#ask to tag if i missed anything!!

[flamingthespian]

Fucking crying I just saw a FART(TERF) blog who had “persecuted for loving beauty” in their bio BDHEJSJSJSJSJJJSKS no one is persecuting you Jan the first amendment protects you from the government not the Justin

[byanyan]

ㅤon byan's past experiences with family & the foster care systemㅤ—ㅤas byan's modern verse has effectively become their main verse, at least for the time being, it seems about time to expand a bit on their backstory. in this case, on one of the main sources of their trauma, distrust, & inability to let themself get close to people: their unfortunate history with family.

ㅤbyan doesn't know their birth mother's name (aside from her surname, of course, which they share) and, frankly, they don't care to know. all they've ever known about her is that she put them up for adoption the moment they were born. they've never met her, never spoken to her, and haven't seen her since they were born; why should they want to know anything about someone who never wanted them in the first place?

ㅤthey were actually adopted quite quickly as a baby by a korean couple who were unable to have children of their own, and they were raised by these two for their first few years. however, when the couple was unexpectedly able to have a child of their own, byan fell to the backburner until the couple ultimately decided they couldn't handle two children. thus, byan ended up in a group home for children and was put into the foster care system. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤthis would be the first major influence (of many) in the way byan has come to view families. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤbyan doesn't remember the names of these parents. having spent such significant developmental years with them, they only remember the two as "엄마 / mom" & "아빠 / dad" — a fact they've come to hate. it's painful, after all, to only be able to remember people who so easily abandoned you as mom & dad.

ㅤthe first family who fostered them after this, unfortunately, ended up just not being a good fit. byan was only with them for about six months.

ㅤanother couple with several other foster & adopted children took them in when they were about 4. never feeling like they got enough attention with so many siblings though, byan began to act out. eventually, they would become too much of a handful with all the other kids and would end up back in the system.

ㅤby the time they entered elementary school, byan only continued to act out. they were disruptive, caused all assortment of trouble in school and among other kids, which would have them in and out of many foster homes during this time. they were always deemed too difficult to be properly accepted into any family, and their behaviour would only continue to get worse because of it.

ㅤthe first time they ran away from a foster home, they were 8. it was their first experience in an abusive home; the father would regularly beat them for doing or wearing anything he deemed to be "for girls." byan would try everything from hiding what they were doing/wearing/etc. to fighting back. things only got worse with time and, eventually, they couldn't handle it any longer. for lack of any other option, they ran away from home. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤduring this time, they lived on the street, finding themself shelter wherever they could and relying on theft, lies, begging, and the occasional trash rummaging in order to feed themself. after spending a few nights in a homeless shelter several weeks later, they were brought to the attention of a child welfare agency and put back into a group home and, of course, back into the foster care system.

ㅤafter this experience, they would run away from many more homes, though not always because of any abuse. the reasons would vary and, while they were sometimes serious enough to warrant running away, most of the time they weren't. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤthis is about the point where it really started to sink in just how unimportant and unwanted they were to the world around them. from here, byan would more or less stop trying to fit in with families who fostered them, deciding it to be pointless, as it wouldn't last.

ㅤat 14 they were kicked out of a home for the first time. byan introduced their foster brother to the world drugs, which was not something the parents were about to tolerate. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤthey ended up on the street for a while again here, though they did sneak back into the family's home to collect as many of their own belongings as they could carry (as well as a couple hundred bucks from the spot they knew the parents stashed away spare cash). ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤthis was not the last time byan would get into trouble with foster families over drugs, nor the last time they were removed from a home because of it. in some instances, things got violent and, in a few other cases, the families would even call the police on them.

ㅤby the time they're in their teen years, byan has a lengthy record racked up, from problems at school to problems caused with previous foster families, along with trouble with the law and less than positive psych evaluations. naturally, they've found fewer and fewer families willing to foster them over the years as the list of issues has grown and, when a family does take them in, it rarely lasts more than a couple months — often due to byan's own actions.

some other, less specific tidbits:

ㅤthere have been more than just one family who wouldn't acknowledge or accept their gender identity (and sexuality, for that matter). several of these homes were very forceful in their insistence that byan is a boy and should look and act like it. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤthat said, they have also had plenty of homes that were very accepting and supportive of them and their identity.

ㅤthey have had a few foster parents who have tried to give them an english name. much as byan hates the name yeong-hwan, they still prefer it to any of the bs these parents tried to stick them with. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ»ㅤsimilarly to above though, they have also had families who have tried learning to speak korean and/or learning to cook korean meals in an effort to make them feel more at home.

ㅤbyan has had several physical altercations with foster families — most of the time with foster siblings, but they've gotten violent with a few of their foster parents as well. many of these they caused themself, but several instances have merely been them responding & simply defending themself.

[splitster]

pikmin au where pom is a wraith 🤨

there's something weird with the rookie!!!!! she's a floral themed wraith. for fun.

[raiiny-bay]

some WIPs from the 80s AU i never finished

[lullaebies]

Aegon III and Jaehaera had known from the night they should've consumated their marriage, that they never will — their one agreement had always been to reach an age they can petition for annulment.

When the time comes, it is harder to come to terms with it than expected. read on ao3. 💚

Annulment.

It is all Jaehaera ever wanted, as far as she remembers. The moment her grandmother died, she had been struck with how helpless she was in this Red Keep of terrors. Attempts on her life were made, more than once. Her Father may have once begrudgingly agreed to her betrothal, but he had not once thought it would come to fruition.

Made Queen at a young age, to a boy who shares her father’s namesake but could never share affection with her, she had always figured it would be easier to leave. To Oldtown, the home her grandmother always praised, or anywhere else, far, far away.

Her husband, surprisingly, never disagreed with this idea. She had been twelve, when they first had this conversation. She just had her first moonblood, and had been truly ready to pull a knife on her King if he tried to touch her in any capacity. 

Yet Aegon the Third reached for nobody, and the same night he stood by her and disavowed any vow their marriage had been founded on. He had been fifteen, the age her father already held her and her late twin in his arms, but he had no thirst for flesh of anybody — and most exceptionally, not of her.

That night had been the first time he made her cry. Cry of joy, that is; he told her he will not take her, and instead, that he is willing to listen and help her to where she may wish to take herself. That it may take time, but they could annul the marriage on grounds of it providing no children, given she is willing to wait and accept infertility as a guise.

Jaehaera was not stupid then nor now. She knows that he could kick her or axe her for false treasons if he wanted. He had given her a fair choice, for a respectful setting aside. Grandmother may have been disappointed in her, for not carving his heart out his chest and fighting for the crown, but he offered her easy freedom. And she wanted it so badly.

“You’ll be allowed to leave wherever you want. I swear you this on my mother’s memory.”

She cared none for his mother nor her memory, but she had known this opportunity is all she could ask for. She accepted it when she was twelve, not knowing if he would be true to his word, but alas, the time came.

Dressed in the darkest of colors in broad daylight, he comes to her rooms one day with an enchanting, rare smile on his pallored face. 

“The Small Council had brought up the issue of an heir,” he tells her. “I believe it is time for our ploy.”

Jaehaera inhales deeply, before rising from her seat. She smiles at him back.

—

Aegon is rather content with himself as he walks about the Keep.

He is twenty years of age, and his councilmen are livid with him. He had been recluse from holding courts, and hearing petitions; Viserys had to drag him by the ear to the ugly chair of swords. ‘ You do not appear enough in public, they are berating you in the streets!’ is a common complaint he hears, ever so directly only from Viserys, but in softer words from the councilmen at all times. 

Well, the councilmen can go piss on another tree, as do the common folk. He will grant Viserys some leverage alone, he does truly care, but gods, his chastising can be irritating .

He does not count more than three of his steps before he hears his brother rushing beside him.

“Aegon,” he rushes after him. “Are you listening to me? It’s preposterous!”

“What is?” he asks. The part where I told the Council I am to request annulment from the High Septon, or the part I named you heir for the while?

“You know damn well what is,” he says. “You just sent these schemers into a frenzy. They’ll pull women out of the depths of their grimy castle and blasted families to toss at you.”

“They would’ve done so anyways,” Aegon answers plainly. “Our lords of the Small Council are not men of great beauty. I cannot imagine any runs in their family lines. I only hope they’re reasonable to understand any rejection to come.” 

They enter his solar, and Viserys closes the door before giving him the most pronounced frown he can muster.

“I did not agree to being heir,” he says.

“Troublesome,” Aegon answers, sitting down on a chair. “To you, that is.”

“No, it is troublesome that you refuse to do your own duties,” Viserys says. “I think I do enough for you to not treat me like this.”

“You do enough to take over,” Aegon answers. “Why are you this contentious? You’ll do well with that. Little Aegon would be King.”

“Little Aegon spat on me today in order to escape his reading lessons. That is a grim future,” he says. “And you spit on me and your wife of nine years in the process of doing this.”  

“I didn’t know you as a fan of Jaehaera,” Aegon raises his brow. “Nine years with no heir are enough to know one is not likely to come.”

“Our cousin has lesser qualities, but none of those influence the fact you don’t know where to put it in,” Viserys answers back. Aegon glares at him; he may have never truly touched Jaehaera, but he shared her bed enough for it to be convincing that they tried. His brother is just being a prick — or alternately simply sees through him. Aegon is appreciative of neither option. Viserys glares back. “There was a purpose to your marriage. And there will be consequences to future generations of our family if we dangle that throne in front of our children. Stability, is what matters to this realm. Not your damn whims.”

Aegon bites his lips. He hates it when his brother makes his points. More than often he is correct. However, Aegon had done all he could to find a solution that would allow him and Jaehaera the freedom they promised one another. I swore.

“I have no children, Viserys,” Aegon answers.

Viserys scoffs. “Because you wish to live as if you are dead, and you wish me complicit in letting you do so,” he spits back at him. “I’m not your heir. If you want to set our cousin aside, find a wife of good repute and family to replace her.”

Viserys walks out of the room in stomps mightier than stallions at stampedes, and Aegon rubs his temples. 

Seven hells.

—

Aegon finds Jaehaera in his rooms later that day, waiting by the fireplace. He cannot say he had expected her; she doesn’t come here if she doesn’t need to. The creak of the door makes her turn to him, her nightdress and robe swiping against the floor. Almost immediately she rushes up to him.

“I am getting pitying looks,” she tells him, and her eyes are bright with curiosity of all things. He had allowed her a prior warning that he is setting things to motion for this reason exactly. She may not resent it, but others would take offense for her. That being said, she is mighty jolly for a woman talking of being looked down on. “Did you tell them?”

“I have declared intentions,” he answers her. “Some are unhappy, and some are most happy, but regardless they are stewing over it and will accept it soon enough.” 

Jaehaera nods, breathing in some disbelief. “Is it that easy?” she asks. “Do I need to do something?” The jitter in her limbs is noticeable, she fiddles with her hands in some liveliness. 

“Nothing in particular,” he says, moving past her to sit by his desk. “I need to petition the High Septon, and quarrel some more with Viserys, but you only need wait,” he says. “Though it may be counterproductive for you to be here. That does not give the impression of giving up on a marriage.”

Jaehaera huffs at that, walking over to him. “Why should you mind? They’ll be thinking I am begging you to decide differently,” she says. “I will be the one to suffer their prying eyes, as it is.” 

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock,” Aegon shoots back at her. He will not have her self-pitying over their shared agreement, he has had enough complaints over this. “And you have agreed to it, so don’t you start.”

“I’m not starting a thing,” Jaehaera says, holding her hands together. “I only wish to know what is to happen to me.”

Aegon’s muscles tense. They’ve both spent days on end wondering what will come their way. To sit and wait watching bloody walls while their guards and guardians know not how to shield them from what’s impending. It makes him sick only thinking about it.

He breathes deeply, and takes up one of the parchment papers and his ink. He wanted to write this petition later, but if she’s already here, he might as well. “If you’d like to watch me declare you impotent to the High Septon, be my guest.”

Jaehaera huffs as she walks behind him to see. “Last I heard a husband requested annulment from his wife for impotence, he remained childless despite having three wives, and the lady had become with child within a year of her second marriage.” 

Aegon raises an eyebrow. “That’s your wish for me?” Perhaps a hex brought to word. A tsk leaves his lips— she wouldn’t know he would not mind it at all—

“No, that’s your wish for yourself,” she says plainly, and a dose of faux innocence creeps upon her words. “I’d never.”

Aegon's mouth scrunches to an annoyed pout. At times her intuition seems heightened and she simply knows what she shouldn’t. And of course, she must employ similar words to Viserys. He draws his chair closer to the table. Breathe, and distance yourself. 

He focuses on his lettering instead. A formal request is not so hard to write, but he is unequivocally aware of her behind him. I hereby request your permission to relieve me and Queen Jaehaera of our…

“Relieve? Are we pissing, Aegon?” she chuckles by his ear. He turns his face to glare at her, but he nearly slams his face to her cheek. She pushes her face lightly against his as if to shove him away, and straightens herself to proper posture. 

He could choose to be flabbergasted. He sighs out. No. This is not the way with her.

“Do you want this written?” he asks her sternly. Staring her down is difficult when he must stare her up from his seat, but he will not let her lose his mind so easily.

She has the mind to not be entirely shameless. “Yes.”

“Then go sit on the bed and wait.”

Jaehaera most certainly has some quip trying to escape her lips, but she holds it in well. Eyebrows are raised and eyes are widened with a stifled grin, but she does not continue. Certainly an effort on her side.

“I shall let you read after I finish writing,” he tells her. “I promise.”

Every agreement with her is kept in their silences. Flinging hands in the hair, she steps and sits on the edge of the bed, resting her figure against the post of it. She is still watching, but he is able to finish the letter with this safe distance. 

When he rises from his seat, her gaze lifts with his figure. She looks at him expectedly, like one of her kittens waiting for food to be graced upon them. He blows on the letter once or twice for the ink to set and brings it forward to her for the taking. 

Jaehaera’s eyes scan the paper slowly. Every time she reads she has the most focused look on her face. He never knows if she takes in her texts at such leisure because she needs further focus or because she chooses to ignore him, but he allows her the moment she needs, slipping to the side of the bed opposed to her. If she has any complaints, he can fix them on the morrow; he has had enough of a long day.

When she lets the letter fall to her lap, she turns to him with eyes brightened with some emotion as they seem slightly frightened. 

“Do you think the High Septon will think me lesser for this reputation?” she asks him. “His opinion may matter if I’d like to stay in Oldtown...”

Aegon hasn’t ever thought he’d see his wife quite so nervous. She hadn’t allowed fear on her hardened face since the death of her grandmother. Certainly not to him, at the very least. He himself can’t truly ever relieve himself of his own fears, but he does know he has more control in relieving hers.

“You know very well Lord Lyonel nor Lady Samantha care for the opinion of any septon,” he answers softly. “You are a Targaryen. You will be a respectable ward to any host, and if they do not see you as such, we will sober said hosts to the truth.”

Never again could House Targaryen be seen as weak. He will never allow such insult or audacity again, nor hurt. It is why she must live on; why he must live on. Feelings of shame overcome him, all he has already lost for being a weak child.

“I will not allow any disrespect towards you,” he says ever seriously. Jaehaera’s mouth is in a thin gap she quickly shuts close, and he finds that if he does not speak now, his lifespan might thin out in a way even he isn’t prepared to. “So you’ve decided on Oldtown?”

No surprise, really. She may find herself belonging around those kin better. He wonders if she would; since Rhaena remarried to Garmund Hightower, that place is of no less Targaryen presence than here. 

“Well, if they’d sober to my respectable self, I’d be most glad,” she returns to her jests. “I’d rather like to see the Citadel’s Sphinxes. ”Did you know they have the bodies of cats?” 

“I believe it’s lions,” Aegon replies. “Or so Lord Tyland Lannister once told me. Though perhaps he saw himself in it.” 

Jaehaera nods. “Overgrown, smart cats, who speak in elevated riddles,” she laments, and then a grin returns to her face. “Perhaps he was right to see himself in it.”

Aegon feels the corners of his lips upturn as well. “Perhaps he was.” 

—

Jaehaera puts her mother’s pearls upon her for the night’s ball. Every ball has its purpose, and this one had several. Aegon needs to look at prospective alternatives to her, as well as apparently needs to calm his sister’s and council’s beating hearts to allow them to put forward their own girls first. Jaehaera laughed at how exasperated her husband had been as he told her. The muscles of his face have been in a perpetual scowl since forever, but it somehow managed to deepen.

She stretched her thumb and index over the skin of his lips, forcing him to wear a smile again. “You should smile if you’d like to charm anybody,” she told him. “Councilmen and women alike.” 

He shoved her hand away, pouting. Perhaps it doesn’t matter; he needn’t do much. He is handsome enough, and eyes will be on him regardless, as well on the crown on his head. It is a risk, to force him to smile. He is no good at such; when it does not reach his eyes it looks a crooked grimace. She finds it amusing in some measure, but he may scare someone else.

Regardless, she had been excited for the evening. Aegon told her he invited the Hightowers for her, to see if Oldtown’s folk truly suit her.

“My Queen,” her handmaiden calls her, showing her headpiece intricate with pearls scattered across green fabric. It is very extravagant for this evening. “What about this headdress?”

“Isn’t it much for the evening, Leila?” she asks the woman with a grin. She quite loves Leila; she had been with her for quite a while. She used to be a cook, kind enough to make Jaehaera all the sweets she needed between cravings and tears. Jaehaera took her as handmaiden right away, when she found out she could.

Leila licks her lips, tentative in what she says next. “My Queen, I have wanted to tell you… there are rumors—” she looks down, truthfully saddened. Still, she dares. “That the King wishes to replace you.”

Jaehaera hums at her, lips unsure of what shape to make. “You needn’t be concerned, really.”

“But it is of concern, Your Grace,” Leila says. “I couldn’t bear some Westerland witch taking your place.”

Jaehaera’s blinks at the sudden confession, but tries to conceal it with a jest. “That is all well then. If Aegon wishes for another, he has plenty more regions to choose from.”

“Your maids count to three and ten in number, Your Grace. You’ll find each of us refusing them all,” she tells her. “His Grace should see the good in his hands.”

Jaehaera is surprised. She hadn’t ever truly thought any of the Keep cares for her presence much. Many other staffs she had thought she could rely on turned on her and let her almost fall to the hands of those who wish her ill will. It is hard to believe in anyone, in truth.

Her one assumption had been that she’d only miss the cats of the Keep —  Gon and Lena are quite old now, but their kittens grew up so well. Ron, Mond, and Rys often played together. She thought she might take Lor with her, if she left; he is a wee bit of runt, just like her. Her husband had fed the cats himself rather often, but he wouldn’t mind her keeping one, she thinks. He likes them better than some of his councilmen, but he would.

In fact, she can’t see him denying her them all, should she have asked. 

She swallows, and smiles at Leila, holding her hands. “I see good in these hands,” she says. “Do put the headdress on me. Even if Aegon cares little, I trust your sense of dress more than anyone else.”

“If he cares little, he’s the most foolish king that could be,” Leila says, pouting, but tending to her hair nonetheless.

Jaehaera laughs.

—

Aegon sees Jaehaera come into the ballroom when he is dealing with a flock of hens. Hens, being the court’s daughters (and at times, mothers), and the lot of them were sent to him by his councilmen, and most of all, his devious siblings. Viserys, Rhaena, Baela, the lot of them proving to be from the seven hells.

She enters with a soft green dress befitting an age-old dispute. Should he be angry? Probably; he can see Baela is quite upset, but he is first taken aback by the form of Jaehaera. His wife scarcely took to dressing grandiosely, always rather conservative with her hair up in plain braided buns, and her dresses styled more for girls than women. It is different today, with her lowered neckline and hair cascading down with only half an updo and a tiara-like headdress.

He knows not if the red of her cheeks is powder or shyness as she wades through the room. She had been most excited at the news of her kinsmen coming, but now she looks rather tentative at the stares, despite her eye-catching choice of garb.

It does suddenly dawn on him that she may like to look appealing in order to perhaps find a second life by finding a second husband. That is fair, he rationalizes to himself. He himself is deep in the clutches of all the women that could be her replacements even if he had no wish to remarry after. But I must, and she could choose.

Jaehaera looks for something in the crowd and he does not notice he is staring until what she looks for is revealed to be him , and a relieved, crinkling violet stare holds him in place. 

“Your Grace,” Lady Corinna Tarbeck wakes him from his sudden halt. “What are you smiling at so…” the blond Lady begins to ask. He quickly removes any trace of a smile from his face, swallowing. Corinna is one of Rhaena’s friends, similar in ladylike demeanour, but even her impeccably held shy smile fades rather quickly at his wife’s approach. Regardless, she greets her first as Jaehaera rushes forward towards her. “My Queen.”

“I do beg your pardon for the interruption,” Jaehaera says, and chews the inside of his cheek when she sounds rather sincere. “If I may have my King for a moment,” she asks. Lady Corinna does not stay beyond her welcome, and Aegon is left with his wife rather stone-like. He sets his eyes on the pearls on her neck, which leads to nothing good. He ends up looking at her collarbone, and his eyes only keep straying further than he’d like them to. 

“Who’s that? A Westerland witch?” she whispers with a grin. Aegon is astounded to a snort at her knowing; she wasn’t even wearing her houses’ colors. But a witch may be an accurate descriptor. She had appeared by his side as if by magic’s way. His dearest sisters never hold back.

“Frankly, yes,” he says. “Rhaena has brought a delegation of those. They move their face as much as dolls do.” 

“Well, I rather like dolls. They make great company to the lonely,” she says. Aegon purses his lips. He has felt loneliness in his miserly life, but he hasn’t a need to alleviate any as of late. He doubts these dolls’ company would be any more than hindrance; all Lady Tarbeck had the will to talk about is the beauty of his jewelled crown. “Have you seen the Hightowers? I shan’t like to stifle you in your endeavors, but…”

Yet she does, coming in and demanding the eyes of all. Aegon huffs, but takes her arm in his. Even if she will be free to leave the Keep too, they need to maintain stability and amiability to the crowd. To let her go should be nothing but the last resort in the eyes of their warring lords. 

“I saw Lady Samantha with her children, I’ll take you to them,” her teeth flash in at him in a grin, and he tries to ignore how she holds his arm to her side. It is easier when she starts to whisper to him about some of the ladies he should avoid as they go about the room.

“Lady Farring is pretty, but quite the leech. I’ve spoken to her over tea a few times, and she means it not, but she’s a drainer of energy. I have felt the years pass by me in an hour,” she says.

“You mean she will deny me a long life?” he asks. “You may have just fully endeared me to her.”

Jaehaera rolls her eyes with a repressed smile. “They’d think I poisoned you if I let you die so soon after my leave,” she complains. “There are finer ladies around. Lady Thorne and Lady Harte had always been sweeter souls. You’ll find them amiable, though delegating you to them might be unfair to them.”

“Am I not amiable now? I thought I was rather fair with you,” he answers, scrunching his nose. Was he not fair with her? He would not say he had been the best of husbands, but he did his best to keep her in her thoughts. Even when it was hard, when he didn’t want to at all. Viserys thinks he knows not the importance of stability of the realm, but he does. He worked hard to make sure they are all stable and well. So much so now thinking of her and her consequences are second nature. 

Jaehaera squeezes his arms, looking up at him, pouting with lips he just noticed had been tinted further red. “It was a jest,” she says, sullen. “I can’t deny you are fairer than I expected you to be. I haven’t thought this promise will come to fruition; I couldn’t know if it was all empty words. But I see you have chosen a kinder, loyal hand than many would, it is not lost on me.”

Aegon breathes in. What is this sudden confession? On other days she would have sufficed to have thrown a shoe at him if he had said something she misliked. He can’t remember when her eyes had last been such a clear shade of violet rather than melancholic orchids. “I am not sure if I should be offended if you trust me only now.” 

Then again, how many attempts on her life she can live through and believe trust’s a true thing? He hardly trusted anyone at all. Viserys, he did, and his sisters, sometimes— and–

Jaehaera flattens her lips against one another. “I am simply saying I chose to believe in what my husband tells me, as he proved he does not lie,” she says softly, and he thinks it another cynical joke, until she continues. “That is not meaningless to me. That is all.” 

“Jaehaera…” he starts to say, but he scarcely knows what to speak next. He is vexed to dry lips as he stares at her own. His word must be written in stone, as King, but he holds her arm tighter. Firm in decisions and firm in their enforcement. When he passes on, he wishes no decision to keep him haunting this red brick castle, nor the land it presides over. He means to do well with his own stubbornness, yet he feels some turmoil in his gut. 

Viserys says he wishes to live as if he is dead, but he still finds himself so easily stirred. He gulps it down, wills it all away. Calm down.

“Your Grace,” Samantha Tarly suddenly appears beside, her brood of children behind her. Her eyes crinkle at his wife. “And our royal kin,” she says, reaching to hug his wife. “I have not seen you for so long. You are radiant today.” 

Jaehaera allows her a hug, though it is quite the overstep; Lady Sam does not really know her, and they are kin by her marriage to a Hightower Jaehaera hardly knew as well. Their arms unlock from one another, and Jaehaera rushes to the point of it all. “May I walk about the room with Lady Sam, husband?”

And yes, Aegon knows why she is so persuasive of the idea. Life at Oldtown would be easier for her, he knows. He’d assume life anywhere but here would be easier. He could not bear to stay long in Dragonstone, where his mother’s death had taken place, but she had managed to survive nine years in the place that hunted her family. Though perhaps it is their family as a whole .

And how long will I have to wait to leave here? He suddenly wants to reach for her arm again. He shifts on his feet, unnerved. 

This was always the plan. 

There is turmoil in his gut, but he soon nods. “As you wish, wife.”

—

Samantha’s six children waddle after them like ducklings. Every few moments, Jaehaera looks behind her step to see the little towers not tripping on either of their skirts. There is true fear there; there is no need to add blood to the snot that already decorated their noses.

“Attentive, are you?” Lady Samantha says. “You have grown so much since I’ve last seen you. You used to be such a shy thing, hiding behind anyone you could find, but now you seem to have a place to hide your own littles.” 

“A most profound way to say I am no longer eight, Lady Sam,” Jaehaera tells her, maintaining an even smile. Lady Samantha is a cattier girl, more outspoken than most. She tries to blend into her image; she would very much like to be as brave. For years Lady Sam had stood by her decisions and rebelled High Septon to approve them as true. While not being complacent, she still forged her own life. 

“I am trying to say you have much grace and wits about you, Your Grace,” Lady Sam huffs. “The King too had quite grown. You look like a dashing unit. Dare I hope there is a purpose to this ball? A declaration for a happier realm?”

Jaehaera bites her lips. She had been thoroughly glad Lady Sam found her when she did. She never denied her husband was comely, but she did not expect any of her words to come as a surprise nor lead him to his intent gaze. She never wished it to be upon her before, and she had felt bare to his eyes under the loom of his broad figure. 

She had never been scared of him, including now but perhaps it is herself that she should’ve minded more. She liked that gaze, and the tightening hold of his arm. All her life she rather wanted to flee, but despite expectations, she did not feel trapped.

Jaehaera had simply meant to express gratefulness, how did she end up so chilled to her core?

“I, well…” she looks down at the floor. She oft refused to allow her and Aegon’s circumstances to chain her into reaching for him for any carnal comfort, but Lady Sam inserted that thought into her mind as brazenly as she inserted herself into Lord Lyonel’s bed. She can’t avoid the flush on her face, but she also knows this is her time to act in their plan. “I fear that is not in my cards, Lady Sam.”

The words feel rather uncomfortable on her lips, and Lady Samantha Hightower is nothing if not sharp to note as much. Immediately, she switches her demeanour to a more tentative one. “You believe there is no… fruit to be had?” 

Jaehaera clears her throat. “No,” she says, voice small. “And the realm is tired of waiting.” 

“I like fruit,” Samantha’s youngest child suddenly notes, holding his mother’s skirts, sniffling back snot. “I want a pango.”

Samantha rolls her eyes. “You mean mango, Arthur,” she says, and turns to the other kids. “Go look for some, all of you. Together. The first to find one will ride around the city with me.” 

The children are spurred into action, and they watch them rush away. One of them faceplants onto the floor midway, but luckily their father, Lord Lyonel helps him up, and soon is dragged to help the children on their quest. 

“Children are a workload at times,” Samantha says quietly. “The King seems content still, and you are still young.”

“He is pressured by his court, and I’ve never been his court’s favourite.”

“If my Lord Hightower had managed to resist pressure from the Starry Sept, so can the King from his court.”

“We’re not you and Lord Lyonel, Lady Sam,” she says tentatively, her eyes finding Aegon’s tall figure all too easily - he is with his sister, Baela, and one of her Celtigar companions. Jaehaera looks away quickly, suddenly feeling an illness in her gut. Samantha scoffs.

“If men aren’t as fickle as leaves. To think only moments ago his eyes latched upon you so..” she inhales. “His brother is a widower, is he not? With three children to boot. I would’ve gone to his bed, if I were you.”

“Lady Sam!” Jaehaera’s eyes become saucers. If she had been sick at her unforeseen possessiveness on her husband, thinking of Viserys in his stead — she could barf . “Do not even suggest it!”

“Well, I would… but in your case. Garmund and Rhaena may toil to compete with us to fill the Hightower, but should you ever need to come to Oldtown, you will have a place. Between ten children, what is one more aunt?”

Ruckus comes from behind, and they see Lyonel attempting to settle a dispute between the children over who found the mango first. Jaehaera is quite appalled at the display. Her kittens are wild animals and they never fought so hard over a thing. 

Lady Sam excuses herself to go help, and Lord Lyonel looks at her as if she is a godsent angel coming to his rescue. The children do look rough to sort out; but that familial moment does look rather sweet. And it should be, this family would be nothing but teeth rotting to live with, but Jaehaera can’t help but feel incredibly sour.

—

A few days pass, and Aegon is walking through the gardens with a Velaryon girl that Baela and Alyn seemingly manifested from thin air. She is a pretty one, but he can’t quite focus on what she is saying at all. 

In all honesty, he finds his mind rather preoccupied. After the ball he has seen Jaehaera only once, when going back to Maegor’s Holdfast. She had been all smiles early into the evening, but at evening’s end she had been abnormally quiet. Before they parted in the hallway separating their rooms, she quickly told him Lady Sam seemingly welcomed her to her home should she wish for a place in it… and escaped to her private quarters in a rush.

He does not know how to feel about it. They could’ve talked some more, could they not? She should’ve told him more, anything. He accepted it all already, but it felt all too sudden. He thought of going after her, but when he tried to think of what to say further, he couldn’t come up with a thing. She had made her choice, what more could he say?

I swore to her she could choose.

Aegon had penned the letter to the High Septon. The request of annulment has been stamped with his own seal, and is waiting to be sent by raven to the city his wife wishes to escape to. The Small Council had told him to do so when he had his assured pick of a wife — they never intended to let him off the hook, nor stall for even a moment’s time.

The day is a fine, sunny day, and the birds are chirping gleefully from the trees planted between the flowerbeds, but he feels properly forsaken.

“Your Grace, are you well?” Lady Daenaera asks him kindly. She is properly perceptive despite being on the younger side. Ugh. He had given Baela a truly dirty look when she presented her, for she had been three and ten… but then his sister whispered to his ears her own ploy. If you wish not for a wife, perhaps you’d  be better off starting with a companion. Daenaera spots a stone bench not far away from them, and flutters gracefully to it. “Let us sit. It is rather hot today.” 

She takes her place, poised in her seat, and taps the stone surface for him to join. I should at least be mannerly.

“Fret not,” he says as he joins her. Perhaps he ought to at least entertain her some. “The sun has yet to have found the way to strike me down, unfortunately.”

Daenaera blinks at him. “Unfortunately…?” she asks, and he sees the contemplation of her mind through her eyes. He feels the deepest shiver of embarrassment coursing through his spine. Seven fucking hells. Daenaera clears her throat. “You mustn’t say that, your Grace. I’d rather believe the sun a form of sustenance, if already,” the girl recovers faster than he does.

If he wished to disappear beforehand, he most certainly wishes he could disappear now.

“Yes, most certainly,” he answers stoically. “Baela does say there is nothing quite like feeling the sun upon you as you sail.”

Now, that is. Riding her dragon had been her love when they were children, but Moondancer is long gone. He feels an awful man, knowing it makes him feel safer, and it makes him feel worse, knowing he should be ashamed of it. Morning still frightens him; he is often nervous at the thought of visiting Rhaena knowing it waits at Oldtown too. Gods, Jaehaera is going to live with the pink beast as well.

Daenaera nods. “I would daresay it is like a hug. The scent of the salt sea is carried by the cold wind, but the sun keeps you warm with its embrace… Oh!” she suddenly exclaims, and for a moment he is confused, but then he feels a scratch by his pants. Looking down, he sees a pale young cat meowing at him. He quickly climbs on his lap. “How cute. Who’s this?”

“Ah, my wi—” he catches himself before he says it, though his tone falters henceforth. “One of the courtyard’s cats. This is Rys. He’s very good at catching mice, and very good at asking for meals.”

The little thing likes to persters him, less recluse than its parents watching from the green hedges. Jaehaera had been deeply connected to it, letting it into her rooms when she had been younger. The servants hadn’t been pleased with the tears he had brought to the furniture, but he had told them to let her be. Cats of all things they can manage in their keep.

He had not been dense enough to not realize that his name had been homage to her fallen twin. All her kittens' names implied her lost family members. When he had been younger, he had swallowed down anger, but he soon grew out of it when Rys had started following him around. Before Viserys had been returned alive to Westeros, that kitten had been representative of two deceased brothers.

Aegon pats the cat’s head gently. She may want to take him with her. The little thing nuzzles against his hand.

“Such a sweet thing. He loves you so,” she remarks fondly. Aegon finds himself withering only more and more. You have offered this annulment. 

“Would you like to pet him?” he forces himself to ask. It is at that exact moment that he notices Daenaera has distanced herself to the very edge of the stone bench away from him. She smiles at him awkwardly.

“I wished I could, but you see…” she scrunches her nose as if to hold back a sneeze. “Cat’s hair is something I’m rather sensitive to.”

He holds himself from cussing. There is cat hair, noticeable, white cat hair, all over his black clothes. He can’t believe this. Even my most mundane of days are fucking miserable.

Aegon holds onto Rys and stands up. “You should’ve said so, my lady,” he sighs out. “I do apologize then, I didn’t mean you discomfort… we may be better off continuing this meeting another time,” he looks down at himself; he isn’t sure if the servants would be able to get the fur out. “In different clothes, certainly.”

“No, no, you have caused me no discomfort, Your Grace,” she is hasty to reply. “Thank you for your time, and introducing me to the kitten as well. He is a part of the Keep, regardless of if I stay or…” Daenaera fiddles with her hands nervously. He wonders how much she is trying to force herself to fit. Baela and Alyn surely goaded her to do her best, and had not been an unkind companion, but he needs not a child to validate him. 

A rustle comes from the hedges, and he sees Gon and Lena weasling out of the bushes. Rys too jumps from his hands, to poor Daenaera’s fright and sneezes alike. He looks to where they are going — and clearly, it is for food brought by maidservants, and maidservants brought by…

Jaehaera.

Aegon meets his wife’s eyes, and halts. They are clear violets, nor melancholic orchids, but furious mauves. She is glaring daggers at him. 

At first he is taken by surprise. Then, he is angry. After all he had done for her? After all he is doing for her? You plague me for days on end and you think you get to scorn me?

Daenaera lowers her head to Jaehaera, trying to sniffle back the snot from her sneezes. “Your Grace!”

Jaehaera looks the girl up and down once, and storms away with tight fists. 

Daenaera seems at a loss of words, frozen in place — and he may have properly lost his mind. His legs start to stride after his wife on their own. 

—

Jaehaera is reeling from head to toe from what she has seen. 

It is one thing for him to look for a second bride. She knows he has little option in doing so. Despite her ladies-in-waiting’s staunch refusal to be possible alternatives to her, she had been willing to help him find a woman trustworthy and capable enough to be his new Queen, but this?

Little Daenaera Velaryon had been just that; little. A child. And an orphaned child, on top of all. She had raised her eyebrows when Alyn and Baela had brought her with them, but she pushed it aside, knowing the girl had been a companion to their daughter. 

She had talked to her before. She knows the sweet girl’s exact life story; mother dead to Winter Fever, and father who had felled while waging war. Baela and Alyn fostered her henceforth, and Daenaera had held them both in the highest esteem for it. 

Jaehaera couldn’t blame them if they saw her as a Queen in the making. The girl is beautiful, well-mannered, and charming to boot, but that does not change the fact she is three and ten, and most undoubtedly pushed to the role.

Jaehaera’s mother had been pushed to marriage at three and ten, and then pushed to her death as queen at no less than three and twenty. She is walking the bridge above the moat where her queenly mother has perished years before just now — how could he? He knows how hard it is to bear the crown. He hates it more than anything, how could he?

“Jaehaera!” she hears Aegon’s voice and stomps following her. She hastens her pace. She doesn’t want to talk to him; if she does she may just cry to his face, may just push him down the moat too. Of all people, how could you do this?

Aegon’s legs are longer than hers. She is barely within the confines of the Holdfast when he reaches and grabs her arm. 

“What is the matter with you?!” he has the gall to yell to her face. “You frightened your own maids and servants, not to mention Lady Daenaera.”

Do not speak to me about my maids nor my cats! As if he hadn’t held her kitten in his ploy. “For the while I am still here, they will bear my bursts, as they always have,” she snarls at him back. “Lady Daenaera is not yet their lady.”

It is hard for her as it is. Her maids and ladies-in-waiting had been so solemn after she had told them she’d likely leave. It had been so clear she could barely bring herself to leave her rooms and face them without her lash lines prickling with tears. And her cats, she thought to take them, but then again — she couldn’t take them all, and she sees all too well that this is their home, that they are used to. Aegon’s hands were safe for Rys.

Aegon’s hands are safe. They had been safe and they had been hers. She can’t look at him. If she does…

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock.”

You’re going to make me beg. Beg that he won’t betray her own belief in him doing this, if not beg him to let her stay. She can’t beg, she can’t be this weak. She is almost on her way away from here, why must she keep looking back ? It hurts. 

She tears herself away from him and tries to run towards her apartments in the Holdfast, but Viserys and his children are blocking the way. Naerys wakes in the hands of her nursemaid and Aemon seems to grow alert. Little Aegon says something, but she can't even comprehend it. Their father, Viserys only sports some confusion on his face seeing her, but she hears his voice when he calls out to his brother. 

She runs to the opposing hallway, until that hallway ends, and she’s by the King’s quarters.

Jaehaera hears her husband’s steps from behind her coming to a halt.

“Will you stop running away from me?” he asks. She is reticent to answer, there is a bile in her throat. He steps one step forward. “Jaehaera, please .”

“She is a child,” she finally says, voice a moment from breaking. “It will hurt her.”

Aegon is silent for a moment. “She wouldn’t be my first choice either, but Viserys married her age. Younger, even.”

She turns to him in fury, coming up to his face. She will not dare speak it above a whisper, Viserys’s children are not far away, but he should know better. “And Lady Rogare could not stand this court any more than any of us, and left him more than hurt. You know this.”

Jaehaera finally meets his dark purple gaze again. It is glassy.

He nods in melancholy. “Perhaps so. But we married younger,” he says shakily. He is holding her hands; his hands are warm. They are gentle; they are safe. “And now you are leaving me.” 

I am. She can’t tear away her eyes from him. I am leaving. His face is getting closer. I am leaving and never looking back. His forehead is pressed against hers. I will be happy in Oldtown. I will be happy anywhere else but…

Aegon’s lips are pressed against hers. 

Here.

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him back.

—

He isn’t sure how they danced their way into his quarters. They have stumbled with each other within. Aegon is half bent for their kiss, one hand on the arm holding his face and the other on the small of her back, trying to hold against her leading, pushing small frame.

Aegon has gotten tastes of her touch before, but he had never realized before how she speaks through it. She had never not been honest, even if lying would have benefited her, but her hands and holds are a burst of anything he couldn’t expect. He falls back on his bed as his shins meet with its frame and she sits his lap before he could even think to contest it.

Her hands do not leave his face for more than a moment, and she is in such a frenzy she seems to forgo breathing. It makes his head spin, as if his heart does not already beat out of his chest. He never before minded the thought of his own heart failing him, cutting his days short, but now he only wants this moment longer.

“Jaehaera,” he breathes in between her pecks. She is scarcely listening, leaning more and more of her weight on him as she demands their lips’ touch. It is so brand new he can’t comprehend it, and it dawns on him that she can’t, either; she does not clutch him so for no reason. “Jaehaera, wait…”

“Kiss me,” her plea is frustrated. “Ple—”

He takes a hold of her face and stamps a hard, prolonged kiss onto her lips. I will not have you begging.

She stops, takes it in, and undeniably melts in his hands. Her hands fall and she holds onto the fabric of his doublet. She sighs sweetly when he caresses her hair. He pecks her more gently, listening attentively to her soft breaths. 

When he leaves her lips to take her in, she speaks straight to his soul.

“I will not leave you,” she tells him, so seriously it makes his heart ache. “I refuse to go.”

It hits Aegon somewhere too tender. He has no trust to lend to almost anyone. People come and go. They slip away to happier places; they disappear, they die, and he is left behind here. 

Even those he loves, he fears he only deigns to wither with him. He hurts even Viserys in his own incapabilities of carrying these burdens. But he could help Jaehaera escape it, he swore it to her ages ago, yet he can’t let her go. You are the only one who understands…

His own incapabilities have him failing at every turn, but he can’t do anything about it. He loves her. Aegon smiles up at her.

“You can go, lady wife, when I fade to ash on my pyre.”

Jaehaera’s face brightens up. The smile stretches across her face wide with a chuckle, and she brings her fingers to the buttons of his doublet. Each one she undoes strikes lightning onto him, and eventually, her hand lands on his chest, only the thin, flimsy shirt underneath protecting him as she pushes his back down the mattress. 

“As long as you know you will not do so any time soon,” she says, lowering her face against his for their noses to just touch. “You are mine while you are still warm.”

Aegon beams at her, and takes her kisses with stride and joy. He minds not a long life, if he has her to lean on.

—

When the time for the next Small Council arrives, Jaehaera enters it with Aegon, a piece of sealed, parchment paper in her hands. 

The lords come up from their seats in some haste. They are all confused at her appearance; she had never been a part of the councils, even if as Queen she had a right to request a seat. The only one that remains at his seat in the Hand of the King, Viserys—

While the rest of the lot are very much at a loss, he takes one look at his brother, and understands. 

“His Grace, Her Grace,” The Master of Coin, Lord Isembard Arryn, looks up to the two of them as Aegon takes his seat at the head of the table. “Is there a reason the both of you are here..?”

“The Queen requested her place,” Aegon answers plainly. He looks at the Kingsguards, rather annoyed. “Would anyone fetch her a chair?”

Jaehaera looks down, stifling a chuckle. Ser Raynard Ruskin quickly rushes to find her the seat. Grand Maester Munkun looks between her, Aegon and Viserys, while Lord Thaddeus Rowan is the one that asks of the elephant in the room.

“Her Grace is of course welcome. Yet, it seems to me something has shifted without us knowing?” 

Aegon hums, and turns his gaze to her. “Would you like to tell them, wife?”

Jaehaera takes center stage, at the same time Ser Raynard brings her chair to the table. She smiles at her husband. Gladly. She shows the councilmen the paper in her hands.

“This has been the petition for annulment we had planned to send to the High Septon, you see,” she presents it for all of them to see — only to soon take it in both hands, and rips it apart, letting the pieces of it fall on the table. “His Grace and I believe it had been a hasty decision yet still. As far as we are concerned it is null itself.” 

“Forgive me, your Grace, but the matter of an heir…?” Lord Arryn asks, almost rudely — but neither her nor Aegon are the one to answer him.

“Will surely sort itself out soon enough, if your royal lieges believe it well enough to renounce this decision,” Viserys says, cutthroat. His eyes fall back on her, reliable but challenging. “You better sit, Your Grace. It is an arduous path to care for a King and a Kingdom, and far more so with children to come.” 

Jaehaera sits down opposing him. Aegon sends his brother a quick glare, but it soon dissipates to a smile when Jaehaera takes a hold of Aegon’s hand.

“That is a path I’m willing to walk.” 

tag list: @boohoneyy, @serymn31, @dreams-cynicism, @shslkokoro, @sanbond, @tremendouswolfsaladranch dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

[ohbluesky]

some random tmr doodles + stuff i made for the glader cup 2022 and 2023 :]

also that brinho doodle is an illustration that you can find in @newtedison ‘s fic over here (she literally tweaked her fic so my art could match it so obviously this is dedicated to her <3)

[harbingersglory]

Thoughts on transfem Ningguang with a fem!reader whose her bodyguard? Fem!reader whose like a loyal, protective dog out in the world when they're out and about together, but an utter submissive puppy behind closed doors for the Tianquan?

literally shaking like a chihuahua oh what i'd do to be the Tianquan's lap dog..mean femmes are so attractive its like putting my brain in a blender.

It's not surprising the Tianquan has a bodyguard. She's a key political figure in Liyue and anyone aiming to dismantle the carefully curated hierarchy has her at the top of the list. To the public, your just muscle to intimidate the lesser crooks from even thinking about it and deal with those who get too bold.

Behind closed doors, though? Your nothing but the Tianquan's lap dog at her beck and call.

She isn't fond of public displays, but she does like hiding it in public just for the thrill. Knowing you wear your collar under your uniform so you'll always remember who holds your leash is a thrill she can't beat.

She's a bit mean and sadistic, really, but she's the Tianquan. She has the money to spoil you like a good puppy afterwards..so long as you behave and exceed expectations. Whether you lean more dominant or submissive doesn't matter, since you'll probably be subbing whether your top or bottom. It's a different kind of thrill to make you sit on her lap, stuffed full of her cock, while she works. That or she has you under her desk, one hand fisted in your hair while she uses your mouth instead.

She has to be at the top of her game, after all, and her position is a stressful one. What better way to de-stress then to put her little puppy to good use? You're just so pliant when she orders you on your knees.

She keeps it tame if thats more your thing, but if you give her the go ahead she will buy you muzzles. Some just the standard muzzle, others with gags, plenty of collars and leashes for all sorts of occasions..she might even get you faux ears and a tail just for a little finishing touch.

She's just as big on aftercare, though. She puts her money to good use spoiling you, partially because she knows she can get a little rough with you. That and as much as she likes to call you her puppy, she won't have you smelling like a wet dog. Get in the bath.

You won't stay clean for long, especially because she absolutely goes all out on her tub so it's more then big enough for some extra activities, but it's better then nothing.

Sometimes, though, she just needs to be pampered herself. She adores body worship after a particularly stressful day. Just lounging in half tied silk while you worship every inch of her.

And if anyone notices you limping the morning after..they say nothing. They just chalk it up to a fight with some assassin or similar. And if they do know, they know better then to bring it up.

Bonus for being shared with Beidou when she drops by Liyue harbor. Nothing like a rowdy pirate to shake things up and make a mess of you on the Tianquan's bed while she watches.

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[fluffle-writes]

Weirdcore Vil Edit

Weirdcore AU Masterlist Here!

I went for a very biblically accurate angle inspired look for Vil, and I'll probably do something similar for Epel and Rook too (like how I plan for all of the Heartslabyul guys to have flowers for heads)

If you guys wanna see anyone in particular next then please feel free to send me an ask! These edits are fun to make - and I may make another one of those videos sometime...

[hellspawnmotel]

hello! i have been a long time follower, i just wanted to say that i still occasionally go back to your old undertale playlists :’) monohymn into nightclothes on buttercups is still so perfect and it gets me every time, it is Brutal

that makes me happy! nightclothes is one of those songs where as soon as I heard it I was like "I NEED to make a playlist based around this, everyone in the world needs to know how perfect it is for this relationship"

man I miss 8tracks lol..... the fanmix era was so good.

[dromaeo-sauridae]

i am a man who is going to use brown while drawing

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

Twitter request —> Cole and or Bruce

.

(Please do not use, trace, or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me thank you <3)

They would get along I think

[khaliissa]

violence and spiders

[pickleking8]

11 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Eleven

Words: 945

Ao3 Link

Previous - Masterpost

Tw: death of a minor due to beating/fire/explosion, kidnapping, lmk if I missed anything

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When Jason Todd was six years old, he believed in magic, and he thought that his father was the most magical of all. His dad, who worked so hard, and always came home late, with a resigned and drawn face, who still made sure to hug him, play with him, tuck him in and tell him a story before bed. Jason loved hearing the soft voice of his father spinning fantastic tales as he slowly slipped into sleep. He had a lot of magic, then. 

When Jason Todd was seven years old, his father went to prison, blamed for a petty crime he didn’t commit, and there was no more soft click of the door as his father came home, and no more stories, and no more soft voice lulling him to sleep. A little magic died, then. 

When Jason Todd was nine and a half (and it’s important never to forget the “and a half”, or he’ll be upset with you), when the house had gotten bare and his mother had gotten quiet, his father was killed in Arkham, in a brawl. Not the nicest way to go, as the drawling man on the phone had said, bored and indifferent. Then, a lot of magic died, to be replaced by sadness and anger. 

When Jason Todd was eleven, his mom died too, taking with her hugs and movie nights and warm tea and homework help, always ever so patient in explaining exponents for the tenth time, and many more numbers of things, including their apartment. She had gotten quieter, and sadder, after his father’s death, and didn’t really get better, but she still made time for him, and loved him the same, and made sure that he knew that. By then, Jason was nearly out of magic, and nearly full of other things, like rage and grief and sorrow and desolation.

When Jason Todd was twelve, after a year of running, from everyone and everything, he stole Batman’s tires and hit him with a tire iron. Right in the stomach, and Batman would deny until the day he died that he yelped. Soon, Gotham met Robin, and stood in admiration at his gaiety and delight with the world. Jason gained magic, then, and gained more and more as time went on and he healed, anger and sadness not gone, but not weighing him down. Jason fell into stories once again, into the magic that they wove, into helping others, into going to school. Jason was happy, and Jason was loved. 

When Jason Todd was fifteen, he died, and it was horrific. He was given hope for his mother, and it was ripped away. He was beaten, pain blossoming across his skin, before an explosion roared and a blast of hot air washed over his already flushed face. He died, wishing, hoping for his dad to come and save him, for his magic to be real, hoping against everything that his end would not be here, on a gritty concrete floor in a dimly lit warehouse. He died, feeling flames lap against his clothes, his fingers, his cheeks, protected not by the tears that ran down them in torrents, leaking from under a mask he believed would save him. He died, accompanied by the sound of sickly sweet, cackling laughter ringing in his ears, and, ever so faintly, so quiet he couldn’t be sure it was actually there, a quiet click of the final door closing, and soft voice telling him stories, lulling him into sleep. 

When Jason Todd had been dead a year and a half (sixteen, he would have been sixteen, a junior, exploring and loving everything in the way that teenagers do), he used up the last splinter of magic, born from hope, and clawed, screaming, choking, and crying, out of his grave, dark clay coating him and his favorite sweater, the bright baby blue smeared with an ugly, dried-blood red. When Jason Todd burst from the crumbling dirt, he was met with a cool, crisp night, fresh air (not rot, it didn’t smell like rot, he didn’t want to smell anything rotting ever again), and a woman, clad in flowing, dark clothing and smiling just like his mother used to. She said her name was Talia, and she helped him up, leading him away with a smile sweet as medicine. 

When Jason Todd had been dead three years (he would have been eighteen, gone to college, studied the books he always loved, learned as he always loved), he came back to Gotham angry and hurting, drowning in betrayal, unable to break the ice holding him down and slowly sinking into frigid depths. He wanted to be avenged (he wanted to be saved), not just for his death but for his childhood, for every moment that was ripped away from him. And if his dad Bruce wouldn’t do it, then he would. It was easy, simple as that (why didn’t he save me?). When Jason Todd was three years and eleven days dead, he watched through the beady red eyes of the manor cameras as his family the Bats snatched a desperate, beaten child, wrenching his hands away from a scraping metal fence, and carried him back into the manor, eyes wide and tears running down a crumbling facade (just like Jason’s had), flinching away from the green-tinted light like it were really a flame that lapped at his skin, his screams echoing just the same as if the manor had been a dim and gritty warehouse. And it may well have been: both places were filled, now, to the brim with bitter and desolate hope, and a resounding call for salvation.

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Jason Todd makes his debut! Also, sorry for the long break between updates! The motivation just wasn't there for a while, and school was really busy. And I know I say this every time, but I'm excited to get back into writing, and hopefully this time the motivation gods will favor me and there will be another chapter sooner than three months from now. Anyway, thanks so much for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai

[spearxwind]

Feels good to be home.

[wybienova]

ummm . here’s 400 drawings of this fucker