#book 7 - 114

[ubenutz]

TWST BOOK 7 - 114 SPOILERS ⚠️‼️

honestly cool that we get to use overblot Idia in battles …

kinda wish they would release overblot cards

[letsa-go-wee-hee-hee]

i feel like when people say "oh if I was in this series/situation I'd do this differently form so and so"

...no you would not

you would react in the same way because to be in THAT situation, that EXACT situation, you'd have the EXACT same previous life as one of those characters. you would react the same way they did.

i was talking to dee about the promised neverland and that conversation made me think about this again. "i'd just do [this thing] that the characters didn't do"? no. you'd be a kid living on grace farm, and you'd be reacting the same way they did.

...do you understand?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Seeing that Epel and Rook used their unique magic, it makes me think everyone is gonna use their unique magic. Like imagine Kalim using his magic against his enemies or Jade use shock the heart for answers. Imagine reaching to Heartslabyul where everyone but Ace use it. This makes me think of Ace since he is a mysterious character and unclear motivation compare to the rest. What will be his dream? Will his unique magic be shown?

That’s true! Looking back, every character that is now “awake” has used their UM at least once:

Malleus uses Fae of Maleficence/Fae Maleficence to 7-37; this is the source of all our troubles in book 7 💀

Silver uses Meet in a Dream in 7-51, then again multiple times to dream hop and to wake up various students.

Lilia’s Far Cry Cradle is revealed in 7-81’s battle map via a flashback sequence. It is thanks to his UM that he understands the origins of the lone infant he finds in the ruins of Castle Wildrose. He blesses the baby and takes it under his wing as his own son… Silver.

Sebek’s Living Bolt, shown in 7-84, allows him to reach Silver and pull him out of the darkness that has swallowed him.

Idia uses Gate to (the) Underworld to open the gates to Tartarus and escape it in 7-114.

Book 7 confirms that Ortho is not capable of a UM, but is is his uniquely robotic ability to transfer his consciousness that allows him to adopt his Cerberus Gear in 7-50, infiltrate Sage’s Island, and return with valuable information to combat Malleus.

The magical glass coffin that Epel conjures with Sleep Kiss/Crimson Slumber in 7-135 protects Neige. It also (theoretically) slows the effects of Vil’s curse (the poisoned apple juice).

Rook uses I See You in 7-135 to tag Vil (who is sinking into the darkness of his dreams). This makes it easier for the gang to locate where Vil has gone.

Finally, in 7-138, Vil’s Fairest One of All allows him to poison Neige (who, up until this point, has been keeping tabs on him and preventing him from escaping the grasp of the dream) and rejoin with Yuu and co.

I guess since this is such a climactic book, the devs decided to go all out and have each boy show up and show off their own special power. This means we’ll most likely see the rest of the main NRC students using their UMs to help us out in the dreams! (Sasuga power of friendship…)

As for Ace! Now would be such an opportune time for him to develop his UM 😳 I believe the popular fan theory is still “Ace’s UM will allow him to copy others’ magic” since he mimics voices well and has a talent for quickly learning new skills (like dancing, as seen in book 5). And hey, if that’s the case then maybe Ace is the one who will be able to reverse Malleus’s magic if Malleus won’t willingly do it himself. Just spitballin’ here. Maybe Ace is frustrated that he can’t contribute in any way…? And then that feeling manifests as something?

How poetically ironic—the first student we meet ends up being the last to get their UM but also one of the final pieces of the puzzle to take OB Malleus down. It works out really well for Ace’s character too; he is the only character of the main cast who sees through the bullshit and calls people out, not caring about how influential or powerful they are.

I don’t actually think he’s that mysterious relative to other characters—we still barely know anything significant about Rook or Jade, for example (despite already diving into Rook’s dream). Rather, I think it’s more accurate to say that Ace has more simple desires. He just wants to be able to do what he wants when he wants, to not have to worry about his future plans. I don’t think his dream would really be anything that drastic; I see it as Ace living a chill life with his friends.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of November. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Threes Company | Not Rated | 1,613 words

Alpha Harry gets knot deep in another man’s omega, Louis, while he watches.

2) You've Had A Bad Day | Explicit | 2,034 words

Harry's had a really bad day at work, and Louis takes care of his husband. Fluff and smut ensue.

3) Synced Cycles | Explicit | 2,110 words

Harry sniffs loudly, eyes widening as he smells oranges, a smile creeping onto his face. “You’re going into heat soon. And I’m–” “Going into rut.” Louis can’t keep his excitement down. They’ve been wanting their cycles synced for months, and now it’s finally happening. Harry is going to be the ideal alpha, exactly how Louis begs for him to be when he’s in heat. And Louis is going to be the submissive, pleading omega for him. Fuck.

4) A Night To Remember | Explicit | 3,225 words

“If you’re going to act like a dog, panting all over another woman. Then you can get treated like one.” Louis’ legs were crossed perfectly one over the other, his thick thighs squished in a way that made Harry feel like he might just drool. Louis laughed. “Strip and get on your fucking knees, Harry.”

5) Family Meetings | Mature | 3,555 words

Louis and Harry are coming out to Louis' family. His sisters are curious about a lot of things.

6) It’s Times Like These When We’re Backstage | Explicit | 3,784 words

Louis keeps having company during the UK leg of the tour as well...

7) Softer Than Satin | Explicit | 4,077 words

“Wanna go back to bed,” Louis whispered languidly, voice partly muffled by his boyfriend’s lips on his. “Mm, but we just got up, baby,” Joel murmured. Lips touching softly with each syllable. Hands groping the soft flesh around Louis’ hips, kneading at the skin there and feeling his curves.

8) Skating Through Love  | General Audiences | 4,082 words

Alpha Harry gets jealous of seeing Louis being friendly with Alpha Zayn.

9) Always Tell The Truth | Not Rated | 5,027 words

Harry is Louis' dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn't be the end of the world.

10) You Were Always Mine | Explicit | 5,948 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 45: A/B/O fic where Louis and Harry have a lot of mutual friends but they don’t get along (mostly Louis doesn’t like Harry). One day, Louis turns up on Harry’s doorstep covered in blood and asking for help. (Inspiration: Prompt #126 from the BLFF 2021).

11) Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets | Not Rated | 6,441 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

The thing about Harry is, is that he is the most wonderful guy you´ll ever meet. He is kind, compliments you on things you are usually insecure about, which shows he truly pays attention to who you are as a person. And he befriends everyone. Except Louis.

12) Leave Like The Summer Breeze | Explicit | 6,551 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

When Louis and Zayn are stranded in Alabama, a farmer offers them shelter. He just asks for one thing in return.

13) Your Name Is Tattooed To The Bottom Of My Heart | Explicit | 6,613 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday.

14) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he's shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

15) We Can Follow The Sparks | Mature | 6,724 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“I, uhm, this is gonna sound weird, but my friend is an ER doctor and he kinda taught me what to do in this kind of situation,” the man takes a step closer to Louis, “He said a close presence of an unmated alpha and light scenting should keep an omega from dropping, so I, uh, I can help you.”

16) Making A Mess In The Kitchen | Explicit | 7,336 words

Harry and Louis have sex in the kitchen at their work.

17) Muffins & Cigarettes | Mature | 7,591 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis pouts. “You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. “Of course, I can. Watch me.”

18) The Freak Called ‘Jezebel’ | Mature | 8,339 words

“Zayn!” Harry said the moment he got inside the room, his voice loud and clear as it touched the four walls of the room. His voice bellowing and ricocheting on their own without Harry raising his voice. Without hesitation, from where he’s sat in the sole incredibly detailed piece of architecture in the whole room, Harry calmly said, “I am going for a vacation.”

19) Hello, My Name Is Louis | Mature | 9,686 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis hurried to hang up the phone and take off his headset, throwing it away as if it was burning hot. He hugged himself by the shoulders and hid his face in his knees, sitting in his desk chair like a swimmer ready to dip into a pool, a pool of embarrassment. Not many people got past "Hello, my name is… " and even fewer engaged in a full conversation with him. And if they did, it usually went better than this.

20) Succubus | Teen & Up | 10,688 words

Harry couldn’t help but read the words loudly and when this make a demon apper in his bed calling him master and intitling itself his “sucubos” he have to figure how to deal with this little boy. “- Who are you? - the boy says confused looking at the boy in his bed who blinks his eyes slowly. - My name is Louis, you called me - he said melodious getting up and going to the alpha - I'm your succubus and I'm here to serve my master - he said falling on his knees and looking up - do you want something my lord? - he said and harry widened his eyes looking around.

21) Part Time Soulmates (Full Time Problem) | Mature | 12,072 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Sworn enemies Harry and Louis are soulmates. Everything is going smoothly until the pain hits.

22) Wait Until You’re Sure | Explicit | 13,042 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 465: Louis and Harry are best friends who made a pact. If neither of them has found love by the time they’re 30, then they’ll get married. It was all laughter and fun until Harry realizes they’re celebrating his 30th birthday and in a few months, Louis is gonna be 30 too. So, he struggles to find someone for Louis to avoid being together, but Louis just keeps rejecting all men Harry introduces to him (because he has feeling for him, of course), which really upsets Harry. They argue about that and Louis says something like “wow, it’s that bad to be with me?,” accepting that Harry simply doesn’t feel the same. Louis moves for a couple of months with another friend and Harry has all this time to understand his feelings, realizing that he loves Louis too and wants to be with him. But when he goes to tell him, Louis is already seeing someone else. So what’s Harry gonna do to get Louis back?

23) With Gilded Wolves On The Wall | Explicit | 13,300 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

The night was cold and bitter, much as he was. Though it was only early evening, darkness had already fallen over Winterfell, the snow a thick white blanket coating the grounds and the spires of the First Keep. It wouldn’t be Winter for a while according to his father, but Harry could tell that it now felt like it was on its way. The cold wind whipped his dark, tousled curls back and forth, biting at his cheeks until they were pink. He wrapped his fur lined cloak tightly around his tall frame to keep out the cold. It worked for the most part. “I won’t marry him,” Harry said into the night, his voice steady and confident; the exact opposite of how he felt. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she left since he was only met with silence. Dead leaves rustled in the trees below like they were whispering their approval of his defiance against his family’s orders. “You will,” Anera replied calmly, her expression neutral.

24) Autumn At Fairbridge Hall | Mature | 14,438 words

It is October 1817. Mr Louis Tomlinson hosts an Autumn Ball and a Fox Hunting Party at his estate Fairbridge Hall, intending to find suitable husbands for his younger sisters.

25) Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me | Explicit | 14,807 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding

26) In Deep Devotion | Explicit | 15,672 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“I think the folk here think I’m an Omega,” Harry voices out loud. His suspicions began shortly after he arrived to Wright. Wherever he goes, this strange behavior follows. That type of treatment reserved for Omegas.

27) Bend The Rules | Explicit | 16,823 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 588: Lous hires a ‘ghost cooking’ service because his family is worried he’s not eating well and he wants to impress them by showing them what an amazing cook he’s become. The service includes sending a discreet cook to your house and have them get everything ready so that you only serve and take the credit. Problem is, his sisters (can be OCs if that’s more comfortable) get to his flat earlier than planned and the actual cook has to hide in the master bathroom for hours. Louis is mortified. The cook is amused and helps him to clean and well. Gives him a thorough service. Feel free to pick your fave as the cook.

28) Give My Heart A Holiday | Not Rated | 17,222 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

AU where Louis and someone else both like Harry but Harry obviously likes Louis and is oblivious to the other person with scenes like Harry’s sitting with his legs on the coffee table and the other person wants to walk across and Harry doesn’t see them, so they have to say excuse me, but when Louis wants to cross he doesn’t even have to say anything because Harry sits up, puts his feet down, and gives his undivided attention to Louis.

29) Wait For Me | Explicit | 17,454 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Moving to a new place always comes with a few challenges. For Harry, it’s trying to start over after his divorce, while still doing his best taking care of his son. Though just like every parent, he is not infallible, so some mistakes are bound to be made, settling into his new role as a single-dad. For his son, Davie, moving means he has to get used to all the changes happening in his life through no fault of his own. Discovering a secret passageway on their new property lets him form an unlikely friendship with the young man and his dog he finds on the other side.

30) Death Wish | Explicit | 22,067 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

31) When We Were Young | Explicit | 22,744 words

The one where Harry finally meets Louis again after 13 years of no contact. Could they move on from the past?

32) All Tumults And Feelings | Explicit | 24,458 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Carlos Sainz Jr. This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

The search for euphoria in a world that seems to be spinning out of control is perhaps what drove Louis to visit the heart of a city as vibrant as Barcelona. Everything is warm and bright on his holidays, even at night, where he finds solace in desperate lips and comfort in beautiful brown eyes that break his heart by making him realize that he has always been more fond of emerald tones covering the irises of his lovers.

33) There is Thunder in Our Hearts | Explicit | 39,649 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

1986, Hawkins Indiana. Stoner, nerdy, metalhead Harry Styles sells drugs to the boy of his dreams, seemingly perfect overachiever, head Cheerleader Louis Tomlinson. It wasn't supposed to become a Thing.

34) Define Me Again | Mature | 54,385 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

He's never felt so frightened in his life before, so fucking terrified for himself. And Louis. He looked down at their hands, which seemed to have been connected throughout the incident. He looked at the ring on Louis' hand, for the nth time that day. His heart hurt so bad now, he was terrified. He wanted to do so many things, he wanted to check on louis, if he- if he- God he couldn't even think about it. "Louis," he tried to whisper, but nothing but air came out from his mouth. "I love you, Harry," whispered a voice. But it was nowhere near him. Visions attacked his mind, rapidly flickering through like one would do the pages of a book. He was terrified. His entire life literally flashed in his mind, vision growing more and more weak and he fought unconsciousness. Memories and the picture of Louis lying unconscious in front of him altered and flickered, so rapidly that he felt dizzy with how fast his mind was whirring. What happens when you die? God he was so, so, so, fucking terrified. All his senses gave out, last thing he felt was Louis' hand in his and then, everything went black.

35) The Face Of Love’s Rage | Explicit | 67,421 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“What if I tell you,” the princess said slowly, “I can get you five kingdoms and a lover?” Harry’s brows rose. “Only five?” he said mockingly. “And a lover. Don’t forget the lover.” “I have a lover.” “Do you?” the omega tilted her head, smiling, “I think right now, you have a consort, two friends, and a hostage. If you marry Julien, you will lose a friend and gain another hostage. Do you want him as a hostage or as a friend?” Harry’s temper was about to snap and break all hell loose. His hands itched to do something with the wild creature in front of him, with her untamed spirit that seemed to mock his authority and challenge his very presence. Abigail Tomlinson, with all her secrets and sins, defied not only his status, but everyone who dared to get in her way. Always making everyone aware that the only reason she was still there wasn’t because Harry let her, but because she wanted to be. Seven kingdoms, two sinners and one big secret.

36) Don't Change Me | Not Rated | 5,279 words

Once in every fifty years, the moon shines brightly over the town of Holmes Chapel for 24 hours. The moment it turns red, any alpha pack leader becomes incredibly and outrageously powerful. For approximately two hours until it subsides, the alpha has the power to change any secondary gender. For example, an alpha can turn another alpha into a beta or omega and so forth. It doesn't matter if the chosen person agrees or disagrees, they have no choice. Once the decision is made, there is no turning back. All it takes to seal the deal...is the alphas howl to the moon, proclaiming their intentions as they stand around a bonfire, where the change will take place immediately. How is Louis going to react when his best friend and alpha leader retracts his alpha status, turning him into an omega so they can mate? Especially when Harry doesn't talk to him about it first.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[allamericanb-tch]

when i started reading atyd i kept a list of all my fav chapters and im not one to gatekeep so here it is (i haven’t finished yet but i suspect there aren’t many happy chapters left)

fav chapters of atyd 

7 — first year: marauders

11 — first year: birthdays, books, and the beatles

22 — second year: the rise and fall of ziggy stardust and the spiders from mars

32 — second year: gryffindor vs. slytherin

47 — third year: james potter and the lumpy elephant dung 

68 — fourth year: march

71 — fourth year: june

72 — summer 1975

86 — fifth year: sweet sixteen

98 — sixth year: halloween

103 — sixth year: twelve nights 

114 — summer 1977 part 1

115 — summer 1977 part 2

116 — summer 1977 part 3

117 — summer 1977 part 4

128 — seventh year: preparation 

129 (mostly) — seventh year: instinct

131 — seventh year: interlude 

135 — seventh year: the marauder’s inter-house prank planning cooperative 

139 — seventh year: drunkards

141 — seventh year: star star

146 — seventh year: superego

149 — seventh year: the final

150 — seventh year: legacy

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Okay I got a little more confident. Here's the first chapter.

This is a while after Jack had first been kidnapped and sold. This is the first chapter of the book, the other one was a flashback. (Sorry that's confusing. It'll make more sense with the whole thing)

--

Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest.

Except who the hell cares what the smartest thing to do is when you’re bored out of your mind.

108.

Not ‘oh there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the light has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack did. He took a nap. Again. And then sat in darkness and banged the back of his head against the wall because that was better than letting his mind wander.

109.

Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up sobbing so hard he throws up, or plots how he can potentially end his own life.

110.

If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that she’s forty eight now, and he missed another Christmas with her. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into a van. How he never even thought about that happening to him and so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.

He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.

111.

Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but he just gave up when he stopped being aware of when was day and when was night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know exactly how long anymore.

112.

He’ll think about the fingers he lost for trying to run. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breaths. He’ll think about the part of his ear that--

113. 114. 115. 116.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.

117.

Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.

118.

No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored.

Man, 15 year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.

It was dark. He had headphones in playing music. He was alone. He was an idiot.

He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to kick his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.

The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.

Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.

119.

He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.

It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.

120.

He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Jack is a very very good listener, out of necessity. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he heard it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.

It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two. But this has been the longest ever. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days.) He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.

Sickening that this is his home.

The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.

A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?

Jack gasps and flinches at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.

Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.

He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so, you know. What’s the point. Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths in through his nose, and out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.

Unfortunately.

Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.

It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body was terrified. It was tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being tired and bored.

Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually excited, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.

The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door.

Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. They weren’t originally that dark of brown, but … you know. Blood.

Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, staring at his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.

Jack clears his throat. “H-hi Mr. Reeder.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Jack nods, looking at the ground, heart pounding in his ears.

Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair. If it was up to him, he would’ve shaved his head ages ago. But Mr. Reeder would never give him a razor.

Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.

Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly was happening.

He is going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?

He begins to fight.

Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your butt kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, faster to get it over with, and easier to stomach your own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.

So he only fights back when he’s really scared.

And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint gum he was chewing.

“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”

It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.

Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.

Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.

Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bag leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room and slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.

With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.

Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.

Tragic.

With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.

Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and base thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.

His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea… what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”

Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door? That’s for future Jack to find out.

“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything… Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”

It’s nonsense. Utter nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard about everything.

He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.

He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.

Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”

All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, making his body shake where it stands.

The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”

He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.

Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.

“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but… I mean there just wasn’t much. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”

His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see… tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder…”

“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”

Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”

“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”

Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”

“Hmm… I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”

This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.

“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring him, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”

He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (March 24-30, 2024)

A coworker asked tonight me how Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire measured up to Godzilla Minus One, and I responded, "Almost as good, but in a completely different way." If you like monsters (and if you're following me I have to assume you do), see it, no questions asked. There's about a million of them and they're all delightful. The franchise has long struggled to recapture the specific charms of the Showa era, and I think this comes closer than any of them. (It's the climactic tag-team battle... also Mothra returning to knock some sense into Godzilla). Pure junk food, but you can't just watch Oppenheimer all the time.

Godzilla x Kong tore up the box office this weekend, performing well above expectations. Its $80 million opening Stateside was the second-best of the Monsterverse (after Godzilla). It added another $114 million internationally for the best overall opening of the (still-young) year. China was a big part of that with $44 million; giant monster movies are among the few Hollywood imports that still play well there. With a $135 million budget, lowest of the Monsterverse by a wide margin, it's a matter of when, not if, Legendary announces the next one.

The Oxford English Dictionary has added an entry for tokusatsu, defined as "A genre of Japanese film or television entertainment characterized by the use of practical special effects, usually featuring giant monsters, transforming robots, and masked and costumed superheroes." It's part of a group of 23 freshly-acknowledged Japanese loan words; unclear if the timing is coincidental. Oh, and if you're curious, they added kaiju in 2018. As someone who remembers when the only English-speakers who used either word were in fandom, it's pretty wild to see.

French company Extralucid Films will release Gappa on Blu-ray in June. The impressive-sounding bonus features are naturally all in French, but there's one that transcends language: 17 minutes of extra monster footage. The U.S. version of Gappa, Monster from a Prehistoric Planet, only has about 7 minutes worth of shots absent from the Japanese version, so I'm pretty curious about the other 10. It's also the first time this footage has been released in HD (Tokyo Shock blew it in 2020).

Season 2 of Chibi Godzilla Raids Again is indeed receiving official English subtitles, starting the same day as the Japanese premiere, April 10. Godzilla Battle Line also added a hilariously busted joint Chibi Godzilla-Chibi Mechagodzilla unit, along with a Destoroyah variant. (Maybe Godzilla x Kong units are next month?)

A new Monsterverse movie means new books to buy. The prequel comic Godzilla x Kong: The Hunted is out already (not recommended), but officially you'll have to wait until April 23 for the novelization and May 14 for the art book. Chalk that up to the late release date change, maybe. Unofficially, people are already getting the novelization from Amazon, because they're a monopoly that can afford to pay the fines from publishers for breaking street date. The audiobook version also released on the same day as the film. I don't have intel on what it adds and changes yet; adding everything from the film itself to Wikizilla is all I can handle right now.

The San Francisco Giants are offering a Godzilla VIP Experience on May 17, a long-overdue acknowledgement of the savior of their city. Tickets are almost gone, though I think it's a shame that the promotion is opt-in to begin; what happened to giving these tchotchkes out to the first thousand fans? Well, figures that they'd make getting merch of the Minus One Godzilla in the States a hassle.

[boozenboze]

an I request male reader with the 141 task force who has nightmares like every night? Its angsty and kinda long, feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable writing it!

The plot is that reader suffers from nightmares, horrific ones, about his past and avoids sleeping as he doesn't want to have one again. The 141 notices and tries to help him, but he's stubborn and runs on caffeine 24/7 so he doesn't fall asleep.

One day though, as they're sitting in the social room, doing stuff, he dozed off on the couch. His teammates were at first happy that he did, as he has been awake for way too long, until he curled up and started crying uncontrollably, saying something inaudible and shaking.

One of the 141 got closer and touched his shoulder, which caused reader to wake up and absolutely lose it, because his sleep fogged brain only saw a dark silhouette leaning over him.

You can end it with the 114 comforting him and him opening up for the first time ever about what happened to him and caused him to lash out like that on them.

Like I said, you don't have to write it, you have the full right to ignore it or smth.

__________________________________________

This was requested by:Anonymous

Sweet Dreams

Tf 141 x Male reader

Females She/Her and She/They

Sleep paralysis and nightmares are hard to deal with.A lack of sleep can make you see and hear things that aren’t there as well.M/n has been dealing with this for as long as he could remember.They weren’t bad at first but have progressively gotten worse throughout time.His past traumas hadn’t made anything better either.Most nights he would waks up in a cold sweat and would be shakened for the rest of the night.His nightmares would get more realistic every time he slept so he came up with the idea to not sleep.He began drinking more stuff with caffeine,energy drinks and coffee became his go too drinks.

One morning M/n had been staring at his ceiling the whole night.He had stayed on his phone,read books,had some Monsters and Red bull ,everything he did to stay awake during the night.After a while he felt his eyelids get heavy and started drifting off before hearing fsint footsteps.His brain was foggy at the moment and his eyes shifted to the side and he saw a dark figure creeping up into his bed.He suddenly couldn’t move,scream,nothing.Tears pooled in his eyes before he suddenly jolted up.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep.He wiped his eyes and looked down at his floor and saw the cans of energy drinks he had been consuming.He shakily rose from his bed before msking his esy out of his room,before making his way to the kitchen.He started to make some coffe,dark roast since that usually made him stay awake.He was going to to go to a pharmacy and get some pills that would keep him awake.The scent of coffee could be smelled throughout the kitchen,and M/n hadn’t noticed his lieutenant walked into the room.

“Why are you awake seargent?”The taller male spoke as M/n flinched at the males voice.He turned around to face the male before turning away and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Can’t sleep.”M/n responded,keeping his answer short.Ghost approached the male snd cupped his cheek,turning his face so he could examine the male.The h/c haired male had big eyebags and his eyes were red.Ghosts eyes softened at the sight.He already noticed that the e/c haired male looked tired but he just didn’t mention it.

“Go back to bed seargent.”Ghost said firmly as he took the cup from M/n’s hands.

“But I-“M/n tried to speak up but was interrupted.

“Go to your room seargent,thats an order.”Ghost said as he lifted his mask to taste the coffee M/n was drinking.M/n sighed as he went to his room,already knowing he wasn’t going to sleep.

A few hours had gon by and M/n snuck out the base to get the pills.He came back when some other soilders were getting some cardio in.M/n snuck back to his room without being noticed before dumping the contents on his mattress.Along with the pills he restoked on his energy drinks and cracked ond open and taking large gulps.He took one of the pills and he immediately felt energized.He felt strange though,considering he hadn’t slept in days.He took a hot shower before changing into his uniform.

Gaz was in the kitchen eating his breakfast and looked up when he heard footsteps.He quickly chewed his food when he saw it was M/n.

“G’morning M/n-”Gaz spoke out as he watched M/n pour himslef some coffee.He hadn’t failed to notice the males hand shaking as he pured the coffee.Some of it spilling onto the counter as he finally sat it down.

“Hey...you alright you seem jumpy?”Gaz asked out in concern as M/n looked him in the eye.Like Ghost, Gaz saw the eyebags under rhe males eyes.

“Did ya sleep any?”The Brit asked as he watched M/n eat a protein bar.

“Just peachy Gaz.”M/n said walking away leaving Gaz in the kitchen alone.The brown skinned male could only wonder if the male was really okay.

M/n went through his day like normal.He spared with Soap who seemed to be going easier on him for some reason.Soap noticed the males movements were slower and he just looked exhausted.Soap thought it was unfair considering he had several advantages.Again the male seemed exhausted and sluggish so Soap just called their spar a tie.

“M/n you doing ok?You seem off.”Soap pointed out as M/n chuckled in response.

“Im fine Soap just a little tired y’know?”M/n said casually as he wiped his head from the sweat on his forebead.The male waved Soap off as he exited to room leaving Soap with his concerned thoughts.

The day went by pretty quickly and M/n had taken his shower.Soap made the idea to have a movie night with 141 and they agreed.Ghost decided to join since he finished what he had to do.M/n came into the room with more comfortable attire and took a seat next to Price.The older man had discarded his cigar and was holding a book as Gaz and Soap fought over what movie they should watch.M/n felt more at peace,surrounded by the people he considered family made him feel safe.After a few minutes they finally put on a movie that they could enjoy.Halfway into the program M/n had fallen asleep.Nobody would have noticed if the sound of M/n’s body shifting hadn’t caught their attention.Price saw the male curled into a ball on the end of the couch and a small smile made it upon his face.He stood up and grabbed a pillow,gently laying it beneath his the males head.M/n gripped the pillow and huffed when he picked up the heavy scent of Prices cigar.

“Well won’t you look at that.Mans finally succumbed to sleep.”Soap spoke out as he watched the male let out peaceful breaths.They never saw the male so at peace before so this was something they’d have to be grateful for.Price had walked in M/n’s room before and saw all the empty cans that were pooling out of his trash bag.He had been worried for him in the beginning,but didn’t know that the male had been struggling with sleep.Now what they didn’t notice was that the male was half asleep.

M/n had woken up from Price changing his position.He felt drunk, barely being aware of what was happening around him.Then it happened again.A figure began approaching him but it had more details than usual.It began approaching him and he began to shake slightly,eyes beginning to water.Then he realized,he could move.His finger was twitching slightly and right when the figure was in range he sprang up and punched it.Unlike his usual occurrences, the figure made a noise.

"Yo M/n calm down mate!"Gaz yelled out, wrapping his arms around the male in attempts to get him off of Soap, who was currently blocking M/n's punches.The h/c haired male was breathing heavily,tears pouring out of his e/c eyes as his punches got weaker by the second.M/n slumped in Gaz's hold, now processing the situation he was currently in.Ghost helped Soap stand up as he felt his cheek that was beginning to bruise.M/n was shaking as Gaz held him close and started whispering reassurances into his ears as he himself tried to process what happend.Price had gotten Soap an icepack before pulling M/n up.The male had been mumbling several “im sorry’s” as Price pulled him into a hug.

It didn’t take long for the male to begin sobbing.Price held him as close as he could as the male cried into his shoulder.

“It’s ok muppet, tis just us.”Price said gently as the male hiccuped into his shoulder.A few moments went by until M/n’s breathing pattern was steady again.Price pulled the male out of his hold and M/n looked down in guilt.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean t-to hurt you Soap.”M/n stuttered as Soap smiled at him reassuringly.

“Ah..it’s alright mate, ya probably didn’t mean it.”Soap responded sheepishly as M/n smiled awkwardly.The man began rubbing his eyes so it was clear that the male was still sleepy.

“Muppet I know you haven’t been sleeping,I saw all the drinks in your.That stuff isn’t good for you handsome.”Price said cupping the males cheek and caress the male with his thumb.“Tis there something your not telling us?”Price asked as M/n looked away ashamed.

“I’ve...been having nightmares, t-they’ve been getting worse.I-I was scared to go to sleep so I started drinking more caffeine.I also bought these.”M/n said as he took the bottle out of his hoodie pocket.

“Well lets stop using these.”Ghost spoke,taking the bottle from the male and put them somewhere where he couldn’t see them.

“And stop drinking this shit.”Gaz said as he wandered off into M/n’s room,taking all the full and empty cans of Monster and Redbull.Soap guided the male back to his room and made him lay down.

When the others came to M/n’s room Soap had the male in his lap as M/n’s legs were wrapped around his waist.The h/c haired male had his face nuzzled in the Scottish mans neck as he rubbed circles into his back.

“He’s sleeping again.”Soap whispered so he wouldn’t wake the sleepless male.He gently layed M/n down and secured the blankets around him.Ghost took his boots off and sat next to the sleeping male on the bed.

“I’m gonna watch him y’all can go.”Ghost spoke roughly as Soap furrowed his brows.

“Are you sure L.T-I mean what if he-.”

“I’ll be fine Johnny.”Ghost cut the male off as he heard a whimper come from M/n.Ghost moved rubbed M/n’s arm and the male stopped making noise.Price hummed as he left the room with gaz and Soap nodded towards Ghost before leaving the room.

Believe or not this would be one of the many future nights that you have

Sweet Dreams

[cregan-starks]

Flames of Deceit

Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Words: 13,005

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC

Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.

Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)

Ao3 | Masterlist

EARLY 130 AC

HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS

          The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

          The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.

          Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.

          As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.

          Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.

          At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.

          Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?

          ‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’

          Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.

          Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?

          ‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.

          ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’

EARLY 130 AC

STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

          Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.

          Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.

          ‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.

          The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.

          For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?

          On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.

          ‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.

          I’ll do my best, father.

          The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.

          Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.

          ‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.

          The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.

          Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.

          Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.

          Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.

          ‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.

          Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.

          Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.

          The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.

          Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.

          Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.

          ‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’

          Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.

          ‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’

          Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.

          Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.

          The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.

          She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.

          She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?

          She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.

          Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.

          The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.

          With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.

          ‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’

          ‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.

          Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.

          ‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’

          ‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.

          Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.

          ‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’

          Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.

          ‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.

          ‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’

          ‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’

          Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.

          ‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’

          ‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’

          ‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’

          ‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’

          I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’

          ‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.

          ‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.

          ‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.

          ‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’

          ‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.

          ‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.

          ‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.

          ‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’

          ‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.

          ‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)

          ‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)

          So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)

          ‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’

          ‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’

          Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.

          Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.

          ‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’

          Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’

          ‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.

          ‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.

          ‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.

          ‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.

          ‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’

          Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.

          Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.

          That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.

          On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.

          “People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”

          Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.

          Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.

         On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.

          ‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.

          ‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.

          Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.

          ‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’

          ‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.

          ‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’

          ‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.

          ‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.

          ‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’

          Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.

          ‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’

          It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.

          He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.

          Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.

          The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.

          Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.

          ‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’

          ‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’

          Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.

          If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.

          ‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.

          ‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’

          ‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)

          Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.

          After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.

          In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.

          I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?

          ‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)

          ‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’

          Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.

          Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.

          A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...

          ... but her decision has already been established.

          The truth is important to me.

          Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.

          ‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)

          At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.

          The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.

          She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.

          If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.

          ‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)

          Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.

          When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.

          Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.

          Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.

          ‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)

          The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.

          An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.

          Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.

          And love is seldom simple.

          Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.

          A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.

          Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.

          Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.

          Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.

          Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.

          She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.

          The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.

          She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.

          Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.

          His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.

          A metal item pokes at her thigh.

          My brooch.

          Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.

          Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.

          What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.

          He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.

          ‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’

          ‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’

          Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.

          ‘Lord Stark is a good man–’

          ‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’

          Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.

          ‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’

          Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.

          ‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)

          ‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’

          She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.

          The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.

          The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”

          Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.

          By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.

          ‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’

          Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?

          ‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’

          Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.

          A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.

          ‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’

          Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.

          ‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’

          The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.

          Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…

          ‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’

          ‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’

          ‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’

          Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.

          I’m severing my noose.

          ‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’

          Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.

          ‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’

          ‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’

          She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.

          ‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’

          Puny northern savage? Innovative.

          “Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.

          Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.

          ‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’

          And, oh, how you despise that…

          ‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’

          Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.

          She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.

          I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.

          Tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          ‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.

          And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.

          Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.

          ‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’

          ‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’

          A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.

          As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…

          ‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’

          She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.

          Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.

          ‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.

          I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.

          Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.

          A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.

          I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.

          ‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’

          Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.

          Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.

          And I will not regret Cregan.

          While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.

          She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.

          I lost my innocence long ago.

          Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.

          “I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.

          Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.

          No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.

          Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.

          Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.

          He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.

          “Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”

          Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.

          She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.

          Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.

          ‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.

          ‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.

          ‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.

          ‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’

          Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.

          Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.

          ‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.

          ‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’

          Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.

          Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.

          ‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’

          ‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’

          ‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.

          On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.

          “Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.

          I will.

          Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.

          We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.

          I must not forget my mission.

          Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.

          ‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’

          Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.

          ‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?

          ‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’

          You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.

          ‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’

          ‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.

          ‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’

          Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.

          ‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.

          ‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’

          Then why am I trying to dissuade him?

          ‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’

          ‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’

          ‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’

          You chose for me.

          ‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’

          Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.

          ‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’

          Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.

          ‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’

          Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.

          The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.

          When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.

          Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.

          Bloodlines will burn.

          Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict​ @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee​ @cecespizza01​ @cleastrnge​ @crazylokonugget​ @five-seconds-of-socialising​ @flosaureum​ @haystack-boy​ @lavendertales​ @lordsrks @maharani-radha​ @mandaloresson​ @masset-fotia​ @missusnora @moonlight-prose​ @oloreaa​ @poppyreader​ @prettyboyeddiemunson​ @revolution-starter​ @sofietargaryen​ @stargaryenx​ @strawberrypeachesss​ @sullho​ @sweethoneyblossom1​ @s-we-e-t-t-ea​ @that--thing​ @valyriians​ 

[zuko-always-lies]

ATLA Overall Character Stats

One thing I have been wondering for a while is how many lines of dialogue each character has in ATLA. I recently figured out an easy way to calculate it, so here are the stats for the entire series. You can look at the stats for Book 1, Book 2, and Book 3 at those links.

There are 9985 total lines of dialogue in the series. They are divided up as follows:

Aang 1796 lines, 17.99% of total lines Sokka 1635 lines, 16.37% Katara 1433 lines, 14.35%(this increases to 1439 lines and 14.81% when you include "Young Katara") Zuko 776 lines, 7.77% (this increases to 809 lines and 8.10% when you include "Young Zuko) Toph 508 lines, 5.09% Iroh 337 lines, 3.38% Azula 211 lines, 2.11%(this increases to 232 lines and 2.32% when you include "Young Azula") Jet 134 lines, 1.34% Suki 114 lines, 1.14% Zhao 107 lines, 1.07% Mai 82 lines, 0.82%(this increases to 83 lines and 0.83% when you include "Young Mai") Hakoda 77 lines, 0.77% Roku 67 lines, 0.67% Ty Lee 64 lines, 0.64%(this increases to 66 lines and 0.66% when you include "Young Ty Lee) Bumi 55 lines, 0.55% Ozai 55 lines, 0.55% Yue 53 lines, 0.53% Hama 49 lines, 0.49% Long Feng 46 lines, 0.46% Piandao 43 lines, 0.430645969% Mechanist 42, 0.420630946% Kuei 40, 0.400600901% Bato 38, 0.380570856% Pathik 38, 0.380570856% Pakku 37, 0.370555834% Teo 35, 0.350525789% Chong 33, 0330495744% Warden of Boiling Rock 33, 0.330495744% Young Zuko 33, 0.330495744% Jeong Jeong 32, 0.320480721%

More obscure characters below

Guard 29 0.290435653 Haru 29 0.290435653 Joo Dee 29 0.290435653 June 28 0.280420631 Wu 28 0.280420631 Zhang leader 28 0.280420631 Xin Fu 27 0.270405608 Zei 27 0.270405608 Chit Sang 26 0.260390586 Sozin 26 0.260390586 Shyu 25 0.250375563 Gan Jin leader 23 0.230345518 Fong 22 0.220330496 Smellerbee 22 0.220330496 Ursa 22 0.220330496 Young Azula 21 0.210315473 Actress Aang 19 0.190285428 Gyatso 19 0.190285428 Yu 19 0.190285428 Arnook 18 0.180270406 Meng 18 0.180270406 Sun Warrior chief 18 0.180270406 Wan Shi Tong 18 0.180270406 Canyon guide 17 0.170255383 Captain 17 0.170255383 Jin 17 0.170255383 Lee 17 0.170255383 Oyaji 17 0.170255383 Tong 17 0.170255383 Actor Sokka 16 0.160240361 Actress Katara 16 0.160240361 Fisherman 16 0.160240361 King Bumi 16 0.160240361 Li 16 0.160240361 Tho 16 0.160240361 Tyro 16 0.160240361 Warden 16 0.160240361 Yon Rha 16 0.160240361 Bully guard 15 0.150225338 Due 15 0.150225338 Actor Zuko 14 0.140210315 Chey 14 0.140210315 Lao 14 0.140210315 Male guard 14 0.140210315 Pirate captain 14 0.140210315 Chan 13 0.130195293 Dock 13 0.130195293 Herbalist 13 0.130195293 Ghashiun 12 0.12018027 Huu 12 0.12018027 Ticket lady 12 0.12018027 Calm man 11 0.110165248 Female guard 11 0.110165248 Kay-fon 11 0.110165248 Lo 11 0.110165248 Lo and Li 11 0.110165248 Ying 11 0.110165248 Actress Azula 10 0.100150225 Earthbender captain 10 0.100150225 Gan Jin tribesman 10 0.100150225 Great Fire Sage 10 0.100150225 Headmaster 10 0.100150225 Jee 10 0.100150225 Kanna 10 0.100150225 Oh 10 0.100150225 Qin 10 0.100150225 Senlin Village leader 10 0.100150225 Song 10 0.100150225 Yung 10 0.100150225 Dai Li agent 9 0.090135203 Fisherman's wife 9 0.090135203 General Sung 9 0.090135203 Gow 9 0.090135203 Hahn 9 0.090135203 Haru's mother 9 0.090135203 Koh 9 0.090135203 Pipsqueak 9 0.090135203 Shinu 9 0.090135203 Soldier 9 0.090135203 The Boulder 9 0.090135203 The Duke 9 0.090135203 Xu 9 0.090135203 Gansu 8 0.08012018 Kenji 8 0.08012018 Kwan 8 0.08012018 Mother Superior 8 0.08012018 Old man 8 0.08012018 Shuzumu 8 0.08012018 Yagoda 8 0.08012018 Cabbage merchant 7 0.070105158 Fire Sage 7 0.070105158 Fung 7 0.070105158 General How 7 0.070105158 Koko 7 0.070105158 Male student 7 0.070105158 Man 7 0.070105158 Pao 7 0.070105158 Tashi 7 0.070105158 Than 7 0.070105158 Trainer 7 0.070105158 Villager 7 0.070105158 Warden Poon 7 0.070105158 Due to Tumblr limatations on length, I had to put the remaining characters(those with 6 or fewer lines) in a two separate posts .

[choco-pudding]

Space Channel 5 Part 2: Sugoku Sugoi  Guide Book p. 118-125 (Translation by @lavoszero and myself. Edits and typesetting by myself)  

Second part of Report 5.

Imgur link to all of the  Sugoku Sugoi Guide Book translations we’ve done thus far.  

Plain text below.

p. 118

Shadows シャドーズ

-

Lv.10 Groove 113

Right Right Chu- Chu- Chu- Chu- Chu

p. 119

Hey! [2] Hup [3] Ho! [4] Hyahh, moro! [5] Yah!

-

Lv.10 Groove 114

Up Down Up Down Chu Chu Chu

p. 120 Mystery Zone · Back Room A

Playing

Ulala’s Stars: 12 This is where we had our pandemonic showdown with The Shadows. As usual, excluding when it’s time for Ulala's "Chu" or "Hey," you can use any of the directional buttons for your inputs. Pressing different combinations of directions makes for an even flashier performance. After this battle, we got a peek at Shadow's true face; to think he was an ally all along…

“Battle of the Bands!”

6.

021 ⬇ ⬇ x x 022 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x x 023 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x x x 024 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x

7.

025 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 026 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 027 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 028 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 029 ⬇ ⬇ x x x

-

Lv. 4 Groove 115

Up Down Up Down Woof Woof Woof

p. 121

8.

030 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x x x 031 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ o o o 032 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ o o o 033 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x o x

9. Timed Chu

034 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 035 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 036 ⬇ ⬇ x 037 ⬇ ⬇ x 038 ⬇ ⬇ x 039 ⬇ x 040 o o 041 o o 042 o o 043 o o 044 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x

Pine Comment: After set [39], there’ll be some quick "hey, hey" exchanges, but it'll switch back to directional inputs at set [44]. It's pretty easy to get struck on the previous pattern and continue pressing "hey, hey" by accident.

“Couldn’t you buy me just a lil’ more time?”

-

Lv. 4 Groove 116

Left Left Right Right Woof Woof Woof

p. 122 Mystery Zone · Back Room B

Ulala’s Stars: 7 Time for the climactic shooting game of Which One is the Real One. During sets [45] ~ [48], the real one is easy to spot since he looks and sounds different, but after set [49], we had to identify—and rescue—the real one by his pose. This Jaguar guy left a bad first impression on me, but we still worked together for one last "whoo."

“Time for a game! Think ya can spot the real one?”

10.

       “Which one of us doesn’t belong?” 045 “Which one of them doesn’t belong?” ⬆ x x x x o        “Which one is the real one?” 046 “Which one is the real one?” ⬆ x x o x x

11.

047 ⬆ x x x o x 048 ⬆ o x x x x

-

Lv. 4 Groove 117

Up- U- Uh- Up Woof Woof Woof

p. 123

12.

049 ⬆ x o x x x 050 ⬆ x x x x o 051 ⬆ x o x x x 052 ⬆ x x x o x 053 ⬆ x x o x x 054 ⬆ x x x x o

Tchalaalaa Fu! [6]

-

Lv. 4 Groove 118

Right Left Right Left Woof Woof Woof

p. 124 Pudding’s Interview? About Ulala’s Weakness, the Space Pirates, & Jaguar

…My blood type is AB, my specialty is knowing the latest gossip, five years ago I used to just be an idol, but I decided to become a reporter. One of my hobbies is riding around on my space bike. Wondering if that’s all I have to say? I’m all done talking about myself, so I guess I’ll go home now. (A minute later)… Fine, fine, since you’re fussing so much, I’ll stay in the interview room. It’s like I’m a prisoner here. Huh? You want me to talk about Ulala and Jaguar? Tch, so that’s what you want to know. You should’ve said that from the start so I wouldn’t have rushed to give my profile information. That’s way more interesting. Now I’m upset. (The hosts bring in one of her favorite foods, kuzumochi) Oh, well now, that’s smart of you. Fine, I guess I’ll tell you about them. Alright, this gives you 20 minutes, after that, I’m leaving.

About Ulala A while back, then…Ulala was…Ah, just the other day I was tricked into advertising for Channel 5, but I didn’t know it was for them at the time… Even though it was for our own publicity too, I can’t believe we were promoting our rival station of all things…That has to be one of the biggest regret I’ve ever had in my entire life… Pretty shocking, huh? Not only that, but I even lost the guitar duel, I was sure I was gonna win that. Double the shock there. If this keeps on happening, I’m going to have to do everything in my power to get Ulala to lose ratings for Channel 5!

Well, I know all of Ulala’s weakness, so if I need to fight her, I’ll be prepared~. What, you wanna know them, too? Hmm, Ulala’s weaknesses. She’s afraid of deafening silence. I guess drifting all alone in a spaceship accident was very traumatic for her since she was so little. But this weakness could be fading; the scars on people’s hearts can heal. Anyway, I know a way more direct weakness! Spicy things. Things like space wasabi, space mustard, and spices, she can’t handle any of those. Teeheehee. I wonder, what kind of trick should I pull to get her to eat something with space wasabi?

-

Lv. 4 Groove 120

Right Right Righ- Righ- Woof Woof Woof

p. 125

Her favorite food is roasted space duck so maybe I’ll make it and season it with a good amount of the spices under  the skin. It’d be delicious… (looks off into the distance absentmindedly for about 47 seconds). Ah, I made myself drool. Hehe.

And then there’s Jaguar, I’d call that a weakness, too… heh (couldn’t stop laughing for 1 minute and 9 seconds). Jaguar is a person Ulala admires (old news).  Well, Ulala throws a tantrum like a little kid if I even sneer at her, I could lure her out with just Jaguar’s name, then prank her or whatever, but I’m not gonna do that.  I’m not that mean!!

About Jaguar Well, speaking of Jaguar, he’s honestly really cool. Especially since he’s the leader of the Space Pirate Broadcasting Station (a group that goes around in the Space Pirate ship, Bad Tuning, and broadcasts all over the galaxy. Naturally, they’re all space pirates). He’s a man, who no matter what happens, always seeks the truth. I guess you can call him irresistible, right! Hehe. Oh, also, don’t mention that I drooled earlier… If you do my reputation will be ruined! By the way, apparently he looks like the person who saved Ulala, when she was all alone during that one accident. He’s the dashing type of guy that’s always coming and going like the wind, and always comes to help even if you don’t ask for it.

There’s a lot of rumors going around about his past too, like that he went into hiding ‘cause someone wanted the those connected to reporting that accident out of the picture, some say he used to be a reporter for Channel 5, but others say he wasn’t. Or that he was just a random man that happened to be there during the time of the incident. With Channel 5 under new management now, there’s even newer rumors about him springing up. Like that the Space Pirate Broadcasting Station was really made to get revenge against Channel 5. It must be kinda nice to have that kind of popularity, it’s like Ulala and Jaguar are the stars of a Space Romance. Ah, anyway, was there anything else I needed to talk about…?

[Translator’s notes: by “out of the picture” he means end his career for ever. Basically have him blacklisted (or worse). Space Romance as in the genre.]

-

Lv. 4 Groove 120

Up Down Down Woof Woof Woof

[snowflaketale12]

My little finding outside the movies - "Secret Room in Castle Library" ❄️

I'm going to make my own small project which is "My little finding outside the movies" (with hashtag snowflaketale's little finding). It will mainly cover novels as there's too many books in Frozenverse, but if possible I will try to cover most of the medias like podcast or storybooks or comics etc ❄️

The first finding was about "Blodget's Bakery", now the second finding is about "Secret room in castle library" 😄

Dangerous Secrets: The Story of Iduna and Agnarr (Pg. 114)

2. Forest of Shadows (Pg. 49)

3. Polar Nights: Cast Into Darkness (Pg. 15)

4. Disney Frozen: Forces of Nature (Episode 1, 15:07 - 15:23)

Anna: "Well, I actually know a place where we could do some research. Disa: "Wait, really?" Anna: "Yes, in the castle, there's entire room filled with artifacts and texts about magic from all over the world!"

I found the castle library (the general library which didn't mentioned the secret room) has lots of appearances in books too, so I'd tried to compile them. I might have missed some of them so feel free to comment if you know more!

5. "Coronation Day" in All Is Found: A Frozen Anthology (Pg. 386)

6. "The Next Right Things" in All Is Found: A Frozen Anthology (Pg. 386)

7. A Frozen Heart (Pg. 33)

8. Conceal, Don't Feel: A Twisted Tale (Pg. 12)

9. Frozen: The Junior Novelization (Pg. 7)

10. Frozen 2: The Deluxe Junior Novelization (Pg. 26)

11. A Frozen World (Page. 41)

12. Anna & Elsa #2: Memory and Magic (Pg. 67)

13. Disney Before the Story: Anna Finds a Friend (Pg. 16)

[asma-al-husna]

Allah’s name Al-Hakam— The Judge, The Giver of Justice, The Arbitrator— occurs on one occasion in the Quran. He is the One who always delivers justice, in every situation, to everyone. Al-Hakam never wrongs anyone and is never oppressive, He is the only true judge; no one can overturn His judgment and no one can ever appeal His decree!

The Giver of Justice, The One Who Arbitrates

Hakam comes from the root haa-kaaf-meem, which refers to the attribute of judging, being wise, passing a verdict, and preventing or restraining people from wrongdoing.

This root appears 210 times in the Quran in 13 derived forms. Examples of these forms are hakama (to judge), al-hukm (the command, wisdom, judgement), hikmah (wisdom), and Ahkamu (Most Just).

Linguistically, hakam and hakeem are from the same root; hakam is a verbal noun and emphasizes the act of delivering justice whereas hakeem refers to the essential nature of the possessor of wisdom. Al-Hakam refers to the totality of Allah’s power to judge and arbitrate with perfect justice and immense mercy, which cannot be compared with the judging and arbitrating of any other created being.

Al-Hakam Himself says: Then is it other than Allah I should seek as judge while it is He who has revealed to you the Book explained in detail? [Quran, 6:114]

The best of judges

Al-Hakam deals with all the affairs of creation— isn’t that amazing? He beautifully says: All those who are in the heavens and the Earth ask of Him; every moment He is in a state (of glory). [Quran, 55:29]

Al-Hakam makes certain deeds lawful and other deeds unlawful; He instructs us to do certain things and prohibits us from doing others. He has complete legislative power and His discree can’t be overturned by anyone, because He says: His is the creation and His is the command. [Quran, 7:54].

Whatever Al-Hakam legislates for us is never burdensome and never unfair. He laid down the perfect rules to protect the rights of everyone— men and women, the righteous and the sinner, the believer and the unbeliever.

Beautiful justice

When someone converts to Islam, Al-Hakam forgives all of his previous sins and evil deeds. A man called Amr came to the Prophet Muhammad and said, Give me your right hand so that I may give you my pledge of loyalty. The Prophet stretched out his right hand. Amr withdrew his hand. The Prophet said: What has happened to you, O Amr? He replied, I intend to lay down a condition. The Prophet asked: What condition do you intend to put forward? Amr said, That Allah forgives my sins. The Prophet said: Didn’t you know that converting to Islam erases all previous sins? [Muslim] This is the beautiful justice of Allah ‘azza wa jall. Alhamdulillah ‘alaa ni’matul Islam— Praise be to Allah for the blessing of Islam.

How Can You Live by This Name?

1. Trust in Al-Hakam at all times.

Take comfort in the fact that even if people are unjust, you will get your justice from Al-Hakam! Don’t despair, and fully rely on His judgment. Al-Hakam says: Follow what has been revealed to you, and be steadfast until Allah’s judgment comes. He is the Best of Judges. [Quran, 10:109]

2. Be motivated to do good deeds.

Al-Hakam is wise. He is the ultimate Judge, and He decreed that you don’t have to bear the sin of another. You’ll never ever be wronged by Al-Hakam; you’re never punished for more than the sin you commit, nor will any good deed go without a reward.

This is the justice-system of Al-Hakam: Whoever brings a good deed shall have ten times the like thereof to his credit, and whoever brings an evil deed shall have only the recompense of the like thereof, and they will not be wronged. [Quran, 6:160]. Let this motivate you to take each chance to do a good deed; benefit from your health, wealth and free time by using them wisely.

3. Make the Quran and sunnah your guides.

You should take the Quran and the sunnah for guidance in all matters, in all areas in your life. How many people refer to non-Islamic legislations only when it comes to divorce, inheritance, and the like? You should make the Quran and sunnah your guidance between right and wrong in everything you do, to guide you in your personal life, your community, your society, your interactions with others, your business, etcetera.

4. Remember Al-Hakam and stand up for the truth.

Remind yourself that you will stand before Him one day to be judged by Him. Make this your motivation to mind your actions in this world. Always stand up for truth and justice, even if it’s against yourself. Strive for a positive verdict from the One and only judge.

5. Always be fair and equal in judging others!

Whenever you’re in a position to judge between parties, for example a family affair, always be equal and just. Al-Hakam says: Behold, Allah bids you to deliver all that you have been entrusted with unto those who are entitled thereto and whenever you judge between people, to judge with justice. [Quran 4:58]

6. Never object to the decree of Al-Hakam.

Whenever Al-Hakam decrees something, He does so with perfect wisdom. Never object to the decree of Al-Hakam by complaining about your fate and questioning Him (e.g. oh, why do I have to go through this?) Only people who don’t understand Allah’s names and attributes will question Him, so make it a striving to study al Asmaa ul husnaa.

7. Ask Al-Hakam for protection and guidance.

Ask Allah Al-Hakam to protect you from injustice at the hands of others and ask Him to make you just toward others. Ask Al-Hakam to make you adhere to whatever He’s legislated for you.

O Allah, Al-Hakam, we know You are the Perfect Judge. Aid us to adhere to your legislation in our daily lives, make us of those who are equal and just to others and of those who always stand up for the truth. Protect us from the injustice of others, adorn us with reliance upon You and Your justice at all times, ameen!

[drakonfire12]

How to help the Ukrainian Book Industry

As per usual, I forget to post on Tumblr now a days. Let's talk Faktor Druk.

What happened?

Russia launched 15 missiles at Kharkiv. Faktor Druk, a printing house was hit twice (in total 3 strikes in the general area). Last I heard, 7 are dead. 22 are wounded. (During the strike, 50 employees were in the building.)

Why it matters? Most Ukrainian publishers had books printed there. Every 3rd Ukrainian book was printed there [Source]. You may think "it's only 50 000 fiction books", but no, it includes textbooks. As in, kids might not get any textbooks, because who else will print them when most books are printed in Kharkiv?

"The printing house Faktor-Druk is part of the Faktor company group, which also includes the renowned Ukrainian publishing house and bookstore Vivat. Faktor-Druk has the capacity to produce approximately 50 million hardcover and paperback books, 100 million magazines, and 300 million newspapers annually. The facility employs 400 people and encompasses 15,822 square meters of production space. According to Forbes Ukraine, Faktor-Druk is one of only two factories in Ukraine that can print products for Disney and Marvel, having successfully passed a rigorous multi-level audit." [Source]

Now how to help? Countries are trying to help with rebuilding, but here are some things you can do.

Vivat posted about a fundraiser for Faktor Druk. Originally posted here by CEO Yuliya Orlova. Reposted to Vivat website here.

Based on my own experience, I believe it is crucial to channel our grief and anger into action. How can you do that?

Ways to support: Donate to the Armed Forces of Ukraine, they are our heroes! Keep buying Ukrainian books! Factor-Druk is one of the largest printing houses in Ukraine, where not only Vivat books are printed, but also many books from other publishers, as well as newspapers, magazines, calendars, school notebooks for your children and grandchildren.⠀ How to help: The Factor company has initiated a fundraiser. All donations will be used to support those affected and to restore the printing industry. Details can be found at the following link: https://vivat.com.ua/blog/udar-po-drukarni-faktor-druk-yak-dopomohty/ [Source]

Vally_v on Instagram is doing a fundraiser raffle below for the chance to win this edition of Ivan Franko's “Manipuliantka”.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Val Voshchevska 🇺🇦 (@vally_v)

You can support the publishers by buying Ukrainian books and ebooks (most print their books through Faktor).

On the whole, this destruction is part of the larger war where Russians have been destroying Ukraine.

Some more background

The first year of the full-scale invasion led to a 50% decrease in demand [Source]. Shelling in Kharkiv has led to a backlog due to limited electricity and a shortage of qualified personnel [Source].

In terms of operations, within 2022:

From the start of the full scale invasion to April 25th of 2024, the Russians have damaged 1062 cultural heritage sites [Source]:

Specifically, architectural and urban planning sites comprise 316 objects, architecture – 307, historical– 226, architecture and urban planning, historical – 61, archaeology – 56, architecture, historical – 39, monumental art – 21, urban planning and monumental-decorative art – 19, architecture, monumental art – 7, urban planning – 5, science and technology, architecture – 2, architecture and monumental art – 1, architecture, garden and park art – 1; architecture and garden and park art – 1.

From that same period of time, Russians damaged 1987 cultural institutions (324 destroyed) [Source].

"In total, the following have been affected: – Creative hubs: 958 – Libraries: 708 – Art education institutions: 153 – Museums and galleries: 114 – Theaters, cinemas, and philharmonic halls: 36 – Parks, zoos, reserves: 15 – Circuses: 3"

There is also this interactive map of the book ecosystem in Ukraine:

Links:

Oleksiy Hrushevsky. Ukrain's printing companies suffer 40% capacity cuts after Russian attack on Kharkiv printing house. Online.ua.

Russian army attacks printing house in Kharkiv causing injury and death – UPDATED. Chytomo.

Porter Anderson. Russian Attack Hits Ukraine’s Factor-Druk Printing House. Publishing Perspective.

Porter Anderson. Europe’s Publishers: Anger, Solidarity After Kharkiv Attack. Publishing Perspective.

Олеся Дерзська. Як ракетний удар по «Фактор-Друк» вдарить по книгоіндустрії? Speka.

Factor Group of companies on Facebook.

Yuliya Orlova on Facebook. [Vivat CEO]

Vivat on Facebook. Книгарка Vivat on Telegram.

Sergey Polituchiy on Facebook.

Over 50,000 books destroyed and three publishers affected in Russian strike on Kharkiv printing house. Ukrains'ka Pravda.

Тетяна Леонова. «Українці — не варвари, ми не палимо книжки»: Олена Рибка, шеф-редакторка видавництва Vivat автор. Nakypilo.

Анна М’ясникова. Харківська друкарня після обстрілу. Фоторепортаж. Nakypilo.

On the Ukrainian publishing industry:

[Dec. 2022] The State of the Ukrainian Book Publishing Sector During Wartime. Ukraine World.

[23.12.2022] Anastasia Zagorui & Oksana Khmeliovska. 9 months of invasion: how Ukrainian publishers work in times of war. Chytomo.

[12.08.2022] Anastasia Zagorui. How Ukrainian publishers work during the war. Chytomo.

[12.02.2024] Iryna Baturevych. The Ukrainian Publishing Market 2023: “Competition has reached unprecedented levels”. Chytomo. (old poll, but gives some perspective).

[06.05.2024] Ministry of Culture and Information Policy of Ukraine. Due to russian aggression in Ukraine, 1062 cultural heritage sites have been affected.

[02.05.2024] Ministry of Culture and Information Policy of Ukraine. 1987 cultural infrastructure objects have been damaged or destroyed due to russian aggression.

[April 2023] A Brief Overview of the Ukrainian Publishing Sector : Supporting Ukrainian Publishing Resilience and Recovery (SUPRR).

[Oct 2023] Ukraine’s book business during war: Ukrainians want to read their own, but Russia may enter the market again. Rubryka.

[April 2024] Against all odds: How Ukrainian book publishing navigates challenges of war. Rubryka.

[04.04.2024] The constant shelling of Kharkiv leads to major backlog for Ukrainian books-in-print. Chytomo.

Interactive map:

Interactive map of the Ukrainian book ecosystem. Ukrainian Book Institute.

Thanks for reading, this turned out to be a super long post.

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the fifth part of our short fic rec list! All of the fics on this list are a nice quick read that is less than 10k. If you missed the other parts to this rec list, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Happy reading!

1) Shut Your Mouth, Baby | Explicit | 3,028 words

While fooling around in a closet at a New Year’s Eve party, Louis can’t seem to keep quiet. All he needs to do is hold off until midnight, when Harry will finally uncover his mouth and let him come at full volume.

2) Heaven In These Sheets | Explicit | 3,557 words

Bunny Hybrid Louis has it out for his boyfriend’s phone.

3) Tide’s Deathless Death | Explicit | 4,350 words

The Red Serpent gleamed in all of her marvellous glory from where she was anchored a meagre few miles away from the land. Her flag waving proudly in the afternoon sun. The image was certainly memorable, of the flag, that is; a serpent coiled viciously around a human heart, fangs sunken into the organ and blood oozing from the very spot. If not for the ship herself, the flag had its own repute of conveying the message that the captain was not to be trifled with. There was no single man who had survived after taking up arms against the captain. Well, there was one man, but including him amongst the hoard of common faces would be a foolishness on the feared-by-all captain’s part. That man currently stood silently staring after the captain, palm curled around the handle of his blade, and teeth clenched in anger. He was certainly going to relieve all the navies of their plight by taking down the captain. At least then, in his relatively newfound life of piracy, he would have done one good deed.

4) Always Tell The Truth | Not Rated | 5,027 words

Harry is Louis’ dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn’t be the end of the world.

5) I Knew It From The Start | Explicit | 5,233 words

Louis starts calling Harry ‘daddy’. Consequently, Harry discovers that he has a daddy kink.

6) Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets | Not Rated | 6,441 words

The thing about Harry is, is that he is the most wonderful guy you´ll ever meet. He is kind, compliments you on things you are usually insecure about, which shows he truly pays attention to who you are as a person. And he befriends everyone. Except Louis.

7) Outline Of My Sins | Explicit | 6,551 words

Prompt 453: AU where alpha Harry is an art student who is taking a figure drawing class and omega Louis is the nude model. In the many years that Harry has taken art classes, he has never been more hot and bothered than now, having to stare at a beautiful nude omega model for hours.

8) Shouldn’t Cry (But I Love It) | Explicit | 6,586 words

They're roommates. They're quarantined. There's a small problem coming up.

9) Your Name Is Tattooed To The Bottom Of My Heart | Explicit | 6,613 words

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday.

10) Leave Like The Summer Breeze | Explicit | 6,551 words

When Louis and Zayn are stranded in Alabama, a farmer offers them shelter. He just asks for one thing in return.

11) Smile for the Camera for It Knows Everything, Hollywood Star| Mature | 6,676 words

Prompt 132- The story of Nancy Reagan being called the blowjob queen of Hollywood but it’s Louis.

12) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he’s shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

13) Muffins & Cigarettes| Mature | 7,591 words

Louis pouts. “You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. “Of course, I can. Watch me.”

14) The Knothead Neighbor| Mature | 8,058 words

Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

15) Kiss It Better | Explicit | 8,080 words

Harry shakes his head with a light laugh and leans down to kiss him again which Louis happily accepts even if he is a little confused by the reaction. "Baby, not a night has gone by that I haven't thought about you in my bed, naked, and begging for my cock." Blinking up at him with wide eyes, Louis opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. While they did flirt a lot over the last few weeks, Harry had never said anything like that. It shocks him as much as it turns him on. "News to me." "I won't lie and say I like random hookups or casual sex, but to me this isn't what that is." Louis swallows thickly, unsure of what to say to that but once again Harry gives him an out. "So, If you want we can stay up here and I can show you all the things I've thought about doing to you." Another kiss, quick and sweet. "Or, we can go back downstairs and we'll dance all night."

16) Could Start A Cult | Explicit | 8,750 words

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants.

17) Should Be, Meant To Be | Explicit | 9,174 words

Prompt #65: Louis signs up for a Sugar Daddy dating website on a drunken dare. He forgets for a while, until one night he gets a notification for a message request from none other than his really hot (really rich) boss, Harry Styles.

18) Into It | Explicit | 9,197 words

Louis meets Harry. They hit it off.

19) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9,425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

20) Sugar Water | Explicit | 9,454 words

When his most familiar begins to feel all too unfamiliar, Harry finds out what it means to love like real people do.

21) Hook You Up (Charm You Down) | Explicit | 9,600 words

Swiftly, Harry raises his right hand to his head. Bringing two ringed fingers up, he touches the brown hat sitting on his head, tipping it with a raise of eyebrows in the direction of Peter Pan. He punctuates the whole action with his signature smirk. The reaction is almost immediate. Like Harry hoped it’d be. Though he expected the grin he received, he can’t say he directly expected the man to come forward his way. But he surely isn’t going to complain. “Captain! Fancy seeing you there,” Peter Pan says when he reaches Harry’s space. And wow. Seeing it from up close, Niall was right. Face of an angel, totally Harry’s type and all that. 

22) Poppies In May | Mature | 9,603 words

And maybe he deserves it, Louis thinks bitterly. His hand curls around the fence tightly, and he feels like if he lets go he’ll slid onto the cold ground and never fucking get up again. Maybe standing here, staring at Harry’s hunched over, retreating back is what he deserves.

23) Wanna Do Nothing With You | Explicit | 9,606 words

The accident happens in the stupidest way possible. One minute Louis is demonstrating a skateboard trick he’d just learned for Lottie, the next he’s waking up in a hospital. He’s told that he wasn’t unconscious the entire ride, but he has absolutely no recollection of it. One second he’s fucking around in his own garden and the next he’s being assaulted with the strong sterile scent of a hospital. So. There’s that.

24) Hello, My Name is Louis | Explicit | 9,686 words

Louis hurried to hang up the phone and take off his headset, throwing it away as if it was burning hot. He hugged himself by the shoulders and hid his face in his knees, sitting in his desk chair like a swimmer ready to dip into a pool, a pool of embarrassment. Not many people got past "Hello, my name is… " and even fewer engaged in a full conversation with him. And if they did, it usually went better than this.

25) Got It Right Such A Long Time Ago | Explicit | 9,699 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

There are a lot of people Harry might expect to find on his doorstep at three o’clock in the afternoon these days. It could be the delivery man, come to drop off the pair of boots Harry impulsively ordered online last week. It could be one of his neighbors, dropping by to complain about how a party he’d thrown weeks ago had clogged up the street. It could also be any number of his friends in L.A., who stop by unannounced most days to mooch off Harry’s food or whisk him away to try some new yogurt shop.    As a rule, it definitely cannot be Louis Tomlinson, although Harry’s blinked at least three times now, and it’s still Louis standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag at his feet.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[kirame90]

SniperSpy is speechless

Spy always knows his way with words. He has no trouble putting his feelings into words, especially on paper. I'm convinced he could write an entire book about compliments and confessions.

Sniper on the other hand.....not so much. In his case, actions speak louder than words. We shall see what he'll end up doing here...

The next page is now available on my Patreon!

The charity of May 2023 is Operation Underground Railroad - OUR

Working in almost 40 different countries OUR rescues children from sex trafficking and sexual exploitation. Since they started in 2013 they have rescued over 6,000 survivors and the arrested over 4,000 predators.

Thank you so incredibly much for reblogging the story! It truly means the world to me!

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