mammon?..." came a soft whisper from the bed. Mammon shifted his gaze and felt tears flowing down his cheeks. Mc sleepily rubbed her eyes and looked puzzled at the night guest. "Mammon, what happened? Why are you crying—"

He did not let her finish, throwing all his weight on her, wrapping his arms and legs around her body. Mc let out a small squeak of surprise, but immediately quieted down when she felt Mammon's shaking.

"It's okay. I've got you. I'm here."

"Yes," he sobbed "you're here. I beg... Please, always be here... Don't ever leave me..."

****

All the next morning Mammon did not move away from Mc more than two steps, which was not surprising, but he was so quiet that all brothers thought about another curse had been put on him.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

STARFIRE (DC COMICS) (CW: Sex Trafficking)

1.) She is frequently put down in the og 80s comics due to being more expressive and open with her emotions, and ever since the og she has frequently been painted as just eyecandy (ignoring her sexual trauma) when her character is so incredibly complex. Special mention goes to red hood and the outlaws (2011) (written by a sexual harasser) for just terrible stand out awful reasons which will be seen in the below photos and her 2015 solo for combining her vapid portrayal there with her cartoon quirkiness to culminate in a trash comic that is just her basically being the born sexy yesterday trope.

2.) 2011 reboot, in RHATO she was turned into a walking fetish by retconning most parts of her character and erasing all personality displayed in the past 30 years of comics. in that iteration she is only interested in sex and is dehumanised and ‘exotic’. she ‘forgot’ all her past relationships because she doesn’t care about them only sex. her only purpose in that book is as a powerhouse and a sex/love interest for one of the male characters who view her as a trophy because she used to date someone he dislikes (in this continuity) let’s also not forget that she was first created just to be a love interest and although she did grow into a hood character at some point, she is treated horribly time and time again by writers because of conflicting ships. she’s written as a ‘vixen’ as opposed to another ‘good girl’ female character who is shipped with the same guy in canon

3.) Her original characterization was fairly decent, however it still had her stuck in relationships with men that weren't very good for her and had overtones of racism with how she was written. Post that her characterization was slowly chipped away at, some writers with harder sledgehammers than others, culminating in current writing where she's dismissed as "just a fling" to her original counterpart (Dick Grayson) to prop up a different ship (Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon) and frequently has been used as eye candy in other comics. Simply open the first comic of Red Hood and the Outlaws, which obliterated her personality to make her associate/be subservient to the Red Hood, and you'll find plenty of panels of her appearing simply for eye candy in the boobs and butt pose for absolutely no reason. This is not the only time she's been used to cater to the male gaze (I'd argue even in her original context that was part of her appeal) but in this comic she essentially has no personality beyond "i want sex" as her memory of all past events has been erased. She's essentially just a tool for her male counterparts in the comic to bounce off of, and eye candy to bring more male readers in. She does eventually get more storylines later on, but that doesn't excuse the bad writing she was put through. Her own solo series also cashes in on her sex appeal, by infantilizing at the same time as drawing her in skimpy outfits + more boobs and butt poses galore to go for the "born sexy yesterday" misogynistic trope.

NYA SMITHA (LEGO NINJAGO)

1.) it would take way too long to talk abt all of it but like… in the series colors are very important for characters and everyone has their own color but from episode one for the next 8 seasons her colors were specifically tied to her brother.. and then when she finally got her own ninja outfit she wasnt given her own color the colors were specifically red for her brother and blue for her boyfriend. shes constantly diminished to just the men who are closest to her. also every time she meets someone they Must become a love interest (including the man who was significantly older than her and trained her to use her powers. and also she was kidnapped and forced to marry a thousand year old djinn (when she was like SIXTEEN) because she looked a little bit like his dead wife. weird as hell.)

2.) she was given NOWHERE NEAR as much development as the guys (except for the bullshit love triangle!!!) despite being at the time leagues more competent than her brother in their debut, was damsel’d so he had to Save The Girl. again, the Bullshit Love Triangle. even after she got her own “thing” she was just boiled down to “oh look it’s the girlboss!! she’s just as good as the guys!!” while still getting sidelined. as time went on and flanderization increased she pretty much just became The Team Girl, and she was ALREADY The Team Girl!!! they left her behind with the fuckin grandpa!!!

3.) Left behind to take care of the kid simply because “she’s the girl” for the first season and a half, is fairly blatantly excluded from the team, is believed to be unable to protect herself or others by antagonists throughout the series, and repeatedly dehumanized and referred to exclusively as “girl.” When the ninja are public figures in season 6 she is shown dealing with misogyny from the press in several ways, and in her focus season (Seabound) she speaks out against how she’s been treated as an object rather than a person. All around a girlboss who deserves better

[dyaly21]

Long-winded thoughts no one asked me for about Red, White, and Royal Blue (movie)

First things first, would I have preferred it was a series? Absolutely. More time available, more characters allowed maybe, which could've run possibly closer to book. Do we know if that was ever an option though? I haven't seen or heard anything to indicate this had anything other than a movie available to be made. That being said, I really enjoyed the movie and can separate the book and movie without finding issue with anything not included. I mean, my favorite book is World War Z and if you want a movie that is absolutely nothing like the book...yeah.

I can't explain it but Henry's dog is absolutely a 'David'. He doesn't look like a Bowie at all. I don't know why but his name inexplicably fits.

Okay moving on. I like that the characters are older. They've lived a little more life and are settling in to who they are by the time their worlds' are shaken up. They're (still young but) no longer younger men who's brains aren't yet fully formed. Forever feels big when you're young but it's almost like it holds more consequences as you get older. Which - and I might be flamed for this - made the absence of Luna easier. At 22 Alex still had people he was looking up to, hoping to follow in the footsteps of. 27/28 year old Alex is creating his own path, being his own role model to follow. He knows he wants to be someone his dad didn't see growing up. He knows the weight that carries.

Henry is reserved and poised, except when it comes to Bea and Alex. His sister is understandable; she's his closest ally in a world he isn't comfortable living in. But Alex is the only one to get under his skin and make him less poised. Arguing with Alex should be beneath him, particularly on his brother's wedding day, but there's something about that antagonism that draws him in - crush notwithstanding. Maybe it's the thrill of talking to his crush regardless of words said, or maybe it's the freedom he feels in being less than proper around Alex because Alex doesn't white glove treat him in any situation.

The Waterloo closet. Henry was forced into the public eye - I do like how movie changed some lines here and made the death more recent for that interaction. It makes Henry look more sympathetic than the book (to me). And it allows Alex the chance to find some emotional even footing with Henry. He wasn't a douche cause he's a douche. He was a douche because he was grieving and wasn't allowed to navigate it properly. They were both struggling that night and neither knew it. The closet ironically let the air clear.

Henry hating New Years and basically (in a way) repeating Alex's death phrase. They think so similarly they both decided if I'm dead I can't be forced to do something lol. But Henry still goes and still has a good time until he's confronted with why he hates it. Seeing someone you like surrounded by others, engaged with others, when you can't be your true self with them must've been a gut punch. Nicholas Galitzine has the best facial expressions. And I love the way Taylor played the happy vibe until he noticed Henry not happy any longer.

I don't think the girl draping herself all over Alex during the party had slept with him yet. I think she was hoping to but he was not interested, no matter how hard she tried to get him to be. She felt too "look at me" and not "remember when we" to feel like they were past bed buddies.

The tree scene I like better movie wise. Alex staying back, letting Henry have his space to think and be but still engaging. He felt a little like a smartass in the book but here he explains he was who Henry describes, anonymous until he wasn't, but he seems to understand Henry wants to talk so he asks Henry who he'd be. There's a hint of a smile on Alex's face when Henry describes writing and Paris, like he appreciates Henry's hopes. Taylor plays this scene so softly (if still a little sloshed). It's only when Henry mentions dating that the banter part of Alex's brain turns back on and he isn't wrong; it isn't hard for a prince to get a date. But that doesn't mean they're dating who they want, no matter who they like.

I could gush about the kiss but that'd be paragraphs. So I'll just say I've seen some question why Alex doesn't give chase when Henry apologizes and walks away. 1st I think he's stunned. Maybe his brain hasn't figured out how to tell his legs to follow. It was a good kiss, he's shocked. 2nd, I think maybe the sober part knows if he did follow it would not be beneficial. Henry might run, be spooked off, and...vanish (sigh).

Side note: anyone else notice the steam coming off Alex (Taylor) after Henry walked away? Lol boy was feeling warm and I doubt it was the alcohol.

Real quick, the texts/calls. I love them playing out on screen and the progression from words only to them being spoken. It shows growing comfort until the bed scene where they feel together, if separated by an ocean. Also, OUCH to Henry reading the messages and not responding.

I liked how though Alex admits to interactions with other guys to Nora he doesn't label himself. He isn't 'out' to her. Sure she can deduce but he doesn't say it outright. His whole purpose isn't whether he's bi but why Henry lol. No there's no Liam but he is there in the peripheral of an experience Alex had in high school. And his time drunk in the hot tub with Miguel is just another experience. Alex it seems has never questioned why he's attracted to who he's attracted to until it became Henry because that doesn't compute.

I do believe Alex reciprocated at least something in his bedroom after the PM's dinner. When the Washington Monument (no pun intended) pops up, the moon travels across the sky to indicate significant time passing and once we rejoined A&H, Alex was shoeless and adjusting his belt so they had to have done more than just a bj from Henry. I seriously doubt they could have controlled themselves if Alex was undressed all that time or had changed into something else. But I think Henry looks so put together because he's in Alex's room, in the White House as a guest, and he has to leave the room risking potentially being seen, so he can't look rumpled or ravaged if he is. He has to look like he's proper and dignified and sexed out would not do.

Real quick on Miguel: I don't think he was ever jealous, not completely at least. I think he was calculating and opportunistic. Initially hooking up with the son of a presidential candidate is a big deal, get them drunk and maybe they'll talk/give you a scoop. It also shows he's ethically ambiguous. It presents a conflict of interest to hook up with a candidate's son and then continue to cover that candidate/elected person. Ethically, what is his bias like, you know? Did he cover the Claremont administration first term fairly or did he skew things just in case he ran into Alex again? Sure he probably enjoyed himself and hoped for a repeat but I think he let ambition run over common sense and decency. He sees something (A&H meeting at the bar entrance), and it's after he's just been harshly (to him) rejected by Alex so he probably let that sting of rejection propel his opportunistic side and now he gets a big scoop. It will propel his career and the carnage left in the wake of that is secondary. As a queer man I'm sure he weighed the outing and decided his advancement was worth more than the harm he was bringing about. Especially since he never should have continued covering the president or her family. I'd like to think he was fired but... I also doubt he did everything on his own. He has connections, he used them, cut a deal with foreign press and got his notoriety. No matter its cost. And also the irony of the actual publication the fictional Miguel works for lambasting the movie because they got in their rejection feels makes me laugh a little. Journalists who you think have integrity can disappoint you. Horribly. That's just as realistic as what happens in the book. Their review felt more like why'd you pick on me than what the actual movie was intended to be viewed as. Just my opinion though.

A quick sidebar on TZP: Nick was amazing. He had a meaty (get out of the gutter) role to play with a vast array of heavy emotions displayed. Alex, however is the more laid back, possibly happier character because he has a good support system at home, even if I felt (movie wise) he was isolated in his own way, with no real relationships outside those working around him. He causes chaos but he isn't cruel about it, he's just occasionally dumb lol. He drives Zahra crazy but she genuinely cares for him. I think Amy would be interested in seeing Alex tased (all in good fun) but he's like her baby brother and she will destroy you if you hurt him. But TZP feels so Alex coded, and he does funny really well which isn't easy for everyone. After learning of the part and before he auditioned Taylor made sure to read the book to grasp the character, even, as he says, crying over it. He annotated his script, essentially making lists to keep track of feelings and emotions needed to convey Alex's growth and journey since they film out of order. His script was his bible so he got his character just right. Nick gets a lot of (justified) credit for his performance but I really feel like Taylor put in so much effort to do Alex justice and deserves his flowers for that.

It's so interesting to watch the way both men change. Henry is reserved and "grey" in appearance and mood. I look at the character and he's a muted blue to me (out of curiosity, I wondered how much of "Mad King" George was passed into Henry's lineage seeing as book Henry sees a therapist/takes meds and movie Henry is very often on the downward). But when Alex enters his life other colors full of vibrancy do too. The muted shades lighten and he grows stronger, more confident. He learns he doesn't have to be confined to propriety and status quo keeping him caged. Alex on the other hand is buoyant red and orange, he's a bit of a chaos gremlin, like he has so much energy and passion he needs to share but with limited outlets (like, just please look at his memo). Henry gives him an outlet, both passionately and as a safe space to express his hopes. He also soothes the chaos Alex carries. Once their relationship gets going, Alex feels softer, quieter. Like he settled into his skin finally, having it fit the way it was always meant to but didn't have the right measurements yet. He's still passionate, he still has a raging fire burning within but it's like everything clicked into place and he finally understands how to wield it. Alex helped Henry finally believe he was brave all along, and Henry helped show Alex he was capable, especially when he kept being held back.

I'm so curious what's going through Henry's mind when Alex tells Zahra they've been seeing each other since New Years. Because it was an impulsive act in the middle of him feeling down on Henry's part but to Alex that's when their relationship started. It didn't even matter he was ghosted. New Years was the beginning to Alex and I'd love to know what Henry's thoughts are on that because of the way he looks at Alex in that scene is one of potential curiosity or maybe even disbelief.

I'll admit I like Uma's Ellen better than the book version. She's involved and attentive to her son's life and unlike in the book, it doesn't feel like she has to set time to be motherly. The scene where she questions Alex about Miguel leaking his Texas strategy, when she tells Alex he's no longer allowed to speak to the press Alex is genuinely hurt. It's all over his face, his mom losing trust in him over this. It's not something that's happened before or often. He's chaos but even after the cake incident, he wasn't perceived as a risk until this moment and it hurts him his mom feels that way. But Alex isn't one to hold a grudge and he still wants his mom to succeed, whether he helps with that or not. And his coming out to her, she's holding him after they've eaten and are talking. In the book, yes there's the funny power point but it's in a conference room setting and more clinical. Taylor is a tactile person, Alex is now too, and the character being held by his mom while they discuss his life is endearing.

The almost "I love you" made me think to how desperately Henry wants to hear it but at the same time it's a swift wake up that the carefully crafted fun time they're supposed to be having isn't actually just for fun. Casual is a word they heard but never learned the definition of. With Alex's bedroom and the "can't have you fall in love with me" bit, Henry didn't see the quick flash of disappointment in Alex's face at being told this had to be casual. He only heard and noticed Alex agreeing with him. Henry liked Alex a long time but it was probably his safest crush because he only saw the superficial version of Alex that was portrayed by people who didn't know him. The playboy, the guy who didn't take life too seriously and who jokes around. Of course that guy wouldn't fall for Henry, it's just a good time. But Alex feels deeply. He's exposed this constantly, but most fiercely when discussing why he wants to be involved in politics. Henry just made himself turn a blind eye so he didn't let his attachment to Alex break him when that played up version of Alex inevitably got bored and moved on. So the almost I love you shatters Henry because it wasn't supposed to happen. The lies he fed himself were exposed and he had to run.

I do think the emotions Alex let free within him amped up his idealism. And probably nerves did too. So once he started talking whatever was in his head slipped out because he knew walking through Austin holding hands was not realistic but his heart yearned for it so his mouth said it. I did wonder what Alex was thinking after Henry swims away. I imagine he believed that maybe while he was there emotionally, Henry wasn't and jumped because he got spooked worried about not feeling love yet. He probably figured Henry needed space and then they'd talk it out because that's what they do but instead Henry ghosted. He admits to Henry he knew he wouldn't hear I love you back but he still wanted to be honest about his own feelings.

The fireside confrontation: Alex storming the castle is a metaphor. Henry's the castle. Honestly, Alex doesn't storm anything in the book either, he just causes enough of a nuisance they let him in to not cause or create a scene. In the movie I imagine it's the same; Henry's told Alex insists on being let in. He was probably outside close to a scene and was let in to avoid that. I think he was fire and determination until he was let in and was left standing alone waiting for Henry because for all his bluster, he's terrified of losing Henry completely. He loves him, his heart is on the line here. It was only after Henry told him he could say his piece and then leave did that fire return.

And Henry isn't wrong but he also isn't right. He did tell Alex who he is and what is and isn't acceptable. Prince Henry belongs to Britain. Protocol. Problem though is he was only ever Henry Fox with Alex. He was his true self and so Alex saw exactly who Henry is. He knows exactly who Henry is. I think Henry accusing Alex of not knowing him was a little bit of projection because after so much time spent with Alex he was struggling to keep up the act and maintain keeping the parts of himself separated. Because Henry let himself be reckless when he knew a prince wasn't supposed to be. But also Henry's wrong about it costing Alex nothing. I'm sure Alex weighed his future if he pursued Henry. Not only does it hold risk to his mom's reelection, he has goals for himself, promises he made to himself that affect the rest of his life, and a relationship with Henry could put that in jeopardy. It has the potential to completely throw off his entire life but his feelings for Henry were weighed to be with that risk.

Also just thinking about it, Henry longs for anonymity. It's the first real thing he discusses with Alex, it's something they discuss after they make love the first time, it's a big deal to Henry. And I do think in some ways he's a little upset at Alex for not necessarily wanting that life. But I think one thing he doesn't think about is if Alex was anonymous, if his mom never ran for president, Henry would've miss out on meeting the love of his life. If Henry was anonymous, same thing. How would their paths have crossed? Maybe fate or some kind of magic, but that doesn't always happen. They had to be who they are to find each other.

I also just really loved the way Alex spoke to Henry through the confrontation. It was romanticism and all those books Henry loves but in real life. It shows Alex was paying attention to who Henry is and what he likes/appreciates. I also feel like Alex weighed their separate futures and saw how he could try to move on with someone else but it would never amount to what he had with Henry. There would always be a void there. And Henry, if he met and married would be forever miserable, locked in a lie just to appease an institution that cares more about propriety than the person. It'd undoubtedly hurt Alex the rest of his life. "Nothing would ever happen to you." Just think how even if Alex didn't pursue a public life he'd still occasionally be talked about. So if he did meet someone and marry them, it'd be publicized, in black and white for Henry to break apart over. And the same for Alex, only knowing it was all a facade to keep up appearances. God, that thought actually hurts to think about.

Heading to the V&A it was interesting to watch the distance between them. Alex hangs back, he steps purposely out of the way when walking through the gate to not touch Henry, and he sniffs a little once on the other side. I wonder if he wondered would Henry get him out there to shut him out. Alex doesn't know what they're doing and he's going on blind faith this won't break his heart any further. It's only just before their dance their steps become in sync again, a reconnect of what was nearly broken. And Alex had Henry step to him, having Henry make the choice to equalize them again because this was the only time they didn't walk side by side. And that fake was amazing. It was nearly as intimate as them making love, only this was full of fear and hope and uncertainty and want all wrapped up into the heavy but chosen burden of history.

I am so glad Alex gives Henry his key. And that Alex wears the ring. It feels so much more meaningful to have them both give a "part of themselves" to the other while they have to be apart. Especially after their peace is violated. They need that anchor to the other, most especially once radio silence commenced. And then the way Henry held it together but slowly started to break as he walked away...ugh heartbreaking. But I just know Alex knew he was struggling because he stopped to watch Henry leave, no doubt to make sure he was able to. Henry can't watch Alex leave but Alex has to watch Henry leave because he needs to make sure he's okay.

"Just hold on until I get there." and "I'll break the sound barrier for you." Alex will let Henry fall apart if he needs to and he will hold him up and be strength for both of them until Henry gains his strength back. And it feels so much like Alex will fight whatever even thinks of hurting Henry. He doesn't think twice, Henry needs him, distance and everything else between him and the man he loves can screw off.

I was thinking about how Alex addresses the press, admits to a relationship with Henry, confirms the rumors, yet the King decided to say it was all lies. I believe he intentionally mentions the misinformation campaign as his way of letting Henry (and Alex) know it doesn't matter what was confirmed during the White House press conference; the crown is going to sweep it under the rug and pretend it didn't happen. They're going to pretend it's false even if it has the potential to disrupt relations between the US and UK. Isolating and hiding away Henry was step one in that plan. The king says this in front of Alex, basically daring Henry to go against everything he was brought up to behave like, because of course he'll agree to the denial and having him do it in front of Alex let's Alex (and Henry) know the power of the crown isn't to be trifled with. It's why when asked, Alex looks at Henry, face serious, wondering how Henry'll respond. I've no doubt when the King dressed Alex down and Henry released his hand, Alex thought he might've lost Henry for the briefest of moments until Henry asked why. The problem though is this is the age of instant media, and if citizens of a nation see one side confirm, openly, honestly, but see the other side made to be hidden, they're gong to react. In this case they understood what wasn't being said by the crown and decided to show support for Henry (and Alex by association). The carefully constructed image backfired because the people wanted their prince happy and in love. Not locked away and forgotten until he projects what his position demanded.

And I was also thinking how neither Henry or Alex could contact each other. Radio silence and no way to make sure the other (especially Henry) is okay. What can Alex do if he can't actually reach out? He can make a speech. He can confirm to the world - but speak to Henry specifically ("I hope Henry was watching." he tells Zahra) - that he's resolute. That he isn't ashamed and no one else in their similar positions should be either, because privacy violation doesn't diminish love. Henry did see. It helped. But Alex's presence healed.

Other tidbits: For as chaotic as he can be, Alex being very organized makes so much sense. He probably understands his mind is a mess and he struggles to be stagnant for too long so he makes sure his physical surroundings and his work is orderly. I like how though Alex is a touch driven person, he let's Henry lead in touching him. (Did anyone else notice how it looks like Nick hit a sensitive spot around Taylor's shoulder/chest in the Paris scene before they fall into bed? Lol!) Henry is closeted and though Alex hasn't come out he isn't afraid of being himself. So he doesn't want to take from Henry, instead allowing Henry to take, thus he can touch freely while Alex holds back until Henry is comfortable. Casual relationships don't get discussed with sisters. I wonder if Bea was thinking that while Henry talked about Alex lol. Alex's instant "no" to Zahra: man feels zero hesitation. The way Zahra calls Alex kid: you know he's the baby brother she never asked for and questions why the stork won't take him back lol! The way Oscar and Alex talk about Henry; first at the WH where Oscar asks Alex's problem with Henry, and then when Alex asks if Oscar likes Henry. I just know Alex was thinking back to that conversation hoping his dad still thinks of Henry as a good person. The little kisses Henry gives to Alex... lovely. There are so many little moments that I'm curious if it's just decisions by T&N to do or if any bits were scripted. I'd love commentary and deleted scenes and extras etc.

Honestly, Taylor and Nick were stupendous in this movie. They made me believe they love each other romantically, that they're soulmates. I love that they're such good friends, but it feels like their bond transcends that. Taylor's crying causes Nick to cry, that kind of emotional connection is so exquisite to witness. Though in their humor I probably adore them more. It's like they share a brain cell and the lithe guy is fighting for its life haha! I need to see them -definitely in a sequel- do more things together. Buddy comedy, drama, whatever, just let them do their thing. I hope the studios get their acts together soon because these guys (whole cast&crew) deserved to promote this movie and feel up close love and adoration for it.

If you read all that, you're a champ.

[aemondsbeloved]

You’re Not Like The Regulars [Part 2]

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x reader

summary: on the night his father’s health fails him, Aegon prepares the leave with the woman from the street of silk he has fallen in love with. as he leaves the Red Keep he runs into the last person he wants to see and he will not be soon to see them again. He can almost forget him as the years passed and a life with children was made with you, until someone arrives on your doorstep ten years later (5.3k)

warnings/notes: no major warnings, king!Aemond, greens win au where aegon gets on that ship, read part one here!

That night when he went to the castle to bring precious belongings and some finery he could trade for coin for his new life, Aegon had seen Aemond.

“It is unlike you to be in the castle this late brother,” Aemond said casually from the wall he leaned against as he lurked in the darkness.

Aegon was frozen in the moment, the bag heavy with belongings he would sell. Turning around he looked at his younger brother wearily.

“Going somewhere?” Aemond asked, eyes looking to the bag then back to Aegon.

The silence was thick but Aegon had enough sense to know he could not outrun Aemond should he choose to keep him here.

“Nothing to say?” Aemond asked, amused. “That is a first.”

The truth seemed the right thing for once. Aemond knew it already.

“I am leaving on a ship to Essos.”

Aemond appraised him in silence. “Why would you do that?”

“Father will be dead soon,” Aegon told him bluntly. “Any day now I’d say. Do you really think I want to be King? Do you think I should be King?”

His brother hummed, an answer in itself. “You never did care about your duty.”

Aegon briefly thought of his love who was packing to leave and wondered if his brother would stop him. He wondered what he might say to convince him to let him go.

“You know I would be a terrible king,” he sought his brother’s eye that connected with his. The brothers who had more contempt for each other as the years had passed considered each other in silence. “But you would not.”

Aegon did not know much and had been doubted by his family for his entire life for reasons that he had caused. But he knew what Aemond wanted, what Aegon had been given but never wished for.

“You know it should be you who will get our father’s throne. So take it.”

Aegon knew that Aemond was considering it but when had Aemond ever taken something easily?

“Why do you want to leave?” Aemond posed a different question than he had before.

For another time that night, the truth seemed to be the only solution.

“There’s a woman that I love,” he admitted. “I desire her beyond lust. She is meant to be mine and already has my heart. I am going to leave with her, Aemond.”

“You fell in love with a woman from the street of silk?”

Only his brother would not say the word whore. Aegon nodded.

“I have never known you to lay with a woman so dearly.”

Aemond’s words were menacing. “It is not like that,” Aegon told him tersely. Suddenly he sounded like Aemond and he hated it. So dignified, so stiff, everything he had never been. “She has made a man out of me and does not even realize it.”

And he wasn’t talking about the fact that they had laid together so many times. Aemond did not know sometimes he would just lay in bed with her as she stroked his hair, tangled limbs without seeking pleasure. Her company had always been grounding and enough for him.

“Let me leave Aemond and you will see the back of me, never to be found again. I swear it.”

The younger considered the elder, biting the inside of his cheek with thought. “Come with me,” he said, not waiting before turning on his heel and going to his chambers.

Aegon followed him without thinking about it.

He felt awkward in Aemond's rooms that were just as grand as his were, though undoubtedly cleaner. Books neatly stacked on a shelf and a sword hanging besides his bed. Typical, Aegon thought.

This could be a king’s room.

Aemond was purposeful as he went to one of his draws taking out some objects. Some jewels, fine silvers and golds, before striding over to Aegon.

He tugged the bag from Aegon’s hands, opening it and without saying a word, looked into it. Humming, he sounded pleased as he unceremoniously dumped the finery in his hands into the bag before closing it again.

“That will be enough for a modest home and to start a new life in the free cities, brother.”

Aegon stared at his brother. He had expected to fight him, tear at him even if it meant he would lose whatever battle would occur between them, but never had he expected generosity.

“Leave through the hidden passage, I trust you are well acquainted with it,” Aemond instructed. “Many of the guards are outside father’s rooms on the other side of the castle after his poor health tonight. You should leave soon, dawn will be here in a few hours.”

Aegon nodded. He had the urge to do something for his brother he never had before.

“Thank you, brother.”

It was not the first time he should have thanked him. Better late than never, he supposed.

A nod from Aemond was the only acknowledgement. He would take it.

Turning to leave he moved to look at his younger brother and tilted his head down, out of respect. It was akin to a bow to a king.

“Be a better king than I would have been, Aemond. Be better than our father.”

One last look between brothers was all they had before Aegon left. For the first time he found himself missing his brother.

That late night he had found himself at the docks of King’s Landing with you in common clothes to not draw suspicion. His hair had been shaved and no one could see his Targaryen hair thank the Gods. He was glad to be rid of it.

When you got to Essos he could grow it back. No one would care about a Targaryen in Essos as he knew another was there already. He was thankful for your hand in his the entire voyage. It was the one thing that grounded him.

He thought of the small home you could fill with children, the wedding in front of a Septon pledging yourself to each other, the endless possibilities of happiness.

“Are you frightened?” you asked him on the ship. With his shaved head and common clothes, he blended into everyone else on this ship. Your hands were holding his arms as you stood on the deck, watching Westeros disappear into the night.

The land finally disappeared from his view and all left of his old life, his family and duty disappeared too. “No,” he told you in a whisper. He looks at you for the first time in what feels like nights but might have been only some minutes. Again, he thinks of the future, the humble home, the freedom, the family he wanted. “I want to make you my wife on this ship,” he says without thinking.

You smile. “With who for our witness, my love?” you tease, though you want it too. “And where is the Septon to hold the cloth over our arms while we make our solemn vowels?”

He faces you now, turning away from the sea. “We have no need for a Septon, only one another,” he says and even now he looks desperate. You wonder if it will ever leave him, the desperation to know what he wants will never leave him. But then he is ripping off a piece of his cloak, holding his arm and waiting for you to do the same. You do.

He begins to wrap your joined hands in the woolen cloth. You look up at him and somehow understand what he will say.

Father

Smith.

Warrior.

Mother.

Maiden.

Crone.

Stranger.

The cloth is around your arms and as a light shower, a drizzle really, falls down on your cheeks, but when he leans down and kisses you, the feeling of raindrops kissing your skin do not faze you. The droplets fall past his hair that has been cut so short it seems to skid right past what is left of his silver hair.

None around you on the deck seem to notice the solemn vows you had just made. Any that do glance would only see a young man and woman embracing and foolishly being outside in the rain when they ought to be asleep. “Let us rest,” you whisper to him, tugging his hand to go with you under the deck where your meager bunk is.

The piece of cloth falls from your hands. Aegon puts it in his pocket, refusing to let it disappear from his possession.

                                                         * * * * * *

The home you found was a modest one. Small enough to be humble but with enough rooms for the children he had spoken of with you. After the first night spent in a modest inn, Aegon had left you only to return with an iron key. In your hands, he pressed the key of the home you would live in while you sat on the bed. Sitting on his knees before you, he whispered, “Marry me.” Not a question, not a demand, but you smiled before agreeing anyways, taking his head in your hands for a kiss.

“We said our vowels already,” you remind him after a kiss.

“The Gods know you are mine,” he tells you, “but I want men to recognize this too.”

You can hardly protest.

Everything compared to the Red Keep and luxury he grew up in appeared humble, but everything compared to the filth of Flea Bottom was something to be marveled at to your eyes. Both your pair of eyes who had seen to much, cruelty in both squander and luxury, made you see Volantis for what it might give you.

Soon, Volantis would recognize you as man and wife. You were commoners now and there was no grand ceremony, only an room and coins in the hand of a priestess.

Somehow, many things fell into your lap easily and Aegon had met the right people at pubs, falling into friendships with merchants and owners of bars. Being a wine merchant suited him while you redirected your efforts to lesser children. With a golden band on your finger that matched his and a stomach not yet growing with a child, life had gone on easily enough for you both. Aegon had his wine merchant business where he distributed fine wines between bar owners and wine makers. Before long he was climbing up the Essossi hierarchy, but even as his social standing grew in Volantis this was nothing the dynasty he had been born into. Then again with the wealth he brought in from being a merchant of the finest wines, he supposed he had a kingdom of his own.

Before long you were not only helping orphanages and running some of them, but had children of your own. Your modest home grew and Aegon had never realized that the home would fill up so quickly and with so many children in it, two daughters and a son. It was a home full of fine things and love, something neither of you had truly had before.

Your children did not have Targaryen names, because that would be too dangerous even in the safety of the Free Cities. Alia had been first and there had not been a babe that every cried so loudly and was as fierce. Daria had been after, coming before her twin brother Dario. They were all alike in coloring having your hair so different than Aegon’s silver tresses.

His has remained cut short, not just for the safety of not looking quite like a Targaryen but for the hot and dry weather Volantis boasted. Selfishly you were pleased they had his eyes. Purple eyes were not so strange in Volantis and they could not endanger themselves.

For many years yet they would not know that they could be dragonriders, but you and Aegon decided to protect them. In Westeros they would be bastards, nothing more than the children a Targaryen Prince had whelped off of a girl who worked in the Street of Silk. But in Volantis they had a mother and father who loved them and that was all. Dragons were the last thing on their minds.

Some days Aegon still lingered in the past as much as he would not want to ever return there. But many years ago when your Daria and Dario were babes in the cradle, the news had come: the war in Westeros had ended. Prince Daemon had died by Prince Aemond’s hand, Rhaenyra left imprisoned and eventually died in her cell. With Rhaenyra’s eldest sons dead and Aegon presumed dead, Aemond had been crowned in the Sept. Her younger sons were being raised in the Red Keep and King Aemond had made Aegon the younger his heir until he had children of his own, if the rumors were true. Prince Viserys would be his cupbearer. You would be lying if you rarely listened to these rumors, but it was only for Aegon’s sake as you knew he more eagerly listened for anything of his family.

Many years after your journey to Volantis, ten exactly, your routine and family had been set in stone. The balcony in your home at the back of the property was well used by Aegon who would sometimes look at the city and sea with a strange sense of melancholy.

“Do you miss him?” you asked him from where you both stood on the balcony overlooking the busy streets of Volantis and the water down below.

His fingers gripped yours as your hand came to rest at his side. Aegon brought your intertwined fingers to rest on his chest. “On occasion,” he admits with a trace of amusement. “He has been a good king, I have heard. Fair and strong, the words I hear, strange. Kinslayer he is called and fair in the same breath. And I will never see him again. I am uncertain if I would want to.”

“He knows you did your best,” you had whispered to him, a soft smile in his direction. “Now he has done his best as we all must.”

Still, Aegon looked across the city and the water, never looking at you and gripping your fingers all the same. “Come to bed, my love,” you urge. He complies, following you to your bedroom, his hand never leaving yours.

For the past years the news came in trickles: the war and the result of Aemond on the throne, Aemond’s marriage to a Baratheon lady, Rhaenyra’s youngest sons brought into the Red Keep not as prisoners but as the King’s heir and cupbearer, Dorne being brought into the seven kingdoms (though reasons are unknown), the children by Aemond’s lady wife, and many minor things that mean little to anyone who was not the elder brother of a king.

Aegon would have a slight melancholic expression on days where such news spread throughout the town, but your daughters and son never noted such news. All that mattered to them was what went on in the school they learned at, what they and their friends loved best at the moment, the newest treat Aegon had a habit of picking up from bakeries during the week, and so on. Theirs was a simple, joyful existence and Westeros was a world away.

Until today, it seemed. Aegon had gotten back from work of the day, but he had been tired as of late. A new shipment and another contract with an owner of several fine restaurants had him rising early this week and retiring late. So as the sun begun to set he had retreated somewhere within your home, perhaps attending to the twins while Alia was by your side as you prepared dinner.

You were cutting vegetables as she placed ingredients on the table, standing on her step stool, when a careful knock was heard against the door. “Cut these, why don’t you, my darling?” you ask her, smiling down and giving her braided hair an affection rub. She is eagerly cutting the carrots when you go to the door.

Evening visitors were not uncommon. On occasion, friends of Aegon through his business had come and over time your home been known to always have a plate for any friend of the family. Aegon’s oldest, most boisterous friend from Volantis rarely knocked and yet you could never begrudge him too much.

This is no friend on the other side of the door, you realize, but two strangers. An older man in a dark brown cape and hat with the darkest eyes and a tanned complexion is at the front, while another in a darker cape has his head bowed down, so you cannot see him at all. Feeling troubled, you look back inside and are relieved to see Alia still happily cutting carrots. “Gentlemen,” you address them wearily. “Is there something I can do for you?”

You expect the first man to answer you right away but he turns his head to the tall man behind him who nods. It is only then he addresses you. “This is a delicate matter, lady,” he says hesitantly, thinking over his next words. “Might we come inside? We are looking for someone.”

You stiffen. No one calls you lady, first of all, and you were not set upon letting strange men into your home unless you knew them. “I think not,” you tell him stiffly, holding the edge of the door. “Volantis is a large place, gentlemen. I doubt I would be any help.”

Your words hold a finality that has the first man glancing at the other again worriedly, opening his mouth to refute this. But you can hardly refuse as hands are tugging your skirts from besides you.

Alia has peeked out from behind the door. Oblivious to the tension, she smiles up at you. “Mama, I cut up the carrots. Are we going to cook? Should I get papa?”

Trying not to grimace at her intrusion, you lean down to whisper urgently, “Go to your father now.”

She crunched up her face. “But you said I could cook with you!” she protests, not letting you answer before she notices the two men. “Who are they? Are they eating with us?”

“No,” you begin to say firmly but like her father, you are no match for her persuasion.

“Why not?” she looks up at you before glancing at them. To you, she poorly conceals a whisper, “What wines have they bought? Father says the people he sells to dress finely, not like that.”  

“Your father,” you remind her, brows raised as you fight to not looked peeved. “Go to him if you want to cook.”

Huffing, she turns away dramatically and stomps away to where Aegon will be, oblivious to everything you are in the midst of trying to discover. In your focus of Alia you had not noticed the tall man look up at last and were caught off guard yet again when you saw the eyepatch and what’s more, the peaking of silver hair from his hood.

As the air changes around you, the expression the first man wears changes too. The man with the eyepatch does not look at you, staring at the space where your daughter once was. He seems to be putting together a puzzle as he finally looks at you.

“Who are you?” you ask him directly, but he does not move a muscle. You hum in distaste before looking at the man with the tanned complexion. With a hand on your hip, you regard him coolly. “If he tells me his name, I will let you both into my home. If he says the name I’m thinking of then you could both have dinner at my table.”

“Lady, we came not to answer riddles,” the man says with a terse tone, but is not unkind. He moves to say something else, but the man with the eyepatch speaks first.

“I am Aemond,” he says so softly, you might not have heard it if he was not he you thought.

“Our children know nothing of their father’s birthright and their parent’s pasts,” you tell him quietly. “Best to keep it that way. Come in, I will begin making dinner. He will be on the balcony.”

Both men were silent as they walked in, the first one nodding in thanks and the one you know to be Prince Aemond, or rather King Aemond, followed behind silently.

Aemond walked in slowly as he took in your quarters. It was an organized clutter, warm and inviting, all proof of a loving family that resides here. He seemed curious more than anything else as he looked around at the cups of paint that had been living on the end of the long wooden table besides the kitchen. Aegon had gifted those to Daria for her sixth name day four moons ago and she had not stopped using them at the table since.

“I will stay with the lady while you go to him,” the other man said kindly, but with sterness, almost that of a father.

Aemond said nothing but hummed, perhaps in affirmation as he took off his hood, carefully placing the cape across a chair. He moved through the room quickly, walking out of your line of sight where Aegon would be on the balcony, most likely with Alia.

“Need not call me lady, ser,” you assumed his title with your gentle manner of speaking whilst cutting the meat into pieces for the stew. “Such niceties belong in Westeros.”

“You know I am a knight?” he asks, turning to you.

“Who else would accompany a King?” you simply ask him, placing the meat in a bowl above the stove. Reaching for the seasonings to be added to the stove, you turn from him. “I lived in King’s Landing all my life, albeit a different part of the world as Aegon. Knights are common things, Kingsguard fewer.”

He says nothing but his posture begins to relax. “Ser Criston Cole, my lady,” he says at last.

“Not a lady,” you remind him, a rueful smile peaking at your lips. Sprinkling the seasons in, followed by the addition of vegetables, you let your stew simmer. “Why have you traveled with the King to Volantis?”

The second question you gaze asks is what are you going to do to us?

You had heard tales of King Aemond, the brother of your husband before you left Westeros. Dutiful, envious Aemond, Aegon likened him as he often spoke of his distaste of his brother and how it was reciprocated well. Overtime, especially once you were in Essos the insults seemed to stop. Despite the brutality you had heard of over the war you both lef tbehind, this same Aemond had let him disappear, depositing many riches in his bag before letting Aegon leave. This Aemond had also killed their uncle to secure the throne against the elder half-sister that he had imprisoned. It was difficult to hate him.

Still, how does someone trust a person like this? You daughters and son were his nieces and nephew, but maybe he wanted to make sure his elder brother’s whore and offspring could not challenge him. It was an ugly question to ask yourself and here you are, thinking it all the same.

“The Dowager Queen Alicent has been despondent as of late,” he admits with reluctance, perhaps being sworn to secrecy.

“Her health fails her?” you immediately ask him, setting down the kitchen tools you had been washing. For all the trouble Alicent had given Aegon, you knew he loved his mother and had felt leaving her was the last time he would fail her.

“Not quite,” he says, “but the truth of what has happened has recently reached her ears. His Grace had confided in me ten years ago, swearing me to secrecy for no one to know Aegon’s fate, but he recently told her.”

You squint your eyes in confusion. “She implored her son to ensure Aegon is well,” he tells you. “Aegon was her first born and has aggrieved her most of his life, but a mother’s love is rarely rational. Aemond knew only that his brother came to Volantis with a woman he planned to wed. It was difficult to track him down until we traveled to some finer establishments.”

“Nicer pubs, you mean?” you snigger at that, leaning on the counter across from him. “You mean to tell me that he will not harm our children?”

“Never,” he said, looking offended almost.

“We disappeared for a reason,” you responded, shrugging. “The children cannot know who he is, who his brother is. They are too young. Alia loves to talk. I cannot risk her telling other children of her uncle who is a King.”

“I understand,” he says and as he does, Aegon comes into the room followed by his brother.

You would be as weary as Aegon’s eyes seemed to be if not for the way Alia trailed after him, curiously peering up at the tall man. Lacking all decorum, she opened her mouth, soon to ask another question. You doubt she had stopped since she saw him for the second time on the balcony.

“Why do you have an eyepatch?” she squinted at him. “Do you not like your eyecolor? Neither do I,” she huffed at that before beginning to tell him about how her one eye was lovely, the perfect shade fo the palest lilac, but the other was greyish green, which she hated. “I would cover up mine too if I could.”

“Alia, enough,” Aegon said, though affectionately, as he place a hand on her head.

“What?” she protested, looking up at her father. “I would! Green is a stupid color, I have half a murky lake in one eye while Dario and Dario have lovely eyes. The Gods are cruel to me alone.”

“She is often dramatic like this I am afraid,” Aegon says, smiling at her.

“She gets it from her father,” you muse, urging Alia to come to you. “Come, let us cook. Your father has much to talk about without you getting every word in.”

Huffing at your words, Alia follows you nonetheless. As she stirs the pot happily, you can barely hear the words being shared.

“She sounds ill to me,” Aegon says, looking at Aemond with strangely narrowed eyes. “How long as she been so melancholic?”

“Do not pretend you are the one who has been dealing with matters of the family instead of fleeing,” Aemond replies and though Ser Coles opens his mouth to buffer this, the two men are too quick.

“If you came all this way to tell me how I failed the family speak not,” Aegon hisses at him. “There was nothing for me there.”

“Your family was not enough?” Aemond replies, though it is obvious this is not how the conversation had been meant to go.

“Do not act as though I had ever been help to our family. It is you who kept mother and Helaena together these years.”

Aemond cannot disagree with Aegon this once. “She worries for you,” he admits after a long while. “I promised her I would go with Cole to see you, so she might be content knowing you are fine, or perhaps dead in a ditch.”

Aegon coughs a laugh. “Neither are true,” he tells Aemond. “I am neither dead in a ditch or fine. I have a family. Tell mother she has additional grandchildren, a girl of eight and twins, a boy and a girl of five. Tell her that her eldest sons affinity for wine has served him well.”

“I will not,” Aemond says snidely, though a small laugh that is but a huff of breath escapes him. You do not know him but you know this is a rare thing. The air seems to relax as you glance at them. “I will tell her you have made your place as a prosperous merchant, nothing more. The mention of honeyed wine might have her on bedrest for a week, I fear.”

Aegon laughs this time and it is louder, easier than when it came from Aemond. “I would not dream of it,” he smiles with ease. After a long moment of pause he asks, “Helaena?”

He does not need ot say more as Aemond tips his head down slightly, smiling so faintly you barely noticed it. “Married to the Prince Qoren of Dorne,” he finally tells Aegon. At last, he leans back in the chair they had been sat near. “Princess Arianne of Dorne is quite fond of her good sister. Helaena’s presence made the negotiations of peace easier before talk of marriage alliances even began. Dearest Helaena intrigued the Princess and before long Qoren Martell was besotted. They too have twins, a boy and a girl.”

You never understood what people meant when they said how the weight of one’s shoulders could be lifted but you had seen it as you left Westeros behind, entered your home for the first time, and when Aegon had held Alia for the first time. Still, it has never been more powerful than when Aemond told Aegon of his sister’s happiness.

“Good,” he says, the word sounding like he was short for breath. “That is good news,” he adds on, his breath sounding sparse. Without catching his eye you smile and turn back to Alia who merrily stirs the stew.

She peers up at you, smiling eagerly as you whisper assurances and praises of her cooking. “Who is that?” she asks again, this time truly whispering as she glances at the three men.

“Old friends of your father’s,” you say easily, the lie too natural. She nods after a moment, knowing there is more but not asking.

One day you can tell her without the flurry of questions that will follow about her father’s younger brother and the knight sworn to protect them as boys and men. One day you can tell her about the dragons they rode as boys, the home her father had grown up in full of exceeding opulence that did not fill a hole in his heart. You can tell her about how her father fell into the arms of a woman and found more than she was meant to give him, but took it anyway. You could tell her about how he fell in love with someone he shouldn’t have but fled from him family and duties for her; For you.

There is a lesson in there for her ears to hear once she was older. A lesson about love, sacrifice, how happiness is not so simple and easy to achieve.

A lesson about how two brothers you loathed each other as boys still loved another in a strange way. About how one left so the other could have what he was not meant to bear. How the younger went across the sea to make sure his brother was well. These lessons were there, but you would not tell her. Not yet, anyway.

Trying not to easedrop, you watch as Alia finishes the meal and before long you are pouring it into the bowls. A fine wine, one of the ones for special occasions is brought out and the four adults drink it as your children drink water. Daria sits at the table with her brother and sister, but like her elder sister she cannot stop from looking to the man who is her uncle. She shows him the paintings she has made after the meal, laying them across the table. Aemond smiles, compliments her in a softer tone. Daria does not know he is her uncle or that he is a King. He is simply an old friend of her father’s, one that is kind and somber and listens to her and her brother babble away.

In the midst of it all your eyes meet Aegon’s and you smile too, because it is not easy, nothing is. But his brother is here and the melancholy has left Aegon for a moment. Your children do not know what this means to him and even if the brother’s cannot say it to one another, you know that this visit was not for their mother, but for Aemond himself. 

                                                       * * * * * *

note: any feedback and reblogs are appreciated for this writer!!! also, might have to add another part to this at some point who knows

[angelthefirst1]

01x01 ♾️ 10x10

YEARS...

TOWL

First off, I loved episode one, and I hope you all enjoyed it too.

I very much believe the title is linked to Beth - The one who lives.

I mentioned in previous posts that we would be heading back to repeat season 1 of the walking dead. We got many callbacks in episode 1 of TOWL. Such as Rick stepping into Merle's role of being handcuffed because he is "difficult."

Like Merle, Rick has to chop his own hand off to escape.

The callbacks are quite detailed. If you remember back, Merle was horrible to T-dog, refusing to take any direction from him because of his skin colour. He almost kills T-dog and wants to become the leader of the group, which leads to Rick handcuffing him.

Whereas to contrast, Rick wants to escape the CRM to get back to Michonne, whom he loves.

Rick also doesn't desire power in the CRM at all and even says so to Okafor.

Rick, in season one, is also looking for Lori his wife.

Merle and Daryl (the brothers) are separated.

It's a beautiful rework of that time around the rooftop scene in Atlanta...

The exciting thing about all this is that Andrea was first introduced just prior to Merle (Daryl's brother) being handcuffed on that rooftop.

They are reversing and reworking season one and season 5 scenes combined (I'll get to the season 5 patterns soon), so Beth (a reworked Andrea) is close...

We even saw Rick's own version of a Brulent (burner) walker that leads to cauterization...

I talk about the cauterization theme at length here from DD1.

The cauterization theme is related to walking away from God, which is interesting with Rick specifically because Rick is "walking away" from or running away from the CRM.

The CRM logo is a representation of God.

The Borromean rings have been used in different contexts to indicate strength in unity. In particular, some have used the design to symbolize the Trinity.

The end is the beginning theme ♾️

This theme reveals a major clue to the story and what they are drawing from, and that is the Revelation or revealing of Jesus Christ.

Beth's revealing is symbolic of this...

The book of Revelation is known as a book about the end of all things but also the beginning of something new.

To remind you, not that you need it, this is a show about the end of the world, and the writers are heavily incorporating biblical end time events into the show.

Jesus describes one of his characteristics in the book of Revelation, he says:

‭‭Revelation 22:13

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

The beginning and the end theme, will eventually reveal Beth. 01x01 ♾️ 10x10 get well soon.

The symbolism around her character is used to link her symbolically to Christ, I've mentioned this many times before. As a reminder, some aspects of this are:

She dies wearing a cross.

She dies sacrificially (goes all in) to save Noah.

The bible says Noah walked with God, so God saved him from the biblical flood. In the cauterization post i linked above, i go into how 510 events when it rained and they hide in the barn (Ark) was a rework of the biblical flood.

Beth was also the only character given the symbolism of an "empty" or missing body/grave.

She was innocent and considered "good" as Daryl was trying to indicate at the "oh" moment (and yes, he was also saying he loves her 😉)

Jesus was also called good by his disciples. The real definition actually means morally perfect, so while back in Alone the writers were using the "good people theme" to indicate someone that hasn't become out-rightly evil in these evil times, with Beth, it was just one more way of linking her symbolically to Jesus as morally perfect.

Seeing what Rick has experienced with the CRM is a shadow of Beth.

Now let's talk about how season 5 Grady has been reworked.

While we are back in season 1, they are also showing us Rick's version of being at Grady.

Dawn is Thorne, and yes, we're rhyming names now it's becoming that obvious.

Rick (Beth) and Thorne (Dawn) play a game of Poker, and Rick goes all in... Thorne folds.

Thorne tells Rick she's great at poker, but she loses.

Dawn also liked to play poker... Poker is about holding the right cards, having the upper hand, and even bluffing your way to a win.

Remember the hostage trade at Grady? They focused a large amount of time on the numbers of cops to trade with Dawn.

Daryl says to Rick, "3s better than 2" talking about the 3 cops they have to trade back for Beth and Carol. 3 cops gives them the winning hand...

Now, in poker, that's a true statement. All you need to win is a better hand than your opponent.

Well...in fact Dawn and Beth were playing poker in that hallway at Grady.

Beth made the choice to go all in like Rick did. Dawn dies (folds)

It's a big risk to go all in, but the pay-off can be huge. Dawn got nothing in the end.

While Beth is the one who lives and survives a bullet to the forehead. This is actually confirmed in this episode twice, so read on.

A shadow of this is shown with Rick...

In the very next scene after the poker game where Thorne (Dawn) folds, we see Rick hold the bullet right to his forehead. It's not a coincidence...

In that defining moment, you'll make the right choice...

Beth made the right choice.

Beth won and it was lights out for Dawn before she even got to play... just like Thorne said...

Confirming the poker theme and bullet graze theme.

This combination is actually reinforced as it's mentioned in sequence twice in this episode.

Rick and Thorne both sign up to the CRM, and Okafor asks them to work secretly for him. Afterwards, Thorne talks with Rick, and Rick asks her if she gave Okafor the scar on his forehead (a shadow of Beth's scar)

It's then she admits to shooting Okafor in the head, but the bullet just grazed him, she missed. Rick then asks if she will shoot him, too...

Then, she stops and seemingly very randomly brings up the topic of playing poker. But it's not random at all.

It's a reworked reverse shadow of what happened at Grady.

Bullet graze to the head, missed didn't make the kill but it did leave a scar, poker and lights out for Thorne/Dawn. All while Rick (Beth) asks if she will shoot him too.

And all while Rick (Beth) is trapped in the CRM (Grady) away from the love of his life.

Thorne also gives us more hints that she is a new version of Dawn back at Grady. She thinks the system of the CRM is working fine and it doesn't need to change.

Rick disagrees as no one is free to leave.

Beth kept telling Dawn that she wasn't staying any longer than they made her. She wasn't free to leave either, and Dawn told her she shouldn't see it as a sentence. That out there, she would be dead.

This whole rework also gives us insight into Beth's mindset. Just as Rick was trying to escape to get to someone he loves, so was Beth trying to get back to Daryl.

The A's and B's - a repeat of Grady only taking in the ones who they thought were weak. In Beth's case, they got it wrong, she thought for herself, which classified her a an A.

They thought she was a B but she was an A

The man i was with, is he here?

They thought Daryl was an A and same with Noah's Dad so they left them out in the world to die.

Okafor, Thorne and Rick are a reworked version of Beth, Dawn and Noah.

The repeats in this story should give hope that Beth survived that bullet and just like the end of this episode with Rick and Michonne, the story will eventually lead to two people who love each other reuniting. One of whom thought the other died but could never find the body...

[loveandmurders]

Hi!! So each Sinclair brother has his thing. Bo has cars, Vincent has art/sculpting, and Lester has animals/roadkill. So could you pretty please write something where either little sister or daughter reader is into bugs? Just doing weird kid stuff like “Caterpillars and ladybugs are my friends. No!! Don’t swat at it!!” And rattling off facts excitedly like “Did you know moths don’t eat and only live for about a week?” But then later her years of having bug collections comes in handy as she grows up to be an entomologist. 💛🐛🐞

Hello there <3 This was such a cute idea, thank you for requesting it!

I hope you'll enjoy <3

LADYBUG'S BEST FRIEND

Warnings: silly facts about insects, mentions of murders, dangerous reader. If there is any mistake I'm sorry!

You were still quite young when your parents noticed your interest in insects. You could be playing in town and whenever a bug or a butterfly or anything would fly near you, you would stop to watch it with a certain fascination.

Very quickly you started to love to follow them and talk to them.

You even called them “your friends” (it wasn’t like you had anyone else in town anyways).

You enjoyed flying insects the most at first, but then you grew as fascinated about the walking ones, like ants, or even spiders (even though they are not insects).

Bo always found that weird, but he was glad he didn’t have to deal with a child who was screaming anytime she saw a little insect coming closer to her. Vincent enjoyed seeing your fascination and how your eyes lit up. Lester also absolutely adored it! He loved roadkills and animals, so your love for insects wasn’t that far and he could totally get it.

You started to ask a lot of questions about bugs and insects to your parents but their knowledge was soon not enough for you.

As you grew older, your love for them never stopped and you continued to wonder about them, and you were often asking Lester to bring you in the woods or somewhere you could discover new insects.

Bo bought you books and he tried to read some to you, even though he found this absolutely boring. He was always gently teasing you for this hobby of yours.

Vincent taught you how to draw animals and insects and dead nature. You became actually quite good and when he showed you some Vanity paintings of the Renaissance, it became your favourite genre.

You started to draw the insects you saw, or to follow some with your notebook and pen but you were always complaining about the fact you didn’t really remember them or that you hadn’t been able to see them well enough to do a good reproduction. So Lester started to bring you the insects he found dead on his way.

He didn’t find them often, but when he did he knew you were going to be really happy about it.

That was how you started to collect insects. And you continued to read books, and whenever you were finding a species you were trying to guess the family, and then you were looking up the exact name of it.

You also started to know a lot about them and you couldn’t help but share facts about them to your parents.

“Did ya know some moths, like the Luna moth, don’t have a mouth and so they can’t eat? And because of that they can only live for about a week?”

“No I didn’t, honey, but ya do have a mouth so please eat your soup now”

“And did ya know one ladybug can eat up to 5,000 insects in its lifetime?!”

“Yes, and ya eat heigh spiders every year, darling”

“That’s impossible, father, because the vibrations of our heart and breath are probably perceived as an indication of danger for the spiders!”

“... Ain’t knowin’ if I should be impressed or terrified right now, Y/N”

“Oh speaking of fear, caterpillars or larvae in general can feel stressed out because of loud noises! Isn’t it crazy that little things like that can feel so much! I wonder if they understand me when I talk to them, like Jonesy!”

Lester loved to listen to you and he totally encouraged you to keep talking about your passion, because he enjoyed how interesting you were but also because he wanted to let you know that he was proud of you and that he was supportive.

The twins listened as well but also shared looks, thinking their daughter wasn’t fully sane (but they still loved you).

You also started to get very interested in poisonous insects and deadly ones.

It was probably because you had been raised by killers, so you always loved dangerous characters in books and movies, and dangerous insects in real life.

You found it fascinating that a little thing could kill a human.

You also loved the idea that one day, a little thing like yourself, could kill a grown man.

On the other hand, it meant that your family wasn’t allowed to hurt one.

Whenever one of your parents would try to get rid of an insect, you would jump on their arms and beg them to let it go and to not touch it.

As you grew up, your collection grew as well: you also had more and more notebooks filled up with drawings and names. You also started to study the insects’ bodies and the way they eat, procreate, react when they feel in danger. You noted everything down in your notebooks. You also tried to fact check the books your parents bought you.

It happened that you sometimes proved the books wrong and you were so proud about it.

As you grew up, your hobby became a lot more serious for you and you started to really want to study insects.

Lester was really supportive of this. Vincent thought it would allow you to keep drawing so he was happy. He was also trying to make you do wax sculptures out of your little friends and you often agreed, so it was all good for him. Bo was quite proud that his daughter was going to study in the field of science, so he was also eager to let you go to college and then university for you to become an entomologist.

You were very grateful, especially because in a bigger city you also discovered how insects were reacting to the human impacts on their environment.

And that was how you decided you wanted to especially study this: the cohabitation and coexistence between insects and humanity.

Later on, you started to write articles about it and to work at a research laboratory that wasn’t too far from Ambrose.

Your parents were so proud they had been able to raise you right enough for you to have a normal job.

At the same time, your “normal” job allowed you to do some research such as reproducing the cell-killing protein of the spider Brown Recluse (Loxosceles reclusa), to make it more dangerous and then to use if on your blades, so now, when you came back home to kill tourists, your attacks were able to create instant necrosis on their flesh.

You ain’t a real Sinclair as long as you don’t use your knowledge to be destructive.

And gosh, your parents couldn't deny: you were one of them.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache  

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea

[lonely-soul-02]

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/noel-gallagher-interview-oasis-reunion-high-flying-birds-l02r389l

Noel Gallagher: ‘Oasis reunion? Liam hasn’t called, but I’m free the back end of 2024’

Aweek or so before Noel Gallagher meets me at his studio in King’s Cross, the Oasis reunion rumour mill went into overdrive. In March, Gallagher’s younger brother Liam wrote on Twitter of returning to his frontman duties: “It’s happening.” In a radio interview in May, the rhythm guitarist Paul “Bonehead’’ Arthurs said: “I’m ready.” Then came reports that Knebworth had been booked for four nights in 2025. So I begin our interview by asking Noel: “What’s happening?”

“Liam ain’t called,” the band’s 56-year-old leader, songwriter and guitarist says, sitting deep in a sofa, an unmoving, authoritative presence with cropped grey-black hair, wearing Levi’s. “I’m not expecting him to, because he’s full of shit and very disingenuous with his beloved Oasis fans. I say to him, ‘Get somebody to call somebody my end. Let’s see what you’ve got to say.’ Guess what? My phone has not twitched once.”

According to him, there is a simple reason why his problem child of a brother will not pick up the phone. “He knows for a fact that should someone call me, and I go, ‘You know what? F*** it. Let’s do it,’ then he has to actually stand in the same room as me. Then it will be, ‘All right, dickhead, how you doing? Before we go any further, there’s a few things I have to say to you.’ That’s when the arse will fall out of his trousers.”

On top of that unhygienic scenario, an Oasis reunion would have to be off the scale in brilliance to not be a massive let-down. The end came in April 2009 when Liam threw a plum — and then, more dangerously, a guitar — at his brother before a concert in Paris, and that was 14 years ago.

“If it’s going to happen, Liam has to pull it off. It’s got to be the best it has ever been. But he’s one of these guys and they’re ten a penny, particularly up in Manchester, the bully, who when you put it on ’em and say, ‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,’ start doing a lot of harrumphing.

“Liam is like a violent version of Arthur Fonzarelli. So I’ll say it again: I’m free, back end of 2024. He could even video himself calling me. That would be good for his little f***ing Twitter feed. But since then he’s gone quiet. Funny, innit?”

All of this feels particularly relevant because the new album by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds is the older, wiser, sadder cousin of Oasis’s world-changing 1994 debut, Definitely Maybe. Council Skies has a reflective mood that draws not just on memories of Gallagher’s childhood in northern Manchester, but also his situation as a multimillionaire rock star dealing, for the first time in his adult life, with things going very wrong indeed.

There has been a divorce, health issues, and the psychological aftermath of a global pandemic and ensuing lockdown. Perhaps that’s why a handful of the songs, Dead to the World and I’m Not Giving Up Tonight in particular, have that hymnal, bittersweet quality of the Oasis classics Live Forever and Don’t Look Back in Anger. Oasis meant so much to people because they offered defiance against the everyday grind. Council Skies harks back to that feeling.

“I always thought there had to be a price to pay for happiness,” Gallagher says of his situation. “I’ve had over 20 years of absolutely no turbulence in my life whatsoever and I kept thinking, ‘It cannot be this great, all the time, until it comes to the end and I go, may as well die now and end up in Heaven.’ It turns out I was right. Luckily, as an artist you get to write about it.”

Dead to the World is one of those songs that Gallagher has a special knack for, which don’t do anything hugely different from what has gone before yet capture a universal feeling in a signature melancholic, soaring fashion. You wonder if the best material comes out of the most difficult times in his life.

“For sure, and right now it is the most uncertain time I’ve ever had,” he says. “It seems I peaked in my forties, because the moment I hit 50 it’s been one thing after another: personal issues, health issues, the city we love [London] going down the toilet. Definitely Maybe was born out of anxiety, thinking, this is the one shot we’ve got, we can’t f*** it up. There’s something similar here. Uncertainty is at the heart of it.”

Oasis took that uncertainty and made people feel, for one small moment, like they really might live for ever. “People will never forget the way you made them feel. I’ll never forget how the La’s or the Stone Roses made me feel. You can’t go back to 1995 because things cannot be the same — parents grow old, your cat dies, things rust — but the feeling remains and there is something beautiful in that. That’s why Dead to the World is up there with Live Forever. It’s just a different version of it.”

Gallagher grew up, by his own description, as a loner, estranged from his frequently violent father, Tommy, after his Irish parents’ divorce and taking solace in his bedroom in the Manchester suburb of Burnage, where he taught himself guitar and learnt to write songs by listening to the Beatles, Slade and T. Rex. While Liam was busy being the good-looking lad about town, the carefree kid who never second-guessed himself, Noel worked on an escape route via rock’n’roll.

“I didn’t invent anything,” he confesses. “I had good taste in music, a cool record collection, I could write a melody simple enough to make it work and it was 50 per cent inspiration and 50 per cent copying. It was a Tuesday night, raining, when I went into the rehearsal room and said, ‘I’ve just written the greatest tune of all time.’ We started Cigarettes & Alcohol and Bonehead went, ‘You can’t get away with that.’ ”

Bonehead was referring to the fact that Cigarettes & Alcohol is essentially Get It On by T. Rex after a trip to the off-licence, of which Gallagher says: “It’s not like I was expecting nobody to notice.” The genius of the song was in its celebration of working-class hedonism; the idea that you may as well live for the moment in the absence of any deeper meaning or nobler purpose. “That’s why Oasis were the modern-day Slade. They didn’t give a f*** either.”

Oasis’s take-no-prisoners assault targeted a few victims along the way, the most frequent being Phil Collins. What did Gallagher have against the balding king of 1980s smooth pop? “He kept the Jam off No 1 with You Can’t Hurry Love,” he reveals.

“I thought, ‘Once I get there, I’m not going to let him get away with that.’ The best thing about the Phil Collins thing is that Liam got accosted by his children one day because they thought he was me. They had a pop at him, saying, ‘Why are you always having a fing go at our dad?’ When I heard about it I thought, ‘I really hope someone filmed it.’ Anyway, f Liam. And f*** Phil Collins and all.”

As for Oasis becoming the biggest guitar band since the Beatles, Gallagher thinks it was down to a lack of artifice. “Oasis had a laddish, yobbo image, built in the image of the singer, but look at footage of Knebworth [two nights, 1996, two and a half million ticket applications] and you’ll see loads of girls down the front.

“Melodically it spoke to the masses, lyrically it spoke to people our age, and everyone looked at Bonehead and went, ‘If he can do it, any f***er can.’ My guitar rig at Knebworth was a piece of plywood, an on-off switch, and a tuner. It keeps going now because kids recognise the real deal. Oasis will never make another record, but if we put a tour on sale it would destroy everything.”

It makes you wonder if a band like Oasis, who summed up both the meritocratic possibilities of the New Labour 1990s and the black-humoured cynicism of Britpop, could happen today. Gallagher is adamant they could not.

“We would be killed before we even started,” he says with a sigh. “What made Oasis great was that we were moody c***s, a bit wild, and back then labels were run by amazing characters like Alan McGee of Creation and Jeff Barrett of Heavenly who loved the chaos.

“On the ferry to Amsterdam, when everyone got nicked [1994, first European tour, too much champagne and Jack Daniels, fights break out, Liam Gallagher goes on a Benny Hill-like rampage through the casino] I called McGee to tell him what happened and he went, ‘Brilliant.’ Nowadays, the label would wait to see what the public perception was before throwing you under the bus. And the word ‘career’ was never mentioned once. You were in a band. That was enough. And we could pull it off when we went on stage.”

Not always, though: In 1994 Oasis played the legendary Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles, shortly after taking what they thought was cocaine but which turned out to be crystal meth. It resulted in the band members playing different songs at the same time before attacking each other. “Ringo Starr was there that night,” Gallagher remembers. “He walked out. One of the Beatles comes to see the new Beatles — and it’s shit.”

Gallagher thinks the music industry no longer has faith in itself, with labels monitoring how well an artist is doing with the public on TikTok and YouTube before taking a punt. “Can you imagine going up to someone in 1993, when [jokey indie duo] Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine were smashing it, and saying, ‘Got this idea for a band. Couple of gobshite brothers from Manchester, bang into cocaine, lager and shagging birds, ripping off the Beatles and T. Rex.’ ‘Oh no, thank you. I’d rather have Fruitbat and Dickhead from Carter, jumping about in shorts.’ Don’t focus-group anything! People are stupid! That’s how we ended up with Brexit. Now they will usher in AI. There is no hope for the world.”

How could we not mention AIsis, a virtual band with a “lost” Oasis album, conceived by some thirtysomething musicians who took Noel’s tunes and Liam’s elongation of the word “sunshiiiine” and got artificial intelligence to do its stuff? Needless to say, it hasn’t gone down well with the real-life human at the heart of it all.

“AI: made by robots, listened to by shitheads,” he summarises, before saying in comically pathetic tones: “ ‘Have you heard Ringo Starr singing She’s Electric?’ You’re all f***ing idiots! AI did a cover of Morning Glory and it sounded like shit indie music to me, but I can guarantee you the record companies are already buying up the technology.

“The label doesn’t want the artists to write the songs because they want to employ songwriters. Now the songwriters will be out of business because they’ll employ a robot to do it. You know what? I’m 55 and I don’t give a f***. AI is not going to put me out of the game. It is just going to make your life a little bit shitter.”

Whether Oasis or AIsis will be the first to fill the public’s desire for that much-talked-of reunion, Gallagher has the sanctity of his studio, the reassurance that his children, Anais, 22, Donovan, 15, and Sonny, 12, share his opinion on modern music (“The 1975 wear a guitar and get voted best rock band at the Brits. I’m going to the kids, ‘Is it me or is this shit?’ And they’re going, ‘Dad, it’s f***ing awful’ ”) and the creative satisfaction of making the best solo album of his career. Easy Now, a lonely ballad about strangers passing on the way to work and wondering about each other’s lives, has a mix of grandeur, hope and longing similar to the Oasis favourite The Masterplan.

“I can already picture a sea of lads in Scotland with their tops off, having it to Easy Now,” Gallagher says. “Usually, when a song starts sounding like Oasis I’ll go, ‘This is just a shit version of Supersonic.’ Now I’ve written a song that is a bit Oasisy but it is actually up there with them.”

Gallagher sounds like he has made his peace with Oasis, having made a solo album that doesn’t shy away from the quality that made people fall in love with his old band in the first place. Now he just needs to make peace with Liam and the next chapter in the Gallagher saga will begin.

“A new generation recognises how Oasis wasn’t manufactured,” Gallagher concludes, before heading off because Manchester City have a Premier League game. “It was chaotic, and flawed, and not technically brilliant. Blur did it all with a nod and a wink, but we were rough and ready guys from a rehearsal room and people recognised it. If we did go out and tour again, playing not just to blokes in their fifties but to the kids . . . We’d blow their f***ing minds.”

Interview behind a paywall. Anon, thank you SO much for sharing the content of the interivew.

Noel really wants to fend off any divorce claims on an Oasis reunion, or he really wants to see Liam lose it on Twitter again.

*sigh* Here we go. Isolated quotes:

“Liam ain’t called."

“I’m not expecting him to, because he’s full of shit and very disingenuous with his beloved Oasis fans. I say to him, ‘Get somebody to call somebody my end. Let’s see what you’ve got to say.’ Guess what? My phone has not twitched once.”

“He knows for a fact that should someone call me, and I go, ‘You know what? F*** it. Let’s do it,’ then he has to actually stand in the same room as me. Then it will be, ‘All right, dickhead, how you doing? Before we go any further, there’s a few things I have to say to you.’ That’s when the arse will fall out of his trousers.”

“If it’s going to happen, Liam has to pull it off. It’s got to be the best it has ever been. But he’s one of these guys and they’re ten a penny, particularly up in Manchester, the bully, who when you put it on ’em and say, ‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,’ start doing a lot of harrumphing.

“Liam is like a violent version of Arthur Fonzarelli. So I’ll say it again: I’m free, back end of 2024. He could even video himself calling me. That would be good for his little f***ing Twitter feed. But since then he’s gone quiet. Funny, innit?”

"Anyway, f Liam. And f*** Phil Collins and all."

And finally we get to the core of it all:

“I always thought there had to be a price to pay for happiness...”

Fic writers are going to have a field day with that last one.

With my Oasis conspiracy theory hat off, It certainly does seem as if Noel is deliberately sabotaging any chance of reconciliation. But then he might say Liam did the sabotaging with his uncomplimentary tweets that began with the 'meet him or fuck him off' tweet that came from out of the blue, kickstarting the media spat.

He's using the strongest language to date in this interview, but he's also contradicting himself as usual. Liam is apparently a violent bully but he is also afraid of standing in the same room as Noel.

I also sense a lot of projection. The implication that Liam would somehow not be match fit, or not be able to 'pull off' an Oasis reunion is completely laughable when he's pulled off two nights at Knebworth on his own. This is all Noel's insecurity. Noel is afraid of not being able to pull it off. Because Noel would have to pick up his guitar, assume his old role and solo again. Over the years, he has become self-conscious about his guitar playing. He said that he left behind his ability to play guitar solos in Paris the night of the fight. It wouldn't matter that the songs are old and all he has to do is rehearse them. Noel is afraid of not measuring up. Noel is the one afraid to stand in the same room as Liam.

To be honest, I think they'd both be afraid of meeting each other and that's entirely normal. After 14 years, of course they'd be apprehensive, anyone would be. This is why I wish there were a mutual friend of both, who loves them both equally, and has both their best interests at heart to help them through a reconciliation process. Debbie has said it's not her place to intervene, but that's a hard disagree from me. If people continue to leave them to their own devices instead of trying to support them, the estrangement and conflict will drag on.

Update:

Not taking any bait today, good on you Liam!

[bylerbigbang]

What a Time to be Alive

Fic by @newlesbianprideflag | Art by @teabagboy

Teen | 20k words

Mike is haunted, Will is haunting.

Or: when he was 12 years old, Will Byers was taken to the Upside Down, and with no Eleven-ex-Machina, he stayed there, and was assumed dead. Through sheer force of will, he finds ways to contact Mike and his mom and brother through lights and electricity and, as he spends more time there, ways to manifest physically. He remains invisible and inaudible for the most part, but present enough to write notes and occasionally be touched, heard, or even seen, in flashes. He becomes a haunting, constant presence in the life of Mike, who never wanted to let him go in the first place, and they fall in love through notes and music and whatever touch Will can manifest. (Mike, meanwhile, is somewhat adopted into the Byers family in Will’s place.) When they’re about 15, Vecna gains power in UD, threatening Will’s way of unlife, and, related, Eleven stumbles her way into Hawkins. Mike, with Eleven (and Joyce’s and etc)’s help, goes into the Upside Down to save Will, is confronted by Vecna who tries to convince him that Will is dead. Will saves him, and though they aren’t able to defeat Vecna, they return to Hawkins. Mike and Will, back together, confess their love and kiss and even with whatever will come next, with Vecna and the Upside Down that did not want to let Will go, they have each other, and that will be enough.

Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Mentions of Homophobia, some Internalized Homophobia, Grief, brief UD-typical horror

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

So, Mike has a ghost, and it doesn’t bear much thought.

“Did you draw that?” Dustin asks in a hushed, library-appropriate tone.

“What happened to you being shit at art?” Max follows with immediately, in a much less library-appropriate tone.

What Dustin’s pointing to, and what Max is clearly referencing, is a small sketch of a three-headed dragon in the corner of his math notebook — one head is breathing fire on the quadratic equation, one has its open jaw around an x variable, ready to bite, and one is lazing, likely asleep, on one low college-rule line. It’s fucking adorable, and no, Mike didn’t draw it.

A ghost did.

Mike shrugs. “Yeah.” Max looks unconvinced. “Well, I copied it.”

“From what?” Max asks, more genuine curiosity than light derision.

Mike doesn’t say anything for a second (he’s still not a great liar, about the ghost thing, even though he really should be by now), which is long enough for him to catch the bow of Lucas’ head, the way his fingers skim the corner of the page, face tangled up. “It looks like what…” Lucas trails off, then clears his throat. “You copied it from Will’s old sketchbook?” Dustin winces with the name, and Mike’s sure he does about the same. He’s surprised, honestly, that Lucas was able to recognize it, and then immediately feels guilty for being surprised. It isn’t like Lucas would forget about him. It isn’t like Will is something he and he alone carries, even if its different for him. He didn’t leave any of them.

“Yeah,” Mike confirms, voice a bit caught-in-the-throat. “It’s...” he trails off. He doesn’t know what he would say next, and expects his reticence to be read as an end to the conversation. As inescapable as Will and his absence is, they don’t really like talking about him. Max never even met him, and it fucks with Lucas and Dustin. So. Quiet.

“It’s good, though,” Dustin says, head tilted to the side, a bit unsure. The undertone — better than he ever got a chance to be — is unspoken. “You think he would’ve been an artist?”

“Maybe,” Lucas offers, leaving back and looking away at the nothing that surrounds them. Cramped library shelves of books none of them have the time to read. Old chairs. High school.

On Mike’s hand, the ghost taps his assent.

Read more on Ao3 >

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon IX (Chapter 44)

Queen Selyse descended upon Castle Black with her daughter and her daughter's fool, her serving girls and lady companions, and a retinue of knights, sworn swords, and men-at-arms fifty strong.

+.+.+

He met the queen's party by the stables, accompanied by Satin, Bowen Marsh, and half a dozen guards in long black cloaks. It would never do to come before this queen without a retinue of his own, if half of what they said of her was true. 

+.+.+

You should hear what Cotter says of you. "I am sorry for that, but I fear Your Grace will find conditions at the Nightfort even less to your liking. We speak of a fortress, not a palace. A grim place, and cold. Whereas Eastwatch—"

"Eastwatch is not safe." The queen put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "This is the king's true heir. Shireen will one day sit the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms. She must be kept from harm, and Eastwatch is where the attack will come. This Nightfort is the place my husband has chosen for our seat, and there we shall abide. We—oh!"

Where is she getting that from? Hm?

On the show the Night King attacked Eastwatch.

+.+.+

An enormous shadow emerged from behind the shell of the Lord Commander's Tower. Princess Shireen gave a shriek, and three of the queen's knights gasped in harmony. Another swore. "Seven save us," he said, quite forgetting his new red god in his shock.

"Don't be afraid," Jon told them. "There's no harm in him, Your Grace. This is Wun Wun."

[...]

Wun Wun began to laugh. A giant's laughter could put to shame a dragon's roar. Patchface covered his ears, Princess Shireen pressed her face into her mother's furs, and the boldest of the queen's knights moved forward, steel in hand. Jon raised an arm to block his path. "You do not want to anger him. Sheathe your steel, ser. Leathers, take Wun Wun back to Hardin's."

[...]

He turned back to the queen's knights. "My lord father used to say a man should never draw his sword unless he means to use it."

"Using it was my intent." The knight was clean-shaved and windburnt; beneath a cloak of white fur he wore a cloth-of-silver surcoat emblazoned with a blue five-pointed star. "I had been given to understand that the Night's Watch defended the realm against such monsters. No one mentioned keeping them as pets."

Another bloody southron fool. "You are …?"

"Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, if it please my lord."

MARTIN: Well there's this guy named Patrick St. Denis, who runs a fantasy website called Pat's Fantasy Hotlist. And Pat is a big Dallas Cowboys fan. So we would have a standing bet for a number of years about whether the Dallas Cowboys or the New York Giants would do better. And I won the bet the first two years. But finally, in the third year the Cowboys finished ahead of the Giants. And what I had to do if he won the bet was to kill him horribly within the books. So I invented a character called Ser Patrek of King's Mountain and described his heraldry as looking somewhat like the heraldry of the Dallas Cowboys with the silver star on a white field. And then I had him ripped apart by a giant. (Link)

+.+.+

"In the dark the dead are dancing." Patchface shuffled his feet in a grotesque dance step. "I know, I know, oh oh oh." 

Dancing is usually Daenerys, but this one feels more like the Others.

+.+.+

The banker [Tycho Nestoris] pressed his fingers together. "It would not be proper for me to discuss Lord Stannis's indebtedness or lack of same. As to King Robert … it was indeed our pleasure to assist His Grace in his need. For so long as Robert lived, all was well. Now, however, the Iron Throne has ceased all repayment."

Could the Lannisters truly be so foolish?

Yes.

+.+.+

"You cannot mean to hold Stannis responsible for his brother's debts."

"The debts belong to the Iron Throne," Tycho declared, "and whosoever sits on that chair must pay them. Since young King Tommen and his counsellors have become so obdurate, we mean to broach the subject with King Stannis. Should he prove himself more worthy of our trust, it would of course be our great pleasure to lend him whatever help he needs."

"Help," the raven screamed. "Help, help, help."

Good thing Bran's hearing this.

+.+.+

"We need a loan as well. Gold enough to keep us fed till spring. To buy food and hire ships to bring it to us."

"Spring?" Tycho sighed. "It is not possible, my lord."

What was it Stannis had said to him? You haggle like a crone with a codfish, Lord Snow. Did Lord Eddard father you on a fishwife? Perhaps he had at that.

It took the better part of an hour before the impossible became possible, and another hour before they could agree on terms. The flagon of mulled wine that Satin delivered helped them settle the more nettlesome points. By the time Jon Snow signed the parchment the Braavosi drew up, both of them were half-drunk and quite unhappy. Jon thought that a good sign.

The three Braavosi ships would bring the fleet at Eastwatch up to eleven, including the Ibbenese whaler that Cotter Pyke had commandeered on Jon's order, a trading galley out of Pentos similarly impressed, and three battered Lysene warships, remnants of Salladhor Saan's former fleet driven back north by the autumn storms. 

Baby's first contract negotiation. ❤️

+.+.+

"Let us hope so. The narrow sea is perilous this time of year, and of late there have been troubling reports of strange ships seen amongst the Stepstones."

"Salladhor Saan?"

"The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne's war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well. On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons."

No, I suppose not. "My apologies, Lord Tycho."

There's so much to love about this.

Braavosi have deep-seated hatred of Valyrians ... The Iron Bank will never aid Daenerys ... Jon is reminded dragons are no laughing matter.

It's all great.

+.+.+

Three of the queen's ladies sat together, attended by their serving maids and a dozen admiring men of the Night's Watch.

I'm going to need Brienne, 12 men, a wolf, and a brother on Sansa at all times when she arrives.

+.+.+

When he espied Jon Snow, Axell Florent tossed a bone aside, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sauntered over. With his bowed legs, barrel chest, and prominent ears, he presented a comical appearance, but Jon knew better than to laugh at him. He was an uncle to Queen Selyse and had been among the first to follow her in accepting Melisandre's red god. If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. Axell Florent's brother had been burned by Melisandre, Maester Aemon had informed him, yet Ser Axell had done little and less to stop it. What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

Laugh out loud.

<- Daenerys VII

🎨 steamey

+.+.+

"Lord Snow, if I may ask … this wildling princess His Grace King Stannis wrote of … where might she be, my lord?"

Long leagues from here, Jon thought. If the gods are good, by now she has found Tormund Giantsbane. "Val is the younger sister of Dalla, who was Mance Rayder's wife and mother to his son. King Stannis took Val and the child captive after Dalla died in childbed, but she is no princess, not as you mean it."

It's Jon who will learn this lesson the hard way, and I can't wait.

+.+.+

It gave him an uneasy feeling. Braavosi coin would allow the Night's Watch to buy food from the south when their own stores ran short, food enough to see them through the winter, however long it might prove to be. A long hard winter will leave the Watch so deep in debt that we will never climb out, Jon reminded himself, but when the choice is debt or death, best borrow.

He did not have to like it, though. And come spring, when the time came to repay all that gold, he would like it even less.

Lumber trade, Jon. Look around you.

They have no trees, she realized. Braavos is all stone, a grey city in a green sea. - Arya I, AFFC

x

"There's no more wood." Dareon had paid the innkeep double for a room with a hearth, but none of them had realized that wood would be so costly here. Trees did not grow on Braavos, save in the courts and gardens of the mighty. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

Tycho Nestoris had impressed him as cultured and courteous, but the Iron Bank of Braavos had a fearsome reputation when collecting debts. Each of the Nine Free Cities had its bank, and some had more than one, fighting over every coin like dogs over a bone, but the Iron Bank was richer and more powerful than all the rest combined. When princes defaulted on their debts to lesser banks, ruined bankers sold their wives and children into slavery and opened their own veins. When princes failed to repay the Iron Bank, new princes sprang up from nowhere and took their thrones.

As poor plump Tommen may be about to learn. No doubt the Lannisters had good reason for refusing to honor King Robert's debts, but it was folly all the same. If Stannis was not too stiff-necked to accept their terms, the Braavosi would give him all the gold and silver he required, coin enough to buy a dozen sellsword companies, to bribe a hundred lords, to keep his men paid, fed, clothed, and armed. Unless Stannis is lying dead beneath the walls of Winterfell, he may just have won the Iron Throne. He wondered if Melisandre had seen that in her fires.

Stannis will die, so they might back Aegon VI? I forget if Kevan sorts out the Iron Bank stuff for Cersei.

One thing I do know is that they'll never back Daenerys when she has dragons.

+.+.+

On the morrow he would draft orders for Cotter Pyke. Eleven ships to Hardhome. Bring back as many as you can, women and children first. It was time they set sail. Should I go myself, though, or leave it to Cotter? The Old Bear had led a ranging. Aye. And never returned.

Silly boy, it's just as easy to die at Castle Black as it is beyond the Wall.

Unlike the show, book!Jon isn't a superhero with an action scene quota, so there will be no trips to Hardhome. Cotter Pyke and Tormund get to have all the fun instead.

+.+.+

Arya. Jon straightened. It had to be her.

"Girl," screamed the raven. "Girl, girl."

"Ty and Dannel came on her two leagues south of Mole's Town. They were chasing down some wildlings who scampered off down the kingsroad. Brought them back as well, but then they come on the girl. She's highborn, m'lord, and she's been asking for you."

"How many with her?" He moved to his basin, splashed water on his face. Gods, but he was tired.

"None, m'lord. She come alone. Her horse was dying under her. All skin and ribs it was, lame and lathered. They cut it loose and took the girl for questioning."

A grey girl on a dying horse. Melisandre's fires had not lied, it would seem. But what had become of Mance Rayder and his spearwives? 

I would also like to know what became of Mance.

Alys arrived alone on a dying horse.

✅ "A girl in grey on a dying horse. Jon Snow's sister." 

+.+.+

"Where is the girl now?"

"Maester Aemon's chambers, m'lord." The men of Castle Black still called it that, though by now the old maester should be warm and safe in Oldtown. 

+.+.+

"That's good." Jon felt fifteen years old again. Little sister. He rose and donned his cloak.

He's sixteen.

+.+.+

The snow was still falling as he crossed the yard with Mully. A golden dawn was breaking in the east, but behind Lady Melisandre's window in the King's Tower a reddish light still flickered. Does she never sleep? What game are you playing, priestess? Did you have some other task for Mance?

I would also like to know if there's some other task.

+.+.+

The best solution he could see would mean dispatching her to Eastwatch and asking Cotter Pyke to put her on a ship to someplace across the sea, beyond the reach of all these quarrelsome kings. It would need to wait until the ships returned from Hardhome, to be sure. She could return to Braavos with Tycho Nestoris. Perhaps the Iron Bank could help find some noble family to foster her. Braavos was the nearest of the Free Cities, though … which made it both the best and the worst choice. Lorath or the Port of Ibben might be safer. Wherever he might send her, though, Arya would need silver to support her, a roof above her head, someone to protect her. She was only a child.

Braavos sounds like a great place Arya Stark. Heh.

His hands are tied, but you still have to laugh at Jon planning to immediately ship her off somewhere else. I'm sure the Arya fans aren't bothered by that at all.

She was only a child.

Lol.

+.+.+

Jon stepped over a puddle of damp clothing. "Snow, Snow, Snow," the ravens called down from above. The girl was curled up near the fire, wrapped in a black woolen cloak three times her size and fast asleep.

Black woolen cloak. No other clothing mentioned.

❌ I must find the girl again, the grey girl on the dying horse. 

+.+.+

She looked enough like Arya to give him pause, but only for a moment. A tall, skinny, coltish girl, all legs and elbows, her brown hair was woven in a thick braid and bound about with strips of leather. She had a long face, a pointy chin, small ears.

You mean like a horse? Are you suggesting your sister Arya has horse-like features?

Capital punishment.

+.+.+

"I am told you have been asking after me. I am—"

"—Jon Snow." The girl tossed her braid back. "My house and yours are bound in blood and honor. Hear me, kinsman. My uncle Cregan is hard upon my trail. You must not let him take me back to Karhold."

Asking after Jon.

✅ She was racing to him for protection, that much Melisandre had seen clearly.

Running from a marriage to Cregan.

✅ I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. 

Take her back to Karhold.

❌ "I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever." "Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?"

The only body of water Alys could have come near is The Last River. The Last River is not a lake, it's a river. There would not be still water with a thin coat of ice.

+.+.+

For a moment the memory eluded him. Then it came. "Alys Karstark."

That brought the ghost of a smile to her lips. "I was not sure you would remember. I was six the last time you saw me."

"You came to Winterfell with your father." The father Robb beheaded. "I don't recall what for."

She blushed. "So I could meet your brother. Oh, there was some other pretext, but that was the real reason. I was almost of an age with Robb, and my father thought we might make a match. There was a feast. I danced with you and your brother both. He was very courteous and said that I danced beautifully. You were sullen. My father said that was to be expected in a bastard."

Still looking for the right dancing partner.

+.+.+

"You're still a little sullen," the girl said, "but I will forgive you that if you will save me from my uncle."

"Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?"

"He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. "My brother Harry is the rightful lord, and by law I am his heir. A daughter comes before an uncle. Uncle Arnolf is only castellan. He's my great-uncle, actually, my father's uncle. Cregan is his son. I suppose that makes him a cousin, but we always called him uncle. Now they mean to make me call him husband." She made a fist. "Before the war I was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. We were only waiting till I flowered to be wed, but the Kingslayer killed Daryn in the Whispering Wood. My father wrote that he would find some southron lord to wed me, but he never did. Your brother Robb cut off his head for killing Lannisters." Her mouth twisted. "I thought the whole reason they marched south was to kill some Lannisters."

[...]

"My uncle declared for Stannis, in hopes it might provoke the Lannisters to take poor Harry's head. Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own. Once Cregan gets a child by me they won't need me anymore. He's buried two wives already." She rubbed away a tear angrily, the way Arya might have done it. "Will you help me?"

My oh my, look at all the things hiding in plain sight.

"Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?" "He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. [...] Uncle Arnolf is only castellan.

"Lysa was murdered before the document could be presented for her signature, so I signed as Lord Protector. I knew that would have been her wish." - Sansa I, AFFC

He's my great-uncle, actually, my father's uncle. Cregan is his son. I suppose that makes him a cousin, but we always called him uncle. Now they mean to make me call him husband.

Running from a marriage to an uncle who isn't really her uncle?

"Wed?" Sansa was stunned. "You and my aunt?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"Even here. In your heart. Can you do that? Can you be my daughter in your heart?" [...] "I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?" - Sansa I, AFFC

My brother Harry is the rightful lord

"Harry the Heir?" - Alayne II, AFFC

Before the war I was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. We were only waiting till I flowered to be wed

If they do that … why, then we shall know that there is no taint in your blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the king in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men. - Sansa IV, AGOT

My father wrote that he would find some southron lord to wed me, but he never did. Your brother Robb cut off his head for killing Lannisters.

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. - Sansa III, AGOT

x

"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" - Arya V, AGOT

Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own.

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think? - Alayne II, AFFC

Once Cregan gets a child by me they won't need me anymore. He's buried two wives already.

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove. - Sansa VII, ASOS

So many similarities between this girl not in grey and Sansa Stark. Must be a coincidence.

+.+.+

"Marriages and inheritance are matters for the king, my lady. I will write to Stannis on your behalf, but—"

Alys Karstark slipped her arm through Jon's. "How much longer, Lord Snow? If I'm to be buried beneath this snow, I'd like to die a woman wed." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Arnolf is rushing to Winterfell, 'tis true, but only so he might put his dagger in your king's back. He cast his lot with Roose Bolton long ago … for gold, the promise of a pardon, and poor Harry's head. Lord Stannis is marching to a slaughter. So he cannot help me, and would not even if he could." Alys knelt before him, clutching the black cloak. "You are my only hope, Lord Snow. In your father's name, I beg you. Protect me."

Why are you kneeling Alys? Is there a king around?

(Dagger for Stannis!)

Final thoughts:

That is no girl in grey, your honor.

We just went an entire chapter without Jon pissing off Bowen Marsh. I feel like celebrating.

-> return to menu <-

[magic-aggy]

old oc, new art. her name is Lucky Clover, she's 35 and a trans lesbian. bio under the read more.

she used to be a showgirl/roulette dealer in Las Pegasus. fired for flirting TOO MUCH with hot older mares on the job.

now lives in ponyville, says shes a gardener and she technically is and has the skills, but she really just happily lives off Equestria's Universal Basic Income, and shoplifts anything she cant afford. she also grows a lot of weed which she deals when she can be bothered.

Her Grandma was a changeling, so she has a bit of changeling magic, hence her weird horn. all she can do is basic short term charms, aka a much weaker version of what chrysalis did to shining armor. she uses this to get away with shoplifting and get what she wants without facing consequences.

loves loves loves being fat, 35, and sleeping around. divorced, lesbian, only into moms, particularly fat mares like her. visits sucarcube corner daily to hit on Mrs Cake, regardless of whether her husband is present or not. Mrs Cake is soft on her about it bc she enjoys the attention.

she doesnt ever steal from Mrs Cake bc in her head she thinks she's the One and she doesnt want to upset her.

compulsive braggart and blowhard. knows card tricks but isnt into it as much anymore. thinks trixie is weaksauce. knows trixies dad but doesnt know that the two are related. hates trixies dad. trixie would appreciate this bc she also hates her dad.

recently her younger brother Bug Brain (15, he/they/it), moved to live with her in ponyville because he got expelled from his school in manehattan for using charm and illusion magic to make the school mascot while in the mascot costume, think the mascot costume was on fire. ill draw him next and make a whole post about it. he's enrolled in twilights school of friendship bc nowhere else would take him after all the bullshit he pulled.

they bicker a lot, but they make it work. she does genuinely want to help her brother and be a good older sister, but its hard. shes not really prepared for it, her grandma thrust it on both of them. (parents are dead, Clover and Bug were both raised by their Grandma, who's been living in manehattan for most of her life, after her hive set up in an abandoned train station underground.)

they live in the changeling neighbourhood in ponyville, next door to Roseluck, Lily, and Daisy (Roseluck is a changeling). After Chrysalis' hive became independent and queenless all the smaller secretive hives in pony towns and cities gradually started to reveal themselves and make contact. turns out ponyville has had a comfortably and benevolently integrated changeling community for over 50 years.

anyway, shes important to me. shes insecure and loud and brash and so incredibly overconfident and never afraid to stand up for herself, even when shes wrong. ESPECIALLY when shes in the wrong. but she's trying as hard as she can to be a good mentor for her emo 15yr old baby brother. and also trying as hard as she can to get with Mrs Cake.

its working. Mrs Cake just borrowed a book on polyamory from ponyville library.