#like Look how savage and traitorous these outsiders are

[cat-soap-opera]

tbh i think that tigerstar wouldnt be even that mad abt scourge killing him in the end bc the way he did it was so brutal that he has to respect it. like it was pretty cunty.

[barbieaemond]

The King of Qarth I

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)

Warnings: angst, dubcon (but not really), handjob, fingering, p in v, hints at sexual trauma, self indulgent use of sorcery

Word count: 11k (i know...i'm sorry...)

Author’s note: The foreign words you’ll find are stolen from Greek. Second and final part coming in two weeks. English is not my first language.

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @succnfuccubus @zaldritzosrose @kckt88 @venmondiese @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs

He had taken each one of them. Dragons, power, the Crown. Snatched them from whatever divine plan the Gods had concocted, for others, never for him, and perhaps this was their punishment.

Death would’ve been a far too kind blessing, he would come to realise in one of those endless days spent wandering, roaming to find some meal, a softer clod to lie on, an identity.

Prince, Protector of the Realm, Rider of Vhagar, Blood of Old Valyria.

They were nothing more than shrouds. Once stripped of them, what was left was merely a man.

And a son. That’s what his mother saw when they threw him on the ground of the Throne Room.

Crawling on her knees like some commoner, she begged and sobbed until her voice became raw and her throat hoarse, chanting obsessively the same plea over and over like a mad woman.

"Please...have mercy in the name of the Mother… my only son...” she had bent so much as to graze the toe of Corlys Velaryon's boots with her face. “you took them all...you took them all...”

Whether she was talking to the Sea Snake, Rhaenyra, the Gods or fate, Aemond didn’t know. He didn’t know the woman kneeling before him, if he ever truly knew her. You cannot know ghosts, only walk through them.

He could not look at her. He turned his head and watched over that crowd of traitors looking down on him, as if they themselves had not looted, slaughtered, and burned more innocent than guilty.

Trained puppets they were, obeying like green little soldiers to Cregan Stark, a northern savage who had taken upon himself the right and duty to do justice. Corlys Velaryon knew it well, having spent days and nights in the dungeons as an accomplice in the poisoning of Aegon the Elder. And there they were, taking over the reins of a kingdom shattered and embittered by war.

But with the promise of Alysanne Blackwood’s hand in marriage, the Wolf had been tamed. He had stopped howling about trials and executions. Now, caution moved and bogged down their decisions. But one thing was clear as a law written in stone: there had to be peace, no matter the cost. Hence, a marriage had been arranged, between two children who, for no reason, had been taught to see the other as the enemy, whose eyes had seen too much death; orphaned and thrown like marbles into a game that brought neither smiles nor laughter to their sepulchral mouths.

She was looking at him, Jaehaera, and in her empty eyes Aemond could see Helaena climbing up the windowsill and letting herself fall.   

“What happened to Vhagar?” The Sea Snake asked “Kinslayer! What about your dragon?”

"Dead.” He lied, although he didn’t know for how long that lie would remain so. That rope in his heart had loosened, weakened, but it still held. She must have crawled off to some remote place, perhaps beyond the Neck, to recover from the injuries to her neck and right wing.

Then the Sea Snake had turned his back, consulting with his council of leeches. Exile. He heard them say. Essos. And then that word he hadn’t heard for a long time. Dragonless. A kinder word for useless. Powerless.

“Let him go, Corlys. He’s always been a spoiled brat. He won’t survive for long in those savage lands.” Someone said outside the cell they threw him in, shackled with chains on wrists and ankles like some rabid dog.

He won’t survive for long.

How he wished they were right. How he wished to look into the beady eyes of the Stranger.

Alicent would curse him, perhaps she would slap him as she used to slap Aegon for being so blasphemous, not to the Gods, but to her. Aemond was no father, and no matter how much he could try, he’d never understood the fierce, unforgiving grip motherhood had on a woman.

When he saw her for the last time before being thrown on a ship to Braavos, he realized it was the only tether that kept her alive. Him and Jaehaera.

“Just a little longer, please…just a little…” she pleaded to his jailers. With the arranged marriage, cruelties had softened, and concessions became more frequent. The Dowager Queen was granted to see her son for the last time.

“Mother!” he screamed as they dragged him away “Keep your fucking hands off me!”

He needed to speak to her. He needed her to tell him she was lying.  

“Mother, there’s a woman…”

“The Strong witch? Aemond, she’s…They captured our last allies from the Reach and…they said they found a woman in the woods but…she was in pain…and bleeding….”

The Gods’ punishment flowed through the long-cowled robe of the Stranger. And he took them all.

Aegon, Helaena, Daeron. Alys and the baby.

Alicent could not bear to see the last piece of her flesh and bones being cloaked by the cold shroud of the Stranger. And so, she crawled and begged to preserve his existence.

But that, that was no existence.

It was a limbo, a hanging life for the damned. And he was one, wasn't he? He killed kin, he killed innocent men, women and children, coming from above like a heaven banished God unleashing his wrath on the world. And even gods pay for their sins.

Only he would gladly have stuck his head in a noose or waited for the hangman's blade, a death worthy of a soldier, rather than wandering like a derelict, rootless and restless, with that rope pulling and fraying day after day. Or Weeks? Moons? He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d set foot in that limbo.

He seemed to be living in a slumber, a Milk of the Poppy hallucination. And yet, the ground was real beneath his exhausted feet, as was the heat, and at some point, the hunger.

The leeches had tried to appear civil and compassionate, lying to his mother’s face about the gold they would give him, to sustain himself once reached the East. But naturally, they didn’t keep their word. If he died of starvation, he was sure they would have lit a candle to each God in the Grand Sept. They probably prayed for that to happen.

Or maybe not. Maybe there was no greater gratification and source of amusement to know that the haughty Prince Aemond was tasting the everyday humiliation of having to steal in order not to starve, of not having clean clothes, feather pillows to lie on, the disgrace of not being able to give orders to anyone, but rather having to suffer them.

He stayed in Bravoos for a short time. It was too dangerous, too close to Westeros and too wary if anyone ever caught the color of his hair under the cloak’s hood. He remembered his history books quite well. It was the only one among the Free Cities that did not yield to the Valyrian empire; indeed, it was founded by a group of rebellious slaves fled from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords.

Volantis, on the contrary, worshipped the Old Empire. But in equal measure, they worshipped slavery. The city swarmed with mercenaries and slavers, peddling men and women like meat for slaughter, ready at every corner to steal children from the streets. And in Volantis Aemond understood that if he did not want to end up in some butcher’s hands, he had to be what he had always been: a soldier. For he realized that everywhere in the world, the most valuable currency was not gold, nor castles and titles, but blood.

This man for new fresh clothes, that woman for few gold coins and a mattress to rest his back, not to sleep. Sleep eluded him, as well as remorse. Unless his body shut his mind out of exhaustion, he lied there for hours on end, with blood drying on his hands, listening to all the ghosts floating around him, and trying to find a grip—something to hold on to. Duty had been the blacksmith who forged him and the altar to which he devoted himself. Duty to his family, his brother, the crown, the throne, even Alys, yes. For all her riddles and stumps of prophecy, he wanted her. He wanted that son.

But here, he had no high purpose to serve but himself. Stripped of all honors and many more curses, he fell into a daylong stupor, made of blood, humiliations and silent cries for revenge.

Until one day, the rope went taut.

Vhagar burned away the stupor. She had found him. For the second time, she had been his salvation. And on her back, he found a fragment of who he was, but who he was supposed to be remained a distant thing, clouded in smoke.

He flew south, over the ruins of Old Valyria, and then east, crossing all of Vaes Dothrak to the Red Waste, and by the time he realized he should've veered north or south, it was too late.

He was in the middle of the widest and driest desert on the eastern continent.

The Garden of Bones, as they called it, and with good reason. For in those few times that Aemond decided to land to allow Vhagar to rest, all his eye could see were sand, devilgrass and bones. But he didn’t care about the thirst, the dry and cracked lips, the white tow his hair had become.

Vhagar was his only concern. She was starving. She could not fly too high in the skies. And so, along with all the misery and humiliation, came the dread. For if Vhagar died, the last rope, the last tether, which had perhaps kept him alive up to that point, and perhaps kept her alive, would break.

But then, just as it happens in some book of adventures, or simply in dreams, a mirage, a true oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the highest walls ever built in the history of men, guarding the greatest city that ever was and will be: Qarth.

“Hmm” she ponders, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure about this one. What do you think, Nyla?”

The young maid stops her morning chore and blushes. “I think it would match your skin wonderfully, your Highness.”

She hears giggling behind her shoulders, where two of her most trusted maids are braiding her hair after oiling them with mirrh and cinnamon. “You hear that, Nyla? They’re questioning your candor.”

“I am not, your Highness.” says Dora, one of the giggling girls. “But if you were looking for a less partial opinion, let’s say a more objective one...you should have asked me or Mysha.”

“Well, as it happens, I was looking precisely for a partial opinion. Look at her. She’s changing my chamber pot and still, she thinks that shade of purple would suit me wonderfully. Oh Nyla, I think you will soon become my favorite.”

“Is that a yes then, your Highness?” the merchant wastes no time to ask, standing in the center of the room with silk drapes of several colors resting along his arm.

“Yes, Jorio. Two yards of that purple silk.”

The merchant nods swiftly, too swiftly she notices. The man is acting awkwardly since the moment he stepped into her private rooms. Usually, he’s a big talker, a true born seller. He could make believe one could heal from Greyscale if they just wrap themselves in the soft embrace of his silks. But not today. He seems in a hurry. The exhibition of his goods too quick and excited. And then the sweat, lumped in a wet sheen around his bald head.

“Anything else, your Highness?”

Her forehead creases, acknowledging a thought, new but not quite, as if it has always been there. “Perhaps something green?” she ventures.

“Green?” inquires Misha “That’s a first.”

She shakes her head in a dismissing way. “Must be my father’s sorcery.”

The shadows, kóri, they speak to you.

“What do you have in green, Jorio?”

The merchant fumbles with his silks, a turmoil moves his hands clumsily until a few drapes of fabric flutter on the ground. He stoops to pick them up, only to drop the others still clinging onto his shoulder in a chaotic rainbow of colors on the white marble floor.

“Jorio, what is the matter with you today?”

“I—Nothing, your Highness, my apologies...”

“You know if you have problems with your trades, the Salt King and I would be more than happy to help you.”

“It’s not that—no. Must be all the fuss in town.”

“Pirates again?”

“Uhm—no, it’s the…beast outside the walls.”

“The beast? What beast?”

The man swallows, visibly. “A dragon, your Highness. A huge dragon, higher than the city walls.”

“But…that is not possible...” Misha tries.

“I’m telling what I saw with my own eyes. The Thirteen gathered outside the walls. I saw the Spice King along my way here. He said they were about to parley with the Milk man, see through his reasons.”

"Milk Men don’t ride dragons.” she corrects, standing from the soft cushions piled and spread on the ground. “This man’s hair…what color are they?”

“White as midday sun.”

"Your Highness! Come..."

The Salt Queen joins Dora on one of the brightly sunlit balconies overlooking the Route of Trade. There is indeed a great bustle in the town, a motionless bustle however, gazing with open mouths and bewildered eyes at the small procession moving up the street. The City Guard is leading, with their shields and spears to protect The Thirteen, rulers of the most important trading city in the world. They are all dressed in bright colours and precious jewels embroidered in their silk tunics, hanging from their necks, wrists and fingers.

If she narrows her eyes, The Salt Queen can swear she can see the gold ring her husband wears on his nose. What catches her eye though, is not gold or any other bright color, but black, and then white.

There is a man walking down the street with the thirteen, a tall man with plain dark clothes and a mantle of silver hair, white as midday sun.

“Wife, may I introduce you to our noble guest?”

A woman comes forward to greet him when Aemond enters a lavish hall with several windows adorned with colorful drapes of silk. He is sure he has never seen so much marble in his life, feeling even more inappropriate given the state of his clothes and his whole demeanor, shamefully far from the clean, soldierly appearance that left mouth agape.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, from Westeros.” The Salt King declares as the woman stops just before him. He stands tall and imposing, no matter the misery of his shabby clothes, the state of his disheveled hair falling in silver tangles down his back. He is still a Targaryen, his chin is high and proud.

“More like from the Old Valyria.” She says raising an eyebrow, and sizing him up and down. “He seems to have just emerged from the Doom, miraculously unscathed.”

The Prince does nothing but seethe his teeth behind his dry lips, a distant shame in his eye that quickly turns into a focused and unblinking rage.

“Welcome to Qarth, my Prince. I’d trust your journey was uneventful but…I can see the Red Waste takes its toll, even on Valyrian beauty.”

Aemond takes a good, long look at her, inevitably lingering on her chest, dressed as the common Qartheen fashion dictates: one breast exposed. But a lot more of her is exposed. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, a glimpse of her hips, all crossed by swirling bundles of lilac silk.

If any married woman in Westeros dressed like that in the open, he’s sure any husband would lock her up. At least he would.

“You must excuse my wife, Prince Aemond, or rather, get used to her habit of speaking her mind.”

“Come now, Xavos. Surely Westerosi women can voice their thoughts?” she moves, walking past Aemond and her husband to reach a small table inlaid with gold to pour some greenish beverage into a cup. “I had a maid once, she was from…Rich Garden?”

“High Garden.” He sternly corrects her.

“Ah, yes. A delightful creature, always smelled so good.” She says distractedly “Anyway, she fled from your lands because she liked girls and not boys and she didn’t want to devote her life to being a brood mare sucking a flaccid cock until her hair had gone white.”

Her maids snicker somewhere past Aemond shoulders, stiffening his posture at the liberties those commoners are granted. “I should hope you Westerners listen to your women more than you do your horses.”

Aemond watches as she takes a sip and laces his hands behind, slightly tilting his head for a moment. “Where I come from, women do not possess such a sharp tongue. Furthermore, and fortunately, most of them have manners. They know how to address a Prince of the Realm.”

She turns to leave the cup on the same table and glances at Nyla. “Oh, he bites.”

“This is not Westeros, dragon prince.” She says turning to face him with a righteous smile “I don’t need to ask your permission to speak. The Salt King is my husband, that is why you will hear my maids and everyone else address me as Your Highness. So, you may lower that chin and stop waiting for me to bow down to you because technically my rank is higher than yours. You might say the only one meant to bow in this room were you.”

The silence that follows is so stark that the air the Prince quickly exhales through his nose sounds like thunder, alerting the Salt King. "Come now, wife. Don't wake the beast.” he says lightly, stiffening a smile “And I mean it quite literally. You should see the size of Prince Aemond’s dragon.”

“I heard.” she acknowledges “Jorio said he’s higher than the city walls.”

“She. And twice, than your city walls.” The Prince corrects her again, just as sternly. “She’s the largest dragon alive in the known world.”  His chin remains high and haughty, simply because he can. Because she knows he could raze the entire city to the ground just by snapping his fingers. So, she looks down and says “Since you will be our guest, it is my duty as matron of this house to make you feel welcomed. If you would be so kind to follow me, your Grace.” She forces her tone to be as much as corteous, but then she smiles “Is my tongue acceptably sharp to your liking now?”

“Where are you taking me?” he asks as he follows the Salt Queen along one of the corridors, made of the finest marble with high arches of white stone and gold glittering under the midday sun.

“Down and down, to throw you in the dungeons.”

Aemond stalls for a moment and she does the same. “I was joking.”

He gives her that stern, distrustful look she starts to think he has etched on his features since his first wail and huffs. “God, have you lost your humor in the Red Waste?”

She resumes her walking, and Aemond follows, glancing around as they pass through many people, some of them are dressed like maids and servants, some others with long tunics of silk and jewels embroidered in the fabric. They speak to one another, he notices, as equals. But they stop altogether upon seeing a living Valyrian walk among them.

“God?” he asks “Which one?”

“Whichever you want. R'hollor, the Many Faced…I’m not picky. It helps me sleep better at night to know I didn’t dump all my sins on one God only.”

He is sure from his education and his mother’s faith that religion doesn’t work that way, but he has more pressing matters at heart. “Will you meet my requests?”

“About your dragon?” she asks stopping before a large wooden door closed. “Can’t she hunt on her own?”

“In the Red Waste? In these barren lands? Perhaps you should put your pretty head outside the city walls and see with your own eyes how big she is.”

The woman smirks, seizing him up and down and furrows her brows. “You seem very keen on emphasizing how big your dragon is. I should hope it’s not a compensating factor for the lack of something else.”

She pushes the door open, not bothering to wait for Aemond who just stands there for a moment, a little dumbfounded by the salt of which the Queen's tongue seems to be made. His bewilderment is only destined to worsen as he crosses the threshold and looks around.

Right in the middle of the palace, amidst all that marble and white stone, stands a wild courtyard, wild and beautiful in its unspoiled nature. Climbing plants and fruit trees grow undisturbed around a large square pool, decorated with mosaics of a thousand colors, harboring the most crystal-clear water he has ever seen; small clouds of steam rise from the surface, pinching his nostrils with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.

There are people bathing together and, obviously, much to his dismay, naked.

“Do you not take baths in Westeros?” the Salt Queen asks, faking true curiosity at the puzzlement she can read on his face, slowly turning into repugnance as he looks at her with a cutting answer.

“We have decency, in Westeros.”

She does not bother to disguise the long sigh blowing through her lips and then she turns to clap her hands vigorously, three times.

“My friends, apologies for the interruption!” she announces as everyone in the pool and outside turns to look at her “I must ask you to leave the pool for the time being. Our…prude guest demands a little bit of privacy.” 

She can feel the Prince glaring but ignores him altogether to stop one of the servants.

“Priya, fetch some oils. And some silks, fitting for a prince.” She turns her head to look at him from head to toe, as if valuing a new drape of silk or a new sculpture to put in the Hall of Trade, but then she creases her forehead, as she often does when knowing. “Blue perhaps? To match the sapphire.”

The constant scowl seems to leave his features and she hears his question before he utters a single word.

“My father is a warlock. Magic runs thick in his blood, he says, as well as in the blood of his blood. Sometimes I sense things, bits of knowledge, and sometimes they happen to be right. But you don’t need to be afra—”

“I’m not afraid of sorcery.” He cuts her, his tone flat, his features stoic as ever and she looks at him, curiously, perhaps wondering what lies behind all that stone.

“Very well. Sapphire blue for Prince Aemond.” his name slips into his ears in a strange, liquorous way; vowels are more open in this part of the world.

When they’re left alone, she signals towards the pool. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He hesitates for a moment, but it is not as if he has never undressed in front of one of his old servants. And frankly, he is too eager to get those filthy clothes off to be bothered by a foreign woman watching.

He throws everything on the ground without too much care, and she watches without too much shame, because that's not how things go there. Bodies, both male and female, they are not something to hide, but something to be displayed and worshipped.

Her eyes linger on scars, old and new, on a lithe body that once belonged to a prince and a soldier, now marked by misery, dirt and hunger.

“Everything.” she says at one point, when he’s left with only his battered cotton pants on.

Aemond thinks he heard wrong. But she only blinks, keeping her face blank.

“Is this the common way to welcome guests here?” he scorns.

“Actually, it is. At least after the incident with the scorpion.” she doesn’t bother to wait for a question or an eyebrow rising. “My husband’s great grandfather hosted a merchant from Yunkai once. He came here with gifts of all sorts among which was a poisonous scorpion, hidden in his clothes. The old Salt King died but so did the merchant. Fell face down in his chamber pot while taking a piss. Quite ironic, don’t you think? You have to be careful when handling such vicious creatures.”

He only looks at her, and she's the one to raise an eyebrow. “I could turn away if you like.”

Aemond sighs loudly, moving his cutting jaw at the umpteenth humiliation and then lowers his pants. She stares into his eye and surely, surely he thinks, she wouldn’t dare to wander down.

But a moment later her eyes sink past his snatched waist, and she smirks.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“Questioning your…natural gifts.”

Aemond blinks, running on the verge between scowling, raising his eyebrows and huffing a laugh.  Certainly, it never happened to him to talk so bluntly about his cock with any highborn lady barely met, let alone a supposed queen.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, dragon prince. The Salt King and I have much to discuss.”

“Such as?” he deadpans, not really interested while he dives into the clean water.

“Well, a Targaryen Prince is not an everyday occurrence.” She says following his every move, the way water glides on his skin, silver hair floating on the surface like moonblooms. “We’ll make sure to have a feast worthy of your noble taste this evening.”

“And then talk behind my back about what to do with me?”

“Undoubtedly. And I will tell him the truth.”

“Hmm.” He hums, settling on one of the underwater steps of the pool, resting his shoulders against the rim. His mood instantly improves, so he pins her with his eye and looks her up and down. “Do you believe to know my reasons? You’re quite sure of yourself…your Highness. Unless your father’s sorcery allows you to read minds, I dare say even rather pretentious.”

“I don’t need sorcery to know that you, in the first place, do not know what you’re doing here.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

She sees that chin tilting, lifting with a hint of challenge. And she takes it. She has the truth, and indeed, she doesn’t need sorcery.

“Because Qarth is still standing.”

She gets no answer, just that diffident stern look to which she darts the faintest of smirks and then leaves the pool, under his watchful eye that stays on the door for a moment longer, before he lets his head sink underwater.

The Salt Queen gives instructions for the most sumptuous room to be given to Prince Aemond. She sees to it that he is provided with several silk suits and that food is served to him immediately when he has finished bathing. She has observed his body with pleased eyes, so scrupulously she knows the Prince has not had a decent meal in weeks.

“Did he settle?” Xavos asks when she enters his private room.  

“In time, I’m sure he will. Valyrians have an impressive disposition to make their own what does not belong to them, do they not?”

She hears him murmur something in return from where he stands, on the balcony threshold that overlooks the city and its massive port. The Queen sits on a soft armchair and starts to twirl her hair around one finger, curling her mouth into a thoughtful pout. “I was thinking goose for dinner. Or salt beef? We should save goats and pigs for the beast. Apparently, poor thing is starving.”

In the silence that follows, she turns to her husband. “Xavos?”

The Salt King turns with one shoulder and a half-bitter smile. “We have a living threat who could burn us all to the crisp walking within our palace and our city, and you speak to me of geese and pigs?”

“It’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You let him in. You let greed lure you all like a piper with a flute. I’m wondering, on which tune did he make you dance?”

He walks to her with slow feet and looks at her after a long sigh. “Dragon eggs.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Cyril began talking of an opportunity of a lifetime. Of the Greatest City that ever was and will be becoming even greater. Think about it. With dragons…Qarth might become the center of the whole world. A newborn Valyria. If we play our hand right—”

“Quit the fancy words. What exactly are you asking of me, Xavos?”

She knows he is asking for something. She has known him for more than ten years, and he has asked, has demanded, a lot of her. She knows that when his voice drops a note, he wants something, as if whispered, it becomes less degrading.

He trails his index finger on her chin and lifts it. “To make him dance to your tune.”

“You overestimate me, husband. I cannot reason with a tiger when my head is in its mouth. Besides, he might be easy on the eye, but he’s as agreeable as a plant of spikes.”

She speaks smoothly—not a flinch or a blink at her husband's hand sinking between her lilac’s folds, and then between her inner ones. “Since when you are so reluctant about who’s allowed in your bed?”

“Don’t confuse me with yourself.” she says lifting her chin to look at him, unbothered by the circling his finger draws on her dry bundle. “I fuck who I want for pleasure, rarely out of boredom, but never to prove a point.”

Abruptly, he slips his finger deep inside, hurting her. “I should have taken your tongue as well.” 

 “And still…” she forces a smile over the painful grimace twisting her mouth “it would not have given you what you so desperately seek in every hole.”

His unwanted touch leaves her and he straightens, pacing lazily behind her seat. “He’s young. He’s had a rough time. Surely, he must’ve missed the intimate company of a woman.”

“For that kind of company, there are pleasure houses.”

“Don’t play dumb, now. You saw how proud he is. How do you think he will take it if we send a whore to his rooms?” Xavos grips the back of the chair and leans down slowly, speaking to her ear. “Listen to me. Cyril is right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We must make him feel…important…coddled, even.”

“Even if you shackle his feet with gold, you cannot turn a dragon into a lamb, Xavos.”

The Salt King sighs impatiently, and his tone drops just as earlier. “Do as I say.”

Young Nyla interrupts her masters as she enters the room, and the Queen turns her head. “Nyla, what is it?”

“We have escorted Prince Aemond to his rooms, your Highness.”

“Good.” Xavos says, and then looks at his wife with a pointed stare. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”

The Salt Queen barges in and halts on the door, bewildered upon seeing her trusted friend Mysha on the verge of tears, staring at the ground as if she’s waiting for an execution.

“My deepest apologies, my Prince, I meant no disrespect.”

“What happened?”

“Uh—Prince Aemond asked for some herbs, your Highness. An ointment, for his eye.”

“Aye. I did ask for that, not for you to fucking touch me.”

The Prince is snarling, his eye wide and menacing like a hound on the brink of defense yet hunting for flesh. His face is clean now, the Queen notices, shaven; his hair is damp and pulled back, leaving his chiseled features, that infuriating chin, and high, prominent cheekbones in plain sight. Stupid as it may sound, she can't help but think of one of those marble sculptures she likes to buy from art dealers.

“You may go, Mysha. I will assist the Prince.”

“I don’t need assistance.” He hisses with threatening calm. “Leave.”

He caved in the pool, but he will not suffer another humiliation in front of these foreigners. At least not with something so delicate and private as his eye. But of course, he realizes with annoyance, this woman will not falter at any of his empty orders.

“Are you dismissing me in my own Palace?”

He looks down, sighing and fuming, and she beckons Misha to leave the room.

“You must understand, servants here are treated differently. They’re granted more liberties.”

“I see. As the ones you so generously grant to slaves.” he mutters, and starts to fidget with a tray offering ginger roots, turmeric powder, and eucalyptus leaves.

“Oh, spare me. Of all people, you Valyrians are the least entitled to give a lecture on morals.” she counters, watching his long, tapered fingers hover without touching anything. Clearly, he was used to servants doing it for him.

“May I?” she offers, but doesn’t wait for his permission to make room next to him. “There are no slaves in this palace.” she tells him "How can you expect loyalty from someone you bought with something as cheap as gold?”

“Cheap as the golden ring your husband has stuck in his nose? He looks like a fucking boar.” he says as his eye trails on her profile.

“My husband is an imbecile. This city did not become the greatest that ever was and will be with gold. Trade is our currency. We call it antallagí. Exchange.”

“A true-born merchant’s wife.”

“Or a boar’s one?”

He huffs, and she turns, feigning shock at the faintest of smirks curling his lips. “So you’re not made of stone after all.”

She studies him for a few moments—more than is deemed proper for a married woman, in Westeros at least—but she can't help it. She wonders how it is possible that exile and moons of misery have not bent this man; what drives that rigid posture, whether it is too strict an education or it is all a lie, masking an effort to keep control, to impose it on others but perhaps more on himself.

“Ointment is ready, your Grace. It may burn a little, ginger is a godsend, but it’s tricky. I could help—”

“I need no help. Leave.”

The stone is in place once more. But she won’t have it. 

She raises her eyebrows, biding all the time in the world.

Aemond chews thorns as he looks at her, swallows them, and tastes them again, piercing his tongue. “Please.”

“That must’ve cost you a lot. But it isn’t so hard, is it?”

His lips flatten in a thin line, and she smiles. “You are a second son, are you not? That’s the reason for that stubborn chin. You must stomp your feet to make anything yours.”

“Careful, woman. I’ve taken tongues for far less.”

“Why? Did you not see eye to eye with them?”

He moves like lightning, invading her space until he is a breath away from her face, and his mouth breathes fire. “Listen to me. I care not who the fuck you are or which title you make your slaves call you. I am not here to allow you to make a fool of me, Queen or no Queen. Mock me once more, and I’ll carve the word please on your vicious mouth.”

He waits for the fire to catch on, even though flames do not seem to touch her; she's unwavering and solid as marble.

“Get out.”

“I don’t—” she chokes on her words, on his hand seizing her jaw; cold fingers, leaving embers on her skin.

“I said, get out.”

That evening, the already lavish palace of the Salt King was polished and decked out duly to honor the foreign guest. The walls, lit by braziers of fire, stood like a beacon amidst a sea of marble and white stone roofs. The Hall of Trade was a treasury, crammed so full of gold that it looked like a pirate's dream. Pillows were piled on the floor, long tables held food of all kinds. A huge bowl of wine welcomed the guests, who were given a goblet they had to dip into the large bowl and drink, otherwise they would not be allowed inside. It was tradition, a sort of good omen.

It pinched Aemond's nostrils when he brought the cup to his mouth and, thankfully, drank it in small sips. Despite his prudence, by the second he felt his tongue on fire from how spiced it was. By comparison, Arbor Gold was wastewater.

He wears the sapphire blue silk tunic, with a silk belt cinching his narrow waist, but his hair is different. Mysha learned the lesson she asked, and when he gave his consent, she got to work and braided his silver hair. Most of them are loose, falling down his back in a curtain of white. Others are laced in one, two, three braids, softly meeting at the back of his head.

If he thought the Salt Queen’s hospitality was somewhat a little too forward and a lot more intrusive, he had to reconsider when he found himself cornered as soon as his silver head caught the eye of every guest. Men and women, old and young, flocked to him with eyes full of wonder, as if the Salt King had captured some wild and rare creature and called all his friends to make them look.

But they didn’t just look. They talked openly and freely, voicing thoughts that, in Westeros, would have stayed inside one’s head.

“Look at his hair! They seem like moon rays!”

“And the skin! Whiter than milk!”

“What happened to his eye?”

“If only my wife were here…she always wanted to see a Valyrian!”

He had just gotten there, and his teeth were baring.

“My friends, please! Let our noble guest breathe!” the Salt King chuckles as he comes forward among the bewildered audience, looking like the loot of some theft, for all the gold and diamonds and emeralds sewn on his orange silk tunic. “Come, my Prince. The first taste is yours.”

Aemond catches a movement on his right and there she is, the Salt Queen, in a crimson red sparkling like a bloodied dew given the little, tiny red stones woven in her silks. Her hair coils into an intricate bun crisscrossed by a paper-thin gold chain that crowns her forehead with small, rough rubies, like grains of salt.

For a moment, he’s so enthralled by her figure, and her eyes, even more piercing because of kohl, that he fails to notice the clay plate she’s holding, filled with fruits. Some he has never seen, except in books, but he has no time to take a guess.

“Your first taste, my Prince.” she chimes. “Sweet or tart?”

His gaze falls back to the plate, but not before stopping, again, for a blink, on that absurd fashion of one bare breast. “Tart.” He says tightly.

She smiles, as if she knew, and puts the plate down. Aemond watches her bejeweled fingers pluck off a grape and turn, her hand in midair but not quite outstretched toward him. He nothing but give her a pointed look, one that translates only into a stern and irrevocable I can eat by myself.

“My Prince. My wife means no offense.” the Salt King explains “In Qarth, it is deemed a great honor, given and taken, and an excellent omen for the guest's stay, if said guest is fed by the matron of the house.”

His throat bobs and the Salt Queen can’t quite decipher if the dragon prince is more humiliated or angered by the prospect of being fed by a woman like a baby who just teethed. At last, he sighs and leans in, but her hand withdraws a little, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, stretched forth like a beggar waiting for charity. It is not Aemond who bites the grape, but her who finally, after another straight stare into his eye, lets it drop into his mouth.

The crowd erupts in a cheerful clapping, as does The Salt King who goes to stand just between his wife and the Dragon Prince, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder “You see, Prince Aemond, this is one of the extraordinary gifts of Qartheen women. They know exactly how to hold...and when to let go.”

Aemond does not bother to look at him, he is too absorbed, annoyed and deep down, without him knowing it yet, enticed by the tranquil smile that curls her mouth and at the same time curls his pride, mocks it, strips it bare and outright laughs at it, goading everyone else to do so.

Behold, the pink dread!

 “Without further ado, let the feast begin!” The Salt King announces joyfully and in the same moment, a delicate and sweet melody fills the room, while Aemond chews what’s left of that grape, tasting his own bile.

An hour later, Aemond is fuming. Fuming because ruling the most important and influential city in Essos, he should’ve known the Thirteen were aware of everything that went on and was currently going on in the West. Perhaps even more than he knew. Did they know something about his mother?

He banished that thought from his mind just as he trained himself to do in all this damned existence.

They knew about the Dance, they knew about Aegon the Usurper, they knew of Rhaenyra the Cruel, the Storming of the Dragon Pit. They knew the kingdom was dreadfully impoverished and in the hands of a young boy.

But they spoke about it as if they were discussing the weather. Qartheens cared nothing about what was going on outside their impenetrable walls; whether it was a new king on a throne far away or a war that had killed thousands and thousands, it was all tittle-tattle to kill time between one cup of wine and the next. He was asked about this battle or the previous one without thinking that he had lived through that war; he made it, he carried it and perhaps he still carried it within him.

He was fuming for this, he was fuming for how women, and even men, gawk at him, for their bizarre custom of hosting a feast without a decent place to sit and eat like normal people do. He was fuming because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, a spool of crimson would always catch his eye.

Grabbing one more cup of wine, he decides to take a breath outside, standing on one of the marbled balconies of the Palace. Air does good to extinguish his fires, but it does not clear up his mind. Perhaps he should blame the wine, perhaps his head is still smoky.

Because you, in the first place, do not know what you're doing here.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the Salt Queen was right. He tricked himself into thinking the main reason for his coming here was Vhagar. She was weak, due to the wing's injuries as well as the old ones, and most of all, she was hungry. But with the promise of goats and pigs, came the clarity and the knowledge that he had no reason, no plan. He only knew he had leverage—a dreadful leverage made of talons and fire on these merchants and their city. But what to do with it?

He hears voices somewhere near, and once more, crimson pollutes his sight. The Salt Queen and her husband are talking behind a tall white pillar. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but she catches his stare almost immediately. The talking ceases, and Aemond knows they were talking about him, of course they were.

Xavos comes out of his hiding place with a placid and benevolent expression, walking right past him without a word. But she stays, and she looks, and then she walks to him.

“That will go to your head.” She warns as he empties the cup “I didn’t see you touch any food.”

The spiced wine burns his throat, makes his tongue sour and impatient. “Is your husband aware of your excessive concern about your guests? Or is it a thoughtfulness he has ordered you to reserve only for me?”

“I’m just being considerate since you’re a foreigner and not well acquainted with Qartheen tastes.”

“How exactly am I supposed to eat? Standing?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head trimmed with gold and red as she gives him a bemused, though genuine, look. “Good God, how spoiled you are? I thought misery made men humble, but clearly not men of House Targaryen.”

His jaw moves annoyingly, and he leaves the empty cup on the marble, but he doesn’t let go, holding it by the edges in a white-knuckle grip. She notices it as she leans against the marble, with her back to the city, and gives him a long, inquisitive look. “After all the misery you suffered, I thought you would’ve liked the attention…perhaps you do…perhaps…you want more.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks boringly, and just as sourly, staring at the city.

“I must say, I’ve hosted so many people, from so many different parts of the world, and yet…I’ve never found myself before a face so full of contradictions.”

His eye pins her. “Need I remind you how you left my room earlier?”

“With your hand around my neck, because you couldn’t take a joke.”

“I don’t like being mocked. And I don’t like being played like a pawn. So, unless this is another one of your absurd customs, tell your husband to stop parading you around me like a whore. It looks bad when you insist on others calling you queen.”

“We all play parts, dragon prince. Sometimes, they blend. But in the end…it takes little to know the real you.”

Aemond chokes on his breath as her hand slips between them like water, cupping his crotch with a grip of steel, and fire, burning from her fingertips through the fabric. She holds it like a weapon, and his defense is low. She sees his throat bobbing down once, and twice, rejection curls his mouth, but not strongly enough to shove her hand away, to not start to harden against the flames of her fingers, brushing all his length until she cups it once more.

“Whore or queen?” she whispers, brushing his parted lips “Someone in there doesn’t seem to care.”

His grip on the cup loosens, a tremor runs down his spine, and he dawdles in the sensation, one felt before, elicited by other hands, and yet new. It’s been so long. The surge to touch, to clutch, to taste, drains his head of blood. But she eludes him, tilting her head to the right and then to the left to avoid the vise of his lips; her grip loosens, running the back of her fingers against his cock in a feathery brush, touching without touching.

He grinds his teeth to choke a whimper, but then she’s cupping again; she feels him go completely hard for her, and the knowledge washes over her like tongues of fire prickling down her back and between her thighs. The soft, slippery silk allows her to unleash her lunges more fiercely, to easily close her hand around his cock, and that same silk helps her to glide her hand deliciously up and down.

He's breathing hard, almost panting, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; her eyes are open, basking in the sight, the little twitches of his mouth as bends to pleasure, the breathing turning heavier and heavier, his hand that starts to flex. She imagines how those slender fingers would feel between her folds, how easily they would slip inside, and why, why is he not touching her?

“Do it…” she breathes. “Do you want me to say please? I would…there’s no shame in begging, dragon prince….it only makes you free…”  

“Your Highness, my apologies.” Nyla calls her Queen suddenly, and she stops her wicked ministrations, abruptly bringing Aemond back to his senses.

“The Salt King sent me after you.” The young maid says, apparently unfazed by what she clearly witnessed. “We’re playing kottabos.”

"Ah, yes, of course.” she tries to regain some control, although she was panting on the sole anticipation, and goes back inside.

Aemond stalls, taking a long sigh in the fresh air to try to stop the blood from boiling. And he follows.

Kottabos, he discovers, is quite a tricky game. The rules are simple: one has to throw the last drops of wine inside their cup to hit a white plate balanced atop a bronze pole. It requires a bit of dexterity, because the player must put the index finger through the handle of the drinking cup and throw the drops while sprawled on pillows, laying on their elbows.

The Salt Queen, it seems, is quite adept at this game. It takes her only two tries to hit the plate and she’s rising from the pillows, bowing her head to thank the cheerful audience. Aemond's eye bends as the crimson veils bend with her every movement; he slips between them and lets them wrap around him, even though he should not, even though he reproaches himself for letting the blood, the wine, the flesh, that has been starved of other flesh for too long, win.

“My closest friends know I’m very fond of sweets and cakes but…on such a special occasion, I choose a special reward.” She announces when the crowd has quieted down, and before she even turns around, he feels her gaze on him as if she had two more eyes on the back of her head. “A sweeter reward…or perhaps tarter.”

She moves towards him, and every step she takes barefoot on the marble is an unmasking. With every step she takes, it seems to him that she is touching him, as she did just before, and more; he feels like her fingers are slipping under the silk, setting fire to his skin.

She stops in front of him and yet, he still sees her moving, feels her moving like a sea creature and her thousand tentacles of crimson silk.

Maybe he should put the wine down.

Wine is not for you, brother mine, your mind’s too heavy. It’ll soak like a sponge and you'll fall into your own vomit.

What she does not put down is her aim, moving her hands diligently as she grabs his face and draws him close to kiss him on the lips, and tilt her head back to look at him, so close she’s breathing his breath. “This…is your first taste.”

“Good! The Queen has chosen her reward. Let us play another round, shall we?”

Again, Aemond does not bother to look at the Salt King, he looks at her and the faint twitch between her lips at her husband's words.

“Come.” She says taking his hand, and he doesn’t know what drives him to follow her, whether his mind is too soaked, or his flesh is crying out to be fed.

What is certain is that now her bare feet tread the marble of his rooms and he is closing the door.

“I hope you don’t mind if we do it here. I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Why?”

“I’m jealous of my things.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“So used to play parts and yet, you look down before lying. Disappointing.”

“I’m surprised you were able to look at anything above my cleavage.”

This time, he lowers his gaze, but not to lie. He knows he has looked, many times, and the excuse of not being used to such a custom starts to creak. She walks up to him and looks at him with that knowing smile that makes him want to clamp his hand on her mouth and wipe it off her face, and maybe stick his fingers inside.

“Are you a virgin, my Prince? Did you have a wife in the West? Children?”

He swallows, and her eyes fall on his throat.

“Is that guilt you just swallowed? Or sorrow?”

“Why don’t you listen to your father’s sorcery while keeping your hole shut?”

“I told you, I am no witch. Qarth is the center of the world. Do you think we don’t know what happens in the East, West, North and South?” she angles her head and whispers in his ear “We know everything… Kinslayer, Terror of the Trident.”

She speaks his war titles in that liquorose way, opening the vowels as if she is casting a spell, but he hears the mockery. It is the same that loosened the tongue at the Strong bastards, the same one perpetuated by Alys. But Alys' mockery was different. She spoke in riddles, visions and flames. This woman speaks in truths.

“Do you regret it?” she whispers, and her tentacles thread their way through the silk “All those innocents you have burned…all the ones you have lost.” lazily, she pulls at the laces of the blue tunic and he stiffens, flaring his nostrils. “See? I don’t need sorcery. The more you stiffen, the more cracks reveal.” She straightens her head to look at him with eyes darker than tar, wandering over his face and he feels branded. “I can see them around you…ghosts…why don’t you set them free?”

“What is your fucking game?” he wants to seethe, but she’s so close to him it comes out as nothing but a hiss.

She smiles again and this time the victory is full. "The game is over, your grace. I won, and you're my reward. I will admit I never had such a pretty one...care to show me that sapphire or are you still keen on playing the prude bashful prince?”

Aemond has no qualms about touching her, grabbing her face with nails digging into her cheeks as he pulls her close, turning her chin to spit anger and all his tumbled restraints into her ear “Perhaps I should shove my cock into your mouth to make you shut it, hmm? Is that what you want? What your husband wants? That I fuck you like a whore?”

She stiffens, thrashing in his hold that she may not have expected, and manages to turn her head just enough to look at him, scoffing. “Is this the only way you know to use your hands?”

A taunt, another one. It turns his eye pitch black and he leans closer to her lips, almost baring his teeth, almost as if he wants to bite the words—the mockery, the victory—off her mouth. But once more, she eludes him, tilting back and so, any reason burns and dies into his head.  

“D’you want to play games, don’t you? Let’s play, then.”

Still gripping her cheeks, he roughly pushes her into the room, letting her go for only one fleeting instant of freedom, just long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. A gasp escapes her lips, but the next moment she’s bending on the table, he’s forcing her to. A thrill spills into her blood, making her insides clench with anticipation, and dread.

He traps her, planting his feet between hers to stop her from closing her legs. She tries to pull herself up with her back, but he scowls, pushing her head down to keep it firmly glued to the table. She whines as his long fingers pull at her hair, tearing the gold and red chain off, and she can hear him fumbling with the silks, the other hand hiking her crimson gowns up.

“My Prince, please—”

“Begging already?” snarling, he spits into his palm and gives a few quick tugs to his cock, hard and aching “I wonder who’s coming from. The whore or the Queen. Either way, you’ll get your reward, your Highness.”

“Wait—” she whimpers as she feels the head of his cock teasing against her folds, something coils in her belly, and something else, something cold, grips her heart. “Not like th—”

She chokes on her tongue as he slips inside her, easily but painfully, all the way in. Hissing, his hold on her hair tightens, a coarse exhale coming out of his parted lips as he adjusts to her walls, hot and wet, but tense. She’s tensing all over.

“Why are you fighting me?” he pulls her up by the hair, leaning his face close to hers “You wanted this, did you not? You have been teasing and mocking me since I set foot in here.”

“I—”

“No. I’ve had enough of your talks and taunts. Here’s what’s going to happen, whore queen. You will keep quiet and take it. And if I want to fuck you again later, I will. You are not in charge here—not you, not your husband, not all the fucking Thirteen. So don’t fucking push me, unless you want to die with fire skinning you alive.”

Without too much grace, he forces her back on the table and starts a relentless pace, fisting the crimson fabric and pulling to keep her low back flushed to his crotch. His pants mix with flesh slapping harder and faster as he tries to pour on her, and into her, the grief and rage, the misery and fire he’s made of. She writhes beneath him, arching and crumpling against the wooden with violent gasps; she feels like burning but inside, she’s torn in two.

She clamps her hand on the wood to grab onto something, just like that evening. She feels her, and his, arousal coating her thighs, just as blood did that evening.

The little girl wants to run, but the Salt Queen doesn’t want him to stop.

She’s sinking in her mind, but burning in every corner of her body and soul.

She can only moan, her mouth agape and dry, leaking saliva on the surface as her head bounces at each wild rut, hitting that inner spot over and over.

“Look at you, hmm?” he taunts her with purpose, perhaps vengeance “Fucked so good she lost her wits.”

Look at you, little whore. Bet you like it, eh?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she finds a raw voice hidden somewhere. “Harder—”

“What?” he slurs with a heavy-lidded eye, the braids are almost loose, dangling on his face at each thrust.

“Harder—” she pleads with her eyes still shut.  

“Greedy wanton thing—” hips start to snap brutally, in a hurtful way, just as she wants, even if it’s hard to even breathe. Pleasure overwhelms her, drives her up towards the peak. But she finds she cannot climb; her mind is holding her down.

He grunts with each snap and curses in some foreign language she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t care; she’s too focused on letting herself burn. But it’s like sitting in front of a fire and barely feeling the flames.

And then his hips jolt faster, once, twice, and he halts, gripping her hips firmly, coming inside her with a long, satiated groan.

Completely spent, he slumps on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder blades to catch his breath. However, she is quick to slip from the scorching alcove, to slide out the door with her mind drowned but her heart pounding out of her chest.

"Your Highness!" Dora wakes from her slumber, and reaches for her Queen.

"Nothing, Dora." she says in a voice still hoarse, almost scratching. "Draw me a bath, please. And fetch mint and wormwood." Moon tea.

She starts to undo her silks and feels a distant smell of smoke sticking to her skin. Like one who has bathed in fire.

The morning after brings no clarity, because truthfully, Aemond does not need clarity. Everything is drastically simple. He is no coward. However his mind was less clear than usual, he could never blame wine for how he behaved a few hours earlier. And why would he?

Whether she was acting on her husband’s orders or not, she wanted him. And he wanted her. He could concede that he'd acted in a harsher way than usual, that he’d let rage and grief guide his purpose. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it all worked in his favor. A demonstration, a shift in whatever power game the Salt King and the other merchant Kings thought to play out. He only made it clear that he was not some precious pet to be coddled and ridiculed.

She had teased and mocked him at any occurrence. He’d only showed her the price of playing with fire.

His blue silks are fresh and clean when he sits down to have breakfast with Xavos; his long silver hair is tied up in a single low braid that starts from the center of his head and gathers lazily down his shoulder.

He has yet to get used to this strange Qartheen custom of sitting on pillows to eat; at least, however, he regains his appetite when he is served dishes once familiar to him, and less exotic.

"I took the liberty of having you prepare a breakfast akin to your old habits.” Xavos says chewing bread with olives “Ham, cheese, venison. And we have fresh fish every day. Blessed be the trades."

The Prince is sincerely grateful, though he would be a lot more grateful if the Salt King were able to shut his mouth when the sun is not even high in the sky. He goes on and on about the supposed trades, and then about the salt he so proudly sells to every corner of the world. He is just about to go on another monologue about the Thirteen and their hopeful wish to receive the Dragon Prince in their Palaces when he stops, frowning at the young maid clearing the place set next to the king. “What are you doing?”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but the Queen will not attend breakfast. She feels indisposed this morning.”

Immediately, Aemond glances up at her and she’s brave enough to hold it for a bunch of seconds before looking down and making her way to the door.

“Maid?”

She halts upon hearing the Prince and turns around.

“Tell your Queen I was promised something. She said she would see to it personally. And I expect her to keep her word.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Wait.” he stops her again, his tone almost bored, and slips a hand into the folds of his blue silks, pulling out a gold and red chain. “Take this. She left it in my room last night.”

He throws the jewel on the table and resumes his knife and fork, not bothering to look at anyone, certainly not at the Salt King who is indeed looking at him, looking as pleased as ever, like the cat that caught the mouse.

The Salt Queen did not in fact forget her word. She promised him she would see to Vhagar’s condition, ordering to save goats and pigs to feed the beast, put them on carts and send someone with the Prince to reach the desert, where the dragon was resting.

However, she should've probably assumed that such an apparently simple task would've turned out to be a lot harder to carry out.

She’s just about to finish her late breakfast with Mysha and Dora, when Nyla breaks into the parlor with quick feet.

“Your Highness—uhm—Prince Aemond is at the door, he asks to be received.”

“What is it now? He doesn’t like how the sun rises here?”

Mysha and Dora giggle, but the Queen stays serious and turns to Nyla. “Tell the Prince he will have to wait. I am sure that even in Westeros, barging in during meals stands for bad manners.”

Nyla leaves, but it’s with even quicker feet that she returns to her Queen in barely a minute.

“My Queen, Prince Aemond is quite adamant on being received immediately. He…also says that…keeping guests at the door is a synonym of bad manners in Westeros, as he is sure, anywhere else in the world.”

Tapping her fingers on the table, it takes her a minute to sigh loudly and stand up, throwing the kerchief on the table.

“My Prince.” She greets him as she stops at the door.

In his usual soldierly stance, he looks past her for a moment before locking her blank gaze. “Still adamant on not letting me in?”

“You were not that drunk last night. I believe you heard me just fine when I told you I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Hmm. But you did take me, and quite eagerly, if memory serves me right. Are we not past such formalities?”

“Gloating like some common man is not very royal of you, your Grace—"

“Tis’ not gloating. And I might say, not very royal of you either to beg me to fuck you harder, your Highness.”

“You’re right. Fucked me so good I didn’t come.”

The proud mischievous smile that kept stretching his mouth vanishes in a blink, and she has to sigh to stifle her own. “What is it, my Prince?”

“You gave me your word.”

“Indeed. And I kept it. What is your complaint now?”

“Your slaves refuse to escort me in the desert.”

“Well, I can’t blame them. Can’t you feed your dragon on your own? Or are you too humiliated by the prospect of carrying a cart of dead pigs?”

From the way he is staring at her, and having already tickled his pride when the sun is not yet high in the sky, she knows he will not yield on this matter.

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“My Queen, it is not safe.”

“Do not worry, Dora. I’ll take the Sorrowful Men.”

Aemond almost laughs to himself as he stands on the left edge of an enclosed inner courtyard of the palace, resembling the training yards of Westeros. There are men intent on training with spears and swords, dressed in strange uniforms made of blue drapes and a strange golden mask on their faces. The carving makes the mask weeping, with a single tear embossed on the gold.

Aemond has no idea how they can see, as there seem to be no holes in those eyes of gold. But his gaze returns at once to the Salt Queen, talking to one of those men, with a large turban on his head. Some kind of commander, he assumes.

He bows to her and then six of these mysterious men march forward and surround the woman.

The Prince glances at each one of them, standing tall and proud as ever with his hands laced behind, seeming unperturbed by these safety measures. In fact, he says “Truly there’s no need to trouble these men, your Highness. What do you expect me to do? Feed you to Vhagar as soon as we are in the desert?”

“These men are not a safety measure for me, but for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. To prevent you from having certain…Targaryen ideas.”

“Six armed men against the largest living dragon seems like a somewhat unequal battle.”

Narrowing her eyes, she watches as the same placid arrogance bathes his features, but she thinks now it’s the right time to wipe it off, and she knows exactly how to do it. “Sorrows bring sorrows.”

All at once, the Sorrowful men move, drawing their spears with impressive speed and aiming the sharp points at the prince. His whole demeanor changes, becomes menacing, she notices, but he does not flinch. She walks among the weeping men avoiding the spears until she stands in front of the prince and snatches the mask off his face, to wear it herself.

“Listen to me. These men live to serve me. They were slaves once, bought with something far more valuable than gold: freedom. And they chose to stay by my side. If I told them to take the only eye you have left, right now, they would do it. If I told them to cut your cock and bring it to me right now, they would do it. A shame, I will grant you that. So, you’re right, you may be in charge here…but if you push me…you will be dead before you have the chance to say Dracarys.”

Whatever cutting remark the prince has in mind, he does not have time to say it, as he is suddenly distracted by a strange sound, a whistle, like the cry of a bird.

Aemond turns his head and the Queen does the same, recognizing that sound at once. The Sorrowful Men lower their spears and a man steps forward, dressed in a strange purple robe. Aemond stares at him warily, wondering why, in the name of the Seven, this man’s lips are blue, like a corpse.

“Father…” the Salt Queen greets him, taking Aemond by surprise, but sounding a little surprised herself to see the blue-lipped man.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer to his daughter, because he can’t. He starts to move his hands in strange signs, circles and lines. And Aemond is grateful for his strict education, for he knows what that man is doing. Sign language. He is either mute, or tongueless.

Unfortunately, he cannot understand what he’s saying, but his daughter can.

“Kóri. Will you not introduce me to your noble guest?”

The Salt Queen sighs, casting a brief look at the Prince, and then she introduces him. “Father, this is Prince Aemond, of House Targaryen.”

The blue-lipped man looks at him with wide eyes, charmed to the point of looking unsettling. And then he bends into a long bow. Not even when Aemond sat on the Iron Throne, someone had bowed so low before him.

He tilts his chin down to greet him, and sees the warlock’s hands moving. “On behalf of the Warlocks of Qarth” the Salt Queen translates “I welcome you, your Grace. It is a great privilege to see a descendant of Old Valyria in the flesh. Your blood is as ancient as our beloved great city.”

Aemond cannot stop his eyebrow from raising, nor his tongue. “It seems at least one member of your family knows good manners.”

“You must excuse us, father, we have to go.” she hastens to say, but as soon as she takes one step, her father grabs her arm.

“Don’t run from me, kori. You have been knowing, yes? More than usual.” and then his hands rise and fall once more. “Trees wail. Leaves are bleeding. The doom, kori. The doom is near.”

PART 2

thank you so so much for reading!! 💕 💕

[rmsstevielol]

i love how anytime the Scots talk about independence the English ALWAYS have to bring up the empire as if we didn’t want independence then… we did. Even in the empire when there were scots involved along with Irish and Welshmen, we were all still being treated horrifically, the soldiers who were involved were used as almost “scare troops”, in other words they sent them in first as a scare tactic and almost always the death toll was higher in the Scottish, Irish and Welsh soldiers. If we look outside of the people involved, the civilians were getting screwed over so bad, the highland clearances, the lowland clearances, Culloden, the fact that their culture was being destroyed and some even consider it a genocide. As a result of this a lot of Scots were forced to move over to places like, North Carolina where they lived with the native Americans (surprisingly they actually married and lived peacefully, mostly) and this was because they actually had a lot of similarities in the way they lived and were treated. There was even a saying “a savage to another savage” which is horrific for both sides. Furthermore, those who were in the British army were considered “traitors” by their own families.

So, although it isn’t widely known about the horrors that occurred within Britain, they very much happened and still affect the countries today and they really weren’t “not that deep”, they were horrific HOWEVER that does not mean Scottish people are ignoring their countries involvement in the British empire ofc, Scotland was involved, there’s a reason why it’s the British empire, but it was very much a Anglo-centric empire and union, hence the reason why half the world speaks English and not Scottish Gaelic or Welsh etc yk?.

In short, dear English people, please everytime we mention our independence don’t think we are disregarding our involvement and stop pretending like we’re blaming it ALL on you lot but also stop pretending like you’re innocent because I promise you’re not, not gonna lie, Scottish, Welsh and Irish people have the right to not like you so stop pretending like we don’t (not all of you ofc). Independence has been a dream since the union was formed and the want for it is still alive today.

sorry i needed to rant becuase people on TikTok are ATTACKING me and I can’t comment long comments on there :))

[silver-dragonborn]

🌹

This wip is from a major 40-chapter fanfic project I'm working on. This is set at the beginning of the Dance, where Rhaena travels to the Vale to gather support for Rhaenyra's cause. Unfortunately, a traitor within the Blacks tips off the Greens, and Otto sends Aemond to intercept Rhaena and bring her to King's Landing as a "guest."

From there, Rhaena is forcibly married to Aemond, but instead of a marriage filled with strife, the two surprisingly get along and fall for each other. Still, Rhaena has no intention of remaining a prisoner and flees on a forgotten dragon chained in the Dragonpit, claiming it for herself and escaping into the skies.

Reunited with her family, Rhaena has no idea that her husband followed her to Dragonstone. Chaos ensues.

This is a rough draft. Like and comment if you wish, but do not repost or reblog.

Reunited and content, Rhaena sat awhile with her family, murmuring of her imprisonment within the Red Keep, reluctant to leave the comfort of the kitchen for her lonely sleeping quarters.

The hearth burned lower, and Jace threw in another log. The servants had cut more wood and stacked it, but it would take a long time to dry, and there were many hearths within Dragonstone to warm, but for now, it was a time of comfort, and Rhaena would happily sit here forever with her family.

Then there were noises outside, shouting, screaming, and cursing. The door was flung open, and Daemon was on his feet, reaching for Dark Sister, thrusting Rhaena behind him. Baela and Luce appeared on her other side, daggers at the ready. Jace moved to shield his stepfather. Then, in a blast of frantic energy, two of their household guards burst in, a prisoner between them, a prisoner with a single sapphire eye, and his hands tied behind him. The prisoner was tall and lean, and he was not struggling but standing still between his captors as if being brought here had been his intention all along.

He had long hair, hair the color of moonglow silver, a beacon in the blackest night.

Aemond.

Rhaena opened her mouth, and Baela's hand gripped hers in warning, silencing her. Luce grabbed her arm, halting her forward progress. Thus effectively prevented from either movement or speech, Rhaena could only watch as they brought Aemond to stand before Daemon. The guards let go of his arms and stepped back. The room was silent.

This, the household sensed, promised to be bloody and chaotic.

"It would seem that my nephew has decided to grace our family with his presence," said Daemon, frowning at Rhaena and motioning her to keep silent. "I thought the perimeters secured. How is it that this Green brat came through so far undetected on Vhagar?"

"He landed the beast in front of us," said one of the men, who seemed a little out of breath. "Came flying down from the clouds so quiet, without our men hearing a thing. Then he lands where we can see him and lets himself be taken. Didn't make a single fuss."

"The dragon growled at us when we grabbed him, but he yelled something in Valyrian, and she stopped," offered the other guard. "She's still outside now. Waiting."

"I'll deal with you lot in the morning," growled Daemond savagely, making both his men flinch. "You let nobody pass, you understand me? Nobody!"

"What is your business here, Uncle?" inquired Jace sternly in the foreign tongue of his Valyrian roots. "Your kind are far from welcome, not after you usurped my mother's throne and took my sister to be wed to you against her will. Have you not done enough damage to my family?"

Aemond cleared his throat. "I'm here to speak with my wife," he said, trying to peer around Daemon to look at her. "I want to see Rhaena."

Her heart thumped. Daemon stepped forward menacingly, stony-faced, and gripped the pommel of his sword so hard that blood began to pour in slow rivulets down his fingers, dripping onto the floor.

"You dare to say my daughter's name in my presence?" said Daemon, his voice chilly. "You dare to assume that you have the right to look upon her face? As if she were your lawful bride in the eyes of your cunt mother's false Seven?" Daemon was raging now, brimming with wild fury. "Say it again, boy! Say my daughter's name, and I will have your other eye!"

"I am astounded that he had the nerve to show his face here," said Baela, fingering her dagger. "What does he hope to achieve?"

Aemond's bindings were tight and firm. His face was pale and tired. He had flown hard and fast. He appeared unarmed, though Rhaena suspected a small, sharp knife would be somewhere about his person. "I wish only to see my wife," he said again, rather wearily. "I mean no harm to you. I only want her."

"You have no wife, nephew," Daemon gritted. "My child is well protected and content among her own kind. Her family. There is no place for you in her life. She is mine. Not yours. Mine. You have no power over her anymore."

"Then let her tell me so with her own lips," said Aemond quietly. His sapphire eye glinted, and a chill in the air settled. "For if you don't, Vhagar will bathe Dragonstone in fire. Take my head if you wish, but be warned... Vhagar feels me as I feel her. I die, and she will unleash the Seven Hells upon you and yours."

[attonitos-gloria]

Top Five Tyrion Lannister Moments™️?

Baby, I took so long to answer that because I have too many Tyrion moments stored in my heart and I will not do them justice here, but after much pondering, here is my top 5, in no specific order:

1. The trial. 

Tyrion pushed forward. "MY LORDS!" he shouted. He had to shout, to have any hope of being heard.

His father raised a hand. Bit by bit, the hall grew silent.

"Get this lying whore out of my sight," said Tyrion, "and I will give you your confession."

Zero notes. George was so real for this. This scene changed me in a very fundamental level? I am simply not the same person I once was.

2. I think it is mandatory for me to add a Sansa moment in this list, and I thought of many: the wedding night; the Throne Room scene; Sansa clutching his arm when she sees her father’s sword in Payne’s hand; that horrible, HORRIBLE overcooked peas scene (we stan fail marriages!); Tyrion miserably thinking he should have sent it to Robb earlier; their small observations about each other; his thoughts about her during his trial. But in the end, the core of it comes to a single scene. It’s the first time they interact:

Sansa was left with the dwarf and his monsters. She tried to think of what else she might say. "You hurt your arm," she managed at last.

"One of your northmen hit me with a morningstar during the battle on the Green Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse." His grin turned into something softer as he studied her face. "Is it grief for your lord father that makes you so sad?"

"My father was a traitor," Sansa said at once. "And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well." That reflex she had learned quickly. "I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

"No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves."

"Lions," she whispered, without thinking. She glanced about nervously, but there was no one close enough to hear.

Lannister reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you." Bowing, he said, "But now you must excuse me. I have urgent business with queen and council."

It’s all there, I think. I remember first reading this, and when he asks if she’s sad, it’s such a punch in the face because we are reading it from Sansa’s POV and no one looks at Sansa in King’s Landing, not really. There’s the Hound, and he’s there in this scene backing her up but his relationship with Sansa is of a different nature. At least to me, I remember feeling that until this moment, we don’t really have a very clear grasp on how people perceive her at court. And Sansa obviously lives in constant, permanent denial about her own predicament. I don’t think Tyrion is particularly sensible; I think it’s obvious that Sansa is sad. What gets me is that he dares to utter it. EVERYONE KNOWS WHY SHE LOOKS SAD. He just has the balls to give it a voice, because that’s his thing. And then the vow! HE DIDN’T SAVAGE HER. HE SAID IT THE FIRST TIME THEY MET. Excuse while I go outside to gaze at the stars and muse about how doomed they were from go and how they’ll never, ever, ever, be able to have a happy marriage and how they manage one kindness or two to each other, in spite of that. It’s is about that for me. It is the reason why I like their dynamics. It’s about useless, fruitless, barren kindness. Hopefully in the next books they will either have a friendly divorce and get drunk about how horrible it all was, or they can simply keep this pathetic marriage and be miserable alone/together. That would do for me too.

3. His entire “whose cock is bigger?” thing with Cersei in ACOK is horribly entertaining but I honestly love, love, love this moment:

The rope had been so tight as to cut off the blood to her hands. She cried out in pain as the circulation returned. Tyrion massaged her fingers gently until feeling returned. "Sweetling," he said, "you must be brave. I am sorry they hurt you."

"I know you'll free me, my lord."

"I will," he promised, and Alayaya bent over and kissed him on the brow. Her broken lips left a smear of blood on his forehead. A bloody kiss is more than I deserve, Tyrion thought. She would never have been hurt but for me. Her blood still marked him as he looked down at the queen.

"I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You've ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

He is just iconic. Sorry. I love to stan the best character ever created? We forget very often that he is promising revenge on a whore. This says a lot about Tyrion as a character, I think. I love that in the following book, Tywin literally points that out, too: "To save a whore's virtue, you threatened your own House, your own kin? Is that the way of it?" And, like, he threatened Tommen! Even though he had no intention to hurt him, he just wanted to scare Cersei; it’s all so HORRIBLE, the Cersei/Tyrion interactions leave a trail of blood and hurt in its wake and it’s so so so good to read <3 Whenever I think about Tyrion saying to Tywin in the next book “IT WAS JUST A THREAT, I DID NOT MEAN IT, YOU TAUGHT ME THAT! WHY WOULD I HURT TOMMEN ANYWAY?!” I manifest that Tommen IS dying when JonCon & fAegon come to Westeros, and the JonCon/Tyrion angst will be so so so delicious <3 George really thought of everything <3 <3 Anyway. Back to the moment in question: I love Alayaya low-key going “bitch if you don’t free me I swear-” lol I think there’s a lot of bloodshed involved in Tyrion’s stories because his family makes sure to hurt the people he cares about, and he is also very invested in hurting people in return. Anyway. I like this moment a lot. I think in the show they changed it for Ros and it just didn’t have the same impact. But then again, almost everything in the show lacked impact.

4. The road trip with Jon to the Wall, and the whole time he spends there with them and with Aemon, because I’m very weak for Tyrion & Targaryens. (And so is George, btw.)

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son.

"What are you reading about?" he asked.

"Dragons," Tyrion told him.

This is very self-indulgent, Tyrion has many iconic moments but the truth is, every interaction he has with Jon since the first time is pure, pure gold. They will meet again. And when it happens, I will cry about it with @coffeeandorange.

5. Killing Tywin. Obviously.

Tyrion's finger clenched. The crossbow whanged just as Lord Tywin started to rise. The bolt slammed into him above the groin and he sat back down with a grunt. The quarrel had sunk deep, right to the fletching. Blood seeped out around the shaft, dripping down into his pubic hair and over his bare thighs.

 "You shot me," he said incredulously, his eyes glassy with shock.

"You always were quick to grasp a situation, my lord," Tyrion said. "That must be why you're the Hand of the King."

"You... you are no... no son of mine."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small. Do me a kindness now, and die quickly. I have a ship to catch."

Good for you, king!! This moment was a cultural reset. I trembled while I read it (like, he JUST killed Shae so I was already shaking) but this last dialogue. Oh my God. OH MY GOD.

(And, I’ve been thinking, this is a line that still stands even if he is a Targaryen bastard; your father is not the one who conceives you. This is why we can safely say that Jon is, indeed, Ned’s son. Tyrion is Tywin’s son because Tywin made him. *insert elektra quote here* End of story.)

Honorable mention. It’s silly so it’s not in the top 5 but I NEED to comment on this moment of AGOT because we don’t talk enough about it:

There were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only the twang of bowstrings as Morrec and Lharys let fly, and suddenly the clansmen came thundering out of the dawn, lean dark men in boiled leather and mismatched armor, faces hidden behind barred half helms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances and sharpened scythes, spiked clubs and daggers and heavy iron mauls. At their head rode a big man in a striped shadowskin cloak, armed with a two-handed greatsword.

Ser Rodrik shouted "Winterfell!" and rode to meet him, with Bronn and Chiggen beside him, screaming some wordless battle cry. Ser Willis Wode followed, swinging a spiked morningstar around his head. "Harrenhal! Harrenhal!" he sang. Tyrion felt a sudden urge to leap up, brandish his axe, and boom out, "Casterly Rock!" but the insanity passed quickly and he crouched down lower.

WHy do I laugh so much every time I read this? Tyrion in the middle of a battle going “get yourself TOGETHER and HIDE the glory of battle is not worth it” (but then later he actually takes a weapon and saves Catelyn’s life even though he has horrible murderous thoughts about her all the time. it’s about the CONTRADICTIONS your honor. about the STRUGGLE OF THE HUMAN HEART WITH ITSELF-)

This is a terrible ask. I could spend a good handful of years here commenting every line of Tyrion’s POV chapters. And then about other POV characters about him. Help. Do you have a top 5 Tyrion moments?

[balanceoflightanddark]

With Me or Against Me

It cannot be overstated of how the effects of growing up in the militaristic, imperial Fire Nation can have on a young mind. Especially if you grow up as the Princess of Fire Lord Ozai. Azula has shown time and time again in the series that she has a militaristic mindset. That she and her friends are soldiers first, people second, often to the point that her ability to socialize outside of her most immediate social groups are...

...limited.

Okay, so what does this mean for the character herself?

Well, I believe one of Azula's problems that's pretty dang indicative of how the Fire Nation operates is...she has a sort of black-and-white morality view of the world. Where everyone who is part of the Fire Nation and a loyal servant of Fire Lord Ozai is an ally, while traitors and others are enemies.

Now obviously this isn't an attempt to condemn Azula since this problem is pretty damn rampant in the Fire Nation. Evidence of this is right in the education system. Remember how in "The Headband" when the schoolteacher claimed that the Air Nomads had an army that was planning to attack? And how Aang called out the bullshit she was propagating since the Nomads were...you know...pacifists?

The Fire Nation was in-universe known to rewrite history to make themselves look heroic and everybody else as enemies standing in the way of progress. A view which they share to all of the other nations. That they're the honorable harbingers of civilization, while everyone else is backwards savages not above pulling some of the dirtiest tricks in the book.

And how the treacherous and deserters are possibly among the most loathsome people you can find.

Azula was more than likely raised with that mindset like everyone else. Even more so when you consider she is the daughter of somebody who did effectively backstab his brother to ascend to the throne. So naturally, she's going to have some trust issues. That almost anyone can be some enemy out for blood.

Something that of course can be tempered into absolute loyalty to one person such as her father. After all, she can have friends if she wants, but she needs to remember that only her father understands her. That she needs to keep a close eye on all her allies, lest...

...yeah. Even if Azula handled that poorly, the betrayal only just reinforced this "everybody outside of Ozai is an enemy" mindset.

And again, she's not unique in this regard. Part of the Fire Nation doctrine is literally all about displaying fealty and loyalty to the Fire Lord:

"My life I give to my country. With my hands I fight for Fire Lord Ozai and our forefathers before him. With my mind I seek ways to better my country. And with my feet may our March of Civilization continue."

Loyalty to the Fire Lord is one of the core tenets of the Fire Nation oath, along with them claiming themselves to be the marchers of civilization. So it wouldn't be a stretch to say that anybody who opposes said march, be it rival nations or Agni forbid traitors, are naturally enemies of civilization. And so should be met with the same mercy that they would surely inflict upon them.

After all, the Fire Nation is guilty of propaganda, and one of the chief tactics of propaganda is turning their enemies into literal monsters. Azula is just the chief product of this toxic mindset of turning kids into soldiers.

To make matters worse, Azula just became the Fire Lord and Zuko's challenging her to the throne. Who at this point is a traitor in the eyes of the Fire Nation. Also he showed up with Katara. And...guess what happened with the last coup attempt?

One dead Fire Lord, and one mother who gets banished for being a traitor and doing some pretty underhanded things.

Even if Zuko wanted to do things honorably, Azula sure as hell isn't going to accept that. He's a traitor, and traitors cannot be trusted. Something that's practically written in the DNA of the Fire Nation. And if she backed down, there's no telling what he might do to her and the Nation.

Or what he arguably does do in the comics.

The common sentiment is that Azula was power hungry. That she had a grudge against Zuko for being Ursa's favorite. But if her whole childhood is saying that those that betray the crown are monsters that will stab you in the back for showing even the slightest amount of pity...is it pure spite or indoctrination that fueled Azula's fire in the Last Agni Kai?

[skunts-own-truth]

I have talked to a few people about the Legions and their special rules in the new edition of the Horus Heresy. Some folks don’t know where to look to find them online, and I happen to have both the Liber Hereticus and the Liber Astartes. So, why not compile their special rules here, so everyone can get a good idea of how these Legions play? Each Legion, be they traitor or loyalist, can be played as traitors or loyalists. Some Legions even have exclusive warlord abilities for playing a Legion force outside of its side in the Heresy war. I won’t be posting Warlord traits here, I mention this simply because I think it’s cool that there is support for things like Loyalist Emperor’s Children and Traitor Blood Angels. That said, let’s get to the rules.

Traitors:

Emperor’s Children- The Emperor’s Children have “Flawless Execution,” an ability that allows models with this rule to gain a +1 to their Initiative on a successful charge, even if the charge was disordered, and after any other rules that would boost their initiative. This, of course, makes it very likely that the Emperor’s Children will fight first in a combat, which is a very nice little bonus. Vehicles with this special rule gain a +1 to Hit rolls made with Defensive weapons in a reaction. The Emperor’s Children also have access to the Advanced Reaction “the Perfect Counter,” which allows them to make a charge at an enemy unit charging them, or make a shooting attack at an enemy unit charging them.

Iron Warriors- Wrack & Ruin is an awesome name for a special rule, and it gives Iron Warriors units +1 Strength to shooting attacks or melee attacks against Dreadnoughts, Automata, Vehicles, or Building units. Additionally, they have “Bitter Fury,” as an advanced reaction. This allows Iron Warriors to fire at an enemy that shoots at them with double the amount of shots, but the shooting attacks all get the Gets Hot special rule which will trigger on a 1 or 2. This could be devastating for either side, which I adore.

Night Lords- The VIIIth Legion has “a Talent for Murder” as their special rule, which grants them a +1 to Wound and to Armor Penetration rolls made against foes who are pinned, falling back, or outnumbered for both melee and shooting. Kinda rude, but what do you expect from the Lords of the Night? They also have the advanced reaction “the Better Part of Valor,” which lets a Night Lords unit being charged by an enemy Fall Back as if it failed a moral check, but immediately regroup. If you fall back more than 12” away from the unit charging you, the charging unit may select another of your units that are within 12” to charge instead, if not, the charge fails.

World Eaters- Our angry lads get “Violence Incarnate,” which gives any charging World Eaters unit a +1 to attacks in addition to any other bonuses to attacks they may already have on a charge. They get this nice +1 even if the charge was considered Disordered. Their advanced reaction is “the Savage Tide,” which can be triggered when an enemy unit shoots at a unit of World Eaters. The World Eaters gain a Feel no Pain +5 against the incoming shots, and may immediately make a charge action after the shooting is resolved, and this charge can’t trigger an enemy reaction.

Death Guard- The XIVth legion are “Remorseless,” which gives their non-cavalry and artillery units the ability to ignore negatives or restrictions to movement, including terrain special rules and pinning, as long as the unit is making a normal move and not a run or a boost with a jump pack. Additionally, their units count as stationary when they move for the purpose of shooting attacks. Sticking with the Remorseless movement theme, their advanced reaction is called “Remorseless Advanced,” which can be activated when a shooting attack targets a Death Guard squad. They gain a Feel no Pain +4, pass all moral tests that would trigger from the shooting attack, and may move 7” in any direction.

Thousand Sons- All infantry and cavalry units gain the Psyker trait, which does not give them access to the core book’s psychic powers, but does give them these nifty little micro-reactions they can pick from. (I’m not writing them all here, sorry,) Also, any Independent character can be made into a full-blown core discipline Psyker for 15 points. Their advanced reaction is called “Fortress of the Mind,” which allows a unit of Tsons being shot at to take a psychic power test. If they pass, they gain a +3 Invulnerable save against the shooting attack. If they fail, they gain a +5 invuln save, and both the shooting squad and the defending squad suffer perils of the warp.

Sons of Horus- One of the two poster boy legions for 2e, these guys have “Merciless Fighters,” which imposes a -1 Strength to enemy melee attacks when charging Sons of Horus units, or if the enemy unit has been charged by Sons of Horus units. Sons of Horus vehicles inflict an additional +3 hits on ramming attacks. “Death Dealers” is their advanced reaction, which gives them a +1 to their BS to shoot at an enemy unit that has targeted them in a shooting attack.

Word Bearers- The “True Believers,” can never have their Leadership drop below a 6 for any reason, and in fight phase draws, the Word Bearers are always considered to win by 1 point. When getting shot at, a Word Bearers player may use “Glorious Martyrdom,” an advanced reaction that allows you to remove one model as a casualty in exchange for the entire enemy shooting attack to fail outright.

Alpha Legion- The XXth legion have “Lies and Obfuscation,” which makes all Alpha Legion units 2 extra inches away than where they actually are for the purpose of shooting, charges, and reactions made by an opposing player. Super annoying, and very fun. They have a second special rule called “the Rewards of Treachery,” which lets them buy any space marine unit from any legion, and play them as if they were just another Alpha Legion unit. “Smoke and Mirrors” is their advanced reaction, which allows a unit of Alpha Legion dudes getting shot at to redeploy anywhere within 12” +D6” scatter, from their starting position.

Loyalists:

Dark Angels- The 1st Legion’s special rule is called “Hexagrammaton,” which allows a player to select what “wing” a unit is from when building an army. Each wing of the Hexagrammaton has its own special rules, which gives the Dark Angels a pretty hefty amount of customization before play. This is not part of their special rule, but it should be noted that they also have the most Rites of War army compositions out of all the Legions, giving them even more customization. When charged, Dark Angels players may activate the “Angels of Death” advanced reaction. This allows them to take a Leadership test. If passed, the Dark Angels unit being charged gains Fearless and Fear (2,) and if failed they gain Stubborn and Fear (1,) until their next turn.

White Scars- The White Scars are “Swift to Action,” a special rule that gives all their models +1 to movement, and allows them to roll an extra die for determining first turn, or to steal the initiative. They select the highest result of the two dice rolled. Their advanced reaction is called “Chasing the Wind,” which can be activated if an enemy moves within 12” of a White Scars unit. The White Scars squad can immediately make a full-move in response to the opponent's movement.

Space Wolves- the VIth Legion unleashes it’s “Bestial Savagery,” allowing Space Wolves to run, fire snapshots in the shooting phase, and still charge all in the same turn. If a unit can’t make a run action, it gains a +1 WS on a charge instead. Vehicles gain a +1 Strength to ramming actions, and along with all this Space Wolves also have access to a number of special consuls such as the Thegn, Speaker of the Dead, and Caster of the Runes. Their advanced reaction is “No Prey Escapes the Wolves,” which allows them to make an initiative move towards an enemy and charge, during a turn in which an enemy moves within 12” of a Space Wolves unit.

Imperial Fists- The yellow poster boys of 2e have “Discipline and Resolve,” a special rule that gives them a +1 to hit for all Auto and Bolt weapons made for any shooting attack, including reactions. “The Best Defense” is their advanced reaction, which allows them to charge an enemy within 10” of an Imperial Fists unit within the enemy’s movement phase. If they fail the test, they do not make a surge move.

Blood Angels- The IXth legion’s rule is “Encarmine Fury,” a nasty special rule that lowers their target to Wound roll by 1 to a minimum of 2, in a turn where they successfully charged an enemy unit, even if the charge was disordered. Additionally, their vehicles gain a +1 Strength for their ramming attacks. Their reaction is “Wrath of Angels,” which allows them to get Shrouded +5 against an incoming shooting attack, and once that shooting attack is resolved, the Blood Angels squad may charge their attacker.

Iron Hands- The Iron Hands have “the Medusa’s Scales,” which decreases the strength of all shooting attacks made against non-vehicle Iron Hands units by 1. Vehicle units instead gain It Will Not Die (6+,) and if it already has It Will Not Die, the vehicle increases it by +1. Their advanced reaction is “the Gorgon’s Spite,” which is similar to the Iron Warriors’ own advanced reaction. The Gorgon’s Spite allows Iron Hands to shoot at a unit that has charged them with double their normal shooting attacks, except the attacks all gain Gets Hot. No cover saves may be made against these shots.

Ultramarines- The blue boys have the “Strength of Wisdom,” which gives shooting Ultramarines a +1 to hit rolls if another Ultramarine within 6” of them has already shot at the same target. “Unity of Purpose” is the Ultra’s advanced reaction, which allows the target of an enemy shooting attack to return fire along with a fellow unit of Ultramarines at the attacker.

Salamanders- “Blood of Fire” grants the Salamanders who have more than 1 wound or Hull Point the It Will Not Die (6+,) special rule, and their flamers, meltas, Volkites, and plasma weapons reduce the target number for their to wound rolls by 1. Their advanced reaction, “Duty is Sacrifice,” grants them +1 to WS, Strength, and Attacks when successfully charged by an enemy unit. At the end of the turn, the reacting player rolls a d6 for every model in their reacting unit, and takes an unsavable wound on a 6. Additionally, if the attacker’s charge fails, the Salamanders unit gains Fearless instead, and does not roll to damage itself at the end of the turn.

Raven Guard- The XIXth Legion has “Shadow and Fury,” a special rule that classifies specific units as Talons, Falcons, or Hawks. Each of which grant that unit a specific special rule, such as the Talons getting to reroll to wound rolls in a turn in which they charge. “Fade to Black” is the Raven’s advanced reaction, which allows a Raven Guard unit being targeted by a shooting attack to make an initiative move away from the shooter, and grants them Shrouded +4. If they move out of range, the shooting unit can’t target anything else this turn.

Each Legion also has access to special wargear, warlord traits, special units, named characters, and army compositions called “Rites of War,” each of which gives all 18 playable legions their own unique styles and feel.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

My whore

Warning: cursing, sex, adult content 18+

I should edit this, but I will later maybe. Just busted this out at lunch for no fun

As she pulled her hood up even more, and briskly walked down the familiar street, she could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her stomach did a somersault as soon as she she spotted the lone figure standing outside the dimly-lit liquor store. She knew better, she really did. You play with fire, you’re bound to get burnt eventually, but try as she might to practice self preservation, she just hadn’t a care when it came to him. It was a well-known fact that he was someone dangerous and she felt the most scandalous rush whenever she was near him.

She gracefully made her way to his side, briefly knitting her brows together in self-loathing for being unable to just walk on by or ignore him.

"What do you want?" The man moved closer watching her with a cold sneer on his handsome face as he studied her changing expressions. He was absolutely fascinated by how expressive her face was. The way she smirked and you could see the hint of a dimple, or how her eyes narrowed into slits when she tried to control herself from telling him off. How her full lips drew together in a bow when she was determined, or if she felt particularly brazen, she’d cock a single eyebrow and grin like a cat.

Being who he was, his facial expressions ranged from various levels of boredom, to every level of rage. Hatred and apathy was all he’d ever really felt, except when he was around this girl. As the corners of his mouth nearly twitched into a smile, he grabbed her hand, forcing her close to his body, chests touching, thrilling at the stunned look on her face.

"You know what I want princess?” His lips found her ear, fangs nipping at the lobe, hyper aware of her dainty hands clutching his shirt, her breathing growing more erratic by the second, and her icy blue eyes scanning his face, searching for his intent.

"Please Roman....." She pleaded.

His hands brushed over an area she never let anyone else touch, moaning in spite of herself. When his fingers took hold of a swollen nipple and tugged at it viciously, she had to bite her lip, to stop herself from screaming aloud. Her knees shook and she tightened her grip on his shirt, scared if she let go she’d fall. She cursed herself for always turning to silly putty in his hands so easily, but she couldn’t help it. He was intoxicating.

Roman scratched his nails down the taut flesh muffling her sweet mouth with his own. Inhumanly sensitive ears, and Jade green eyes became aware of a few of her friends moving their way, and before she noticed them, (or them her) he dragged her down a nearby alley, walking swiftly with purpose in hopes they hadn’t been discovered.

It was no surprise that her friends weren’t fans of his. He’d beaten up the males of the little posse, after they’d tried to confront him for filming himself fucking their girlfriends and posting it a snippet on his Instagram story when he was high. He hadn’t even remembered he’d done it, until they marched up and shoved a phone in his face, and he could understand why laughing and commenting on one of the girls o face, could be seen as a dick move. The rest of the girls in her circle of friends would drop to their knees and service him if he so much as glanced their way, but he had been far too distracted by the girl he was currently dragging behind him to care.

"Where are we - what are we doing?" The breathless girl inquired, as he continued forward like he knew where this lead. Her eyesight needed time to adjust, so she was still practically blind.

"Why do you sound so scared princess? You came and found me." He came to a small alcove and He pushed her firmly against the wall, hands going to her waist, lips finding their way to her neck.

"I had to twist your arm too." She whispered sarcastically, feeling his hands slip under her shirt rubbing, caressing and fondling her breasts. She bit her swollen bottom lip, silencing the moan which threatened to escape. Her own hands seeking out his skin, desperate for the closeness and intimacy found with skin on skin contact. She shuddered with anticipation as she raked her fingernails down his chest, feeling his muscles jerk under her touch. She moaned wantonly as her shirt was pushed up, exposing her to the night air, before her nipple was engulfed by a warm, wet mouth and she gripped his head pressing him closer to her.

Her sudden intake of air, made him look Out of the corner of his eye to be sure the immediate area was free of any sudden movements. Finding none, Roman smirked allowing his eyes to wander back to the half naked beauty before him. Pushing her skirt up, he pulled her panties to the side, sinking two fingers into her aroused body, driving then in a series of quick, hard movements, mouth covering hers when her sounds rose in pitch. Feeling an almost desperate need to be inside her, he Freed himself from his slacks, pressed up against her body, lifting her legs to straddle his waist and pushed his length deep inside of her core. He couldn’t get over how tight her sheath was every time, even though he had worked her over several times with his impressive manhood. Doesn’t mean he ever went easy on her, if anything it made him pound into her that much harder. He wanted to ruin her for any other man. The thought of someone else inside his princess made him see red.

Just the thought of someone else tasting her had His mouth possessively taking hers, in a wild, untamed passion rendering the girl practically breathless. All she could do was hang on, as he fucked her senseless like a man possessed or a demon. She felt fire course through her veins, igniting suppressed emotions, spiralling her to a pleasurable Eutopia of her own creation. Coherent, logical thoughts were lost and she surrendered her mind to the unlikely possibility that this was all there was. Her and him forever.

Just when she thought he couldn’t possibly fuck her any harder, he grabbed her by the shoulders and fucked up into her savagely, almost bruising as he delved deeper. She didn’t know why his rough animalistic behavior aroused her beyond anything so violent ever should, but it quickly brought her to climax, engulfing her in flames, limbs locking around him as she bit into his shoulder, sending a tingle of ecstasy down her spine, as she felt him spill inside of her, stuttering his hips to a stop. He pressed his forehead to hers and opened his eyes to stare into hers, before closing them and kissing her passionately.

"Roman,” She murmured, as they paused for air, dragging them both back into reality. Finally regaining the strength she had lost in their frenzied sexual escapades, attempted to push her partner away. He hesitantly relented, giving her enough space to stand. Legs trembling slightly, she adjusted her clothes, back bracing against the wall and head still dizzy from his presense. Muscular arms wound around her waist and she stood perfectly still as he pulled her close again, and his breath feathered across her cheek.

"Eager to escape me princess?" He purred, mockery making it's way into his voice and she damned him for so damn attractive. Not that he wasn’t gorgeous to look at, but it went beyond his heart throb, movie star looks or tall statuesque form. He had a Raw, primitive sexuality that cant be described in words, but was painfully obvious, that made him beyond desirable.

"I don’t know why I let you do this to me. I’ve got your cum running down my leg and I'm supposed to meet my friends fifteen minutes ago."

"Don't lie to me." He hissed, turning her to face him, thumb and forefinger capturing her defiant chin increasing the pressure when she tried to look away. "Tell me you enjoyed what we just did."

"I didn't." She bit out defiantly, the fire in her eyes growing stronger, fed by his arrogant attitude. "In fact I hated it."

His amused laughter infuriated her even further, and she had to use every ounce of willpower not to scream in frustration.

"That's what I like about you,” His green eyes gleaming darkly. "Always resisting me. It makes complete and total possession of your body that much more sweet."

"A possession? Is that what I am to you?" She shrieked, striking him in the chest, trying to break free of his embrace. This only made him bring her body closer, pressing his renewed arousal against her in an unmistakable way. Lips skimming her cheek, and throat, hands touching her everywhere as she squirmed in his grasp.

"Does this bother you?" He whispered eyes locking with hers, mouths so close they could feel each others breath.

"Yes." She whispered, willing herself the strength to resist him.

"You sure seemed like you liked it when I fucked you, out in the open, in a dirty alleyway like a fucking whore.” His words pierced her heart like a dagger had been laced with them, and in a burst of strength, she threw him off of her, and she stormed down the alleyway. Certain this was how Roman Godfrey, discarded his toys, she let out a yelp when she was grabbed from behind and spun around. Aggressively seizing her in his hold as she thrashed, he bent and whispered in her ear, “I love how you fight me...” before claiming her mouth with his own. The kiss sent a shiver down her spine, causing her traitorous body to move closer to him, practically begging and pleading for more contact. Her long-fingers raked through his chestnut hair gripping the strands firmly, tugging in a confused attempt to hurt and arouse.

A wanton moan was heard and she found herself pinned against the wall again. Their movements desperate and uncharacteristically sloppy. Emotions running wild, not wanting to acknowledge they were already in over their heads. That this was more than just sex, there were true emotions underneath it all, and it was terrifying. No one in their right mind loved a man like him, and no girl could possibly love him ran through their chaotic thoughts as the alarms went off, but neither heeded the call. Pleasure that could be described as unimaginable pain flowed through them, pushing all their insecurities down and finding them lost in each other once again. Their ragged breathing was the only sounds heard and they kissed sweat drenched faces absentmindedly. His low chuckle garnered her attention and she looked at him curiously.

Feeling his member once again free, and pressing deliciously close to her entrance again, she shifted to make access easier.

"Tell me you enjoy this. Tell me you like us." He smirked, eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability that was gone so quick, she wasn’t sure she saw it.

“Or what? You won’t fuck me again?” She asked cocking her eyebrow, and grinning up at him.

“You love it.”

"What if in fact I hated it?"

"You didn't." He proclaimed confidently.

She wished with all her might that he was wrong, but he was right. She loved their fucked up little arrangement. “I don’t love being called a whore.”

“How about just my whore? Only my whore? Hmmm?” He asked, eyes flashing darkly.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“But I’m your asshole.”

“My asshole.” She giggled.

“My whore.” He growled as he thrust up inside of her.

[mochegato]

Capturing a Dream

Chapter 9 – Who Do You Know

Chapter 1     Chapter 8

*Note: Most of Batman’s dialogue and all of Red Tornado’s is from the show, so, not my words.

This had passed frustrating several rooms ago.  Now, Conner was straight up annoyed.  He searched each room as they passed by them from the hanger to the communications center, searching for any indication of what time it was.  Had there always been this jarring lack of clocks in the Cave?  He could swear he had always been able to tell the time before.  Or maybe it was just that time hadn’t mattered until he was counting down the minutes to Chimera’s return.  As soon as he got the chance, he was going to put a clock in every room in the Cave and start wearing a watch.

She was supposed to be back anytime now.  She was scheduled to fly ridiculously early that morning into whichever city she was supposedly staying in instead of the Cave and Zeta tube into the Cave as soon as she could.  He absolutely had not been pushing to get the Team back as soon as possible after their mission wrapped up so they would be there in time to greet her.  Okay, so maybe ‘absolutely’ was not the correct word there… or ‘not’.  

He hadn’t seen Chimera in person for a little over a week now and he missed her, so nobody can really blame him for being excited to see her again.  But more than missing her, he was worried about her. She had been extremely apprehensive going home.  She had tried to cover it, but he knew her better.  And eventually, after much wearing down as a result of a coordinated effort by him and Robin, she admitted she was nervous of being reminded of the final battle.  He didn’t know how bad the battle was or exactly how badly it had scarred her, just that it had, but if her reaction to the failure exercise was any indication, it was severe.  Being back there without anyone to talk to about it, anyone who could understand her reactions, could be devastating for her.

On top of that, the trip came within a few weeks of Robin’s breakdown after the Haley’s Circus mission and her discovering that Conner had been using shields Lex Luther had given him to enhance his powers.  He had never seen her so angry.  He didn’t think she was capable of that amount of rage and he prayed to whatever god or goddess responsible for watching over them, that she never directed that anger toward him.  He was honestly concerned for Superman the next time she saw him and Conner had kept a close eye on her after she found out to make sure she didn’t go after Lex by herself.  After the anger receded, he could see the disappointment set in.  That was more disturbing than the anger.  While the anger had been jarring, seeing the disappointment in herself for having missed that he had turned to the shields was heartbreaking.  

She looked like she was barely holding it together before she left.  Her phone call on Christmas had done nothing to calm his fears.  She had tried to cover, but he could hear how empty her voice sounded no matter how cheery she tried to make it sound.  He could almost convince himself he imagined it but Robin had been there for the call too and he heard it as well.  He needed her to get back so he could be assured she was okay.  Conner wanted to see her, hold her, feel her in his arms, hear her laugh, so he could make sure she was okay.  He wouldn’t believe she was okay until he could.

Superboy was knocked out of his concentration by Batman’s gravely voice. “…  The mole was Red Arrow.”

“Rolly?” Robin exclaimed in shock.

“No way,” Kid Flash insisted.

“Batman that cannot be,” Aqualad spoke up.  Roy was his best friend.  He would more easily believe himself capable of betrayal than Roy.  “He was Green Arrow’s protégé.  We have all known him for years.”

“Unfortunately, the Roy Harper we have known for the last three years is another Project Cadmus clone,” Batman informed them calmly.  Superboy froze, staring at Batman in shock.  Roy was another clone, like him.  

“We have learned the real Speedy was abducted and replaced immediately after becoming the Green Arrow’s sidekick.  The clone was preprogrammed with the drive to become a member of the League.”  Superboy furrowed his brow.  Had that been their plan for him as well?  If the Team hadn’t rescued him when they had, who knows what they could have made him do.

“We believe when his mission was taking too long, they enlisted someone to help him speed up the process.  With her help, he was finally admitted into the League, at which point his secondary programming kicked in and he attempted to betray the League to Savage,” Batman continued.

“Who was helping him?  Was there a second mole or was it someone assisting from the outside?” Aqualad asked.

“It was a second mole.  His girlfriend, Chimera,” Batman answered unemotionally.

“What?” Superboy exclaimed louder than he meant to, shock and hurt quickly flashing over his face before turning to a glower.

“I was unaware they had started a relationship,” Aqualad stated carefully, a slight furrow in his brow.  Roy had mentioned he was getting very close to Chimera, but had not mentioned that it had progressed to that level.  Not to mention he had thought Chimera was closer with Conner than Roy, but then again, he tended to misread romantic overtures.  But, the idea that Chimera may have betrayed them was disturbing, but then again if Roy could be a mole, could he really be certain of anyone. Certainly the timing of Chimera’s introduction to the Team coinciding with evidence of the mole arising was suspect.

“Chimera isn’t a mole and she isn’t dating Roy,” Robin insisted, whirling on Batman in shock.

Batman nodded.  “We are not certain she was assisting him, but there is more than a little evidence to support the idea that she was.  I’ve been keeping an eye on her since she joined and facts seem to match up.  As for dating, I’m sorry to say she is.  We didn’t tell anyone because she claimed she didn't want to cause strife within the Team, but with this new information, it seems like there was something more to it. We believe she may have been his handler.  She joined the Team to help Red Arrow get into the League and sabotage the Team’s missions subtly.”  His voice was cold.  “Red Arrow has gone into hiding, but we don’t think he’s been able to contact Chimera about it yet.  When she comes back let us know immediately.  Do not alert her that we are aware.”

“There is no way…” Artemis interjected loudly.

“She would never!” Kid Flash exclaimed at the same time.

“Chimera would never betray us like that,” Conner insisted angrily.  How dare Batman suggest Chimera would betray them!  She was like a daughter to him.  She might not realize their relationship was like that, Hell, Batman might not realize it was like that, but Batman treated her like he treated Robin and Conner wasn’t blind enough to miss the protective pats and hair ruffling.  He certainly hadn’t missed how Robin treated her like a sister.  And after all that, Batman would so easily believe the worst of her.

“The clone Roy and Chimera, the Team will apprehend them,” Aqualad stated gravely.

“Negative.  Red Arrow is a member of the Justice League and Chimera was working with him to betray us. We will handle them both,” Batman answered.  He suddenly turned away, bringing his hand to his ear.  “I’m needed in the Watchtower.  Tornado, watch the kids.”  He strode away without further discussion.

“Okay, but we’re going to get to them first, right?” Kid Flash spoke up quietly, so Red Tornado couldn’t hear him.

He looked up quickly, apprehension on his face when Red Tornado hurried toward them before suddenly stopping midstride. They all stared in confusion. “Tornado!” Kid Flash exclaimed, moving to check for any outward signs of a cause.

“What happened to him?” Rocket asked.

Zatanna raised her hands to her temples.  She could feel something strange.  Something was off about the whole situation.  “I’m sensing a low level mystic force at play.  I don’t know if it caused his shutdown, but… come to think about it I was getting the same buzz off Batman.”

“Magic… like Chimera?” Artemis asked.

Zatanna shook her head.  “No. It feels different than Chimera’s magic.”

“Could it be different because it’s a trace, not the full impact?” Aqualad asked.

“No. I’ve sensed Chimera’s faded magic. All the Cave is steeped in it.  I haven’t sensed this before.  Not to mention, Batman said he hadn’t been around Chimera.  How would her magic be on him if he wasn’t and why would she implicate herself?”

“That wasn’t Batman,” Robin said aggressively.

“Robin…” Aqualad started calmly.

“He can still be Batman and wrong,” Superboy growled. “We don’t know if he is being lied to. We just know Chimera isn’t betraying us.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know she’s doing it…” Rocket hedged.  “Batman said Red Arrow didn’t know.”

“That might be an option except he said she’s his handler.  That means she knows what she’s doing.  She’s aware. It isn’t programming.  And he said she’s dating Roy.  Chimera isn’t dating Roy and she isn’t a traitor… And Batman never calls us ‘kids’,” Robin insisted, turning his focus back to examining readouts on Red Tornado.

Aqualad shook his head sympathetically but firmly. “Roy has said he and Chimera were getting close and they wanted to keep the fact secret, which confirms at least that part of what Batman said.  We know very little about her personal life.”

“You know less about mine,” Robin challenged, brooking no resistance.  He knew Chimera.  Maybe he had only known her for a few months, but he knew her and trusted her.  She couldn’t do this.  She just couldn’t.  “I would know if she were dating, especially a team member or hero.  There's a reason she told us she doesn't date teammates. There's…”  He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was thinking without revealing Chimera’s secrets.  She did not like to talk about this part of her life.  “…deep seeded trauma there. She didn't just get over that in a few days. She wouldn't start dating Roy without talking to someone. Without NEEDING to talk to someone. Since it's a hero, that means taking to one of us, specifically me or Conner or Artemis.  She didn't talk to me.  Conner?”

Conner shook his head.  “She’s only ever repeated that she can’t date teammates.”

“Artemis?” Robin prompted.

Artemis shook her head and sent a smug look to Aqualad. “Never said a word.  Never even indicated.  Zatanna, Chi, and I had a girl’s night the other day and we had a long talk about dating.  She never mentioned him.”  She glanced over at Zatanna.  “Did she give any indication of dating anybody or liking anyo… Roy?” she quickly corrected herself.

Zatanna looked between the Team anxiously before swallowing and straightening her back.  “No.  No, she didn’t talk about Roy.  And Robin’s right.  She doesn’t date teammates.  Even if she wanted to,” her eyes flicked over to Superboy so quickly anyone not looking for it would miss it, “she doesn’t.  We would know if she went against that.”

Superboy’s head whipped over to them, eyes wide.  Artemis said him, meaning she had mentioned someone else.  Zatanna emphasized that she didn’t talk about Roy, meaning she talked about someone else.  He silently urged either of them to continue talking about that night, release some clues on who she may have mentioned.  Instead Artemis cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment.  “She hasn't been acting different either.  Chi can't keep a secret, other than her identity, to save her life.  Remember Kid Flash’s ‘surprise’ party?  And let’s be honest the identity is probably only still a secret because we haven’t met her in person.  We would know something was going on, even if we didn't know what.”

“Not if she’s been deceiving us from the beginning, if her whole supposed personality was an illusion,” Aqualad noted stoically.

Conner’s brow furrowed in frustration.  Aqualad was seriously proposing Chimera was their enemy.  Chimera had almost died for them.  She’d risked her life and her sanity for them, more than once.  And Aqualad was just turning on her.  One statement and none of what she had done for them mattered. He clenched his fists and stepped forward to yell at Aqualad when Kid Flash’s voice interrupted his movement.  “He’s taken her to the Batcave hasn’t he?  Multiple times?” He glanced up from staring intently at a spot on the floor to look at Robin inquisitively.

Robin nodded in agreement.  “He has.  And he doesn’t let anyone he doesn’t trust completely come into the Cave.”  

“So,” Kid Flash started, “he’s trusted her deeply from the beginning.  He hasn’t ‘been keeping an eye on her’.  And her behavior hasn’t changed… but his has.”

Conner nodded in agreement.  “Which means she’s not the one we have to worry about.”  He glared pointedly at Aqualad, making sure he understood their point.  

“Maybe not about her but for her,” Zatanna offered carefully.  All eyes turned to her waiting for her to explain. “He singled out Chimera for a reason. So either they want our whole team here so they can do to us what they did to Batman, or they are targeting Chimera specifically.”

“Why would they target her?” Rocket spoke up again.

Superboy kept his glare at Aqualad.  “If we’re being honest, she has more power than the rest of us.  They could want to put her at a disadvantage, isolate her.”

“Isolate who?”  The voice floated into the chamber like a kitten’s purr, but cut through the air like a fog horn.

“Chi!” Superboy exclaimed, rushing over to her.

“Hey.” Her smile beamed as she hugged him.

He examined her face quickly.  She was smiling, but she looked exhausted, like she’d been through a grueling mission, one that isn’t dangerous, just draining.  His expression turned concerned.  “How was the trip?  You look tired.”  

Her smile weakened.  “It was good. I missed my friends and family so much.” She slumped against his chest. “Being back was just… a lot.”  She took a deep breath and straightened up. “But it was good.  I’m good.  It’s all… good.”  She let out a defeated sigh, but looked back up with a plastered on smile that lasted until she examined his face, morphing into a concerned frown at the sight.  She raised her hand to run it over his face, but quickly realized what she was doing and dropped it to his shoulder instead with a faint blush.  “How was it here?  How have you been?  How is Robin? How was the mission?”

“I’m fine.  Robin’s fine. It was fine,” Superboy hedged with a strained smile, slinging his arm over her shoulders and guiding her over to the group.

“That was too many ‘fines’ to be true,” Chimera commented apprehensively, looking at him questioningly.

“You really want to throw that stone Ms. ‘all good’?” he commented back with a pointed look.

Her face went slack, her eyes widened at the call out.  “Uh… no,” she admitted turning back toward the group, eyes flicking between them under her lashes.  “Can we not discuss this… now?”

“Later?” Superboy asked hopefully.  He knew her natural inclination was to bury things deep down, until they were so hard to see, she could pretend they never existed.  Internalizing every emotion, every let down.  It was the opposite of his way of handling things. Letting them simmer on the surface, where the slightest touch sent them radiating out into the world around him, usually with screaming or punching.  Chimera hummed noncommittally in response, absolutely no intention of bringing up memories and emotions she wished would disappear.

“It was after the mission that was enlightening,” Aqualad stepped forward.  “We need to talk about Roy.”

His voice was serious and laced with a significance that Chimera didn’t understand.  Superboy’s arm tightened incrementally on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.  She looked up in time to catch the dark look he was giving Aqualad.  She turned back to Aqualad with a quizzical expression. “Like, Rogers?”

“Rogers?” Aqualad repeated.

Artemis tried to stifle her laugh.  “No, Chi.  Not like Roy Rogers.”

Aqualad looked between them, his brow furrowing in confusion, before he returned his gaze back to Chimera.  “No, Roy Harper.”

“Oh!”  Chimera nodded in understanding.  “Okay…” Her brow furrowed faintly and she looked to the side in thought before looking back at Aqualad with a wince.  “Is that… another actor?  I haven’t really seen many… any westerns.  I really only know who Roy Rogers, John Wayne, and Woody Strode are.  Well, know is a stretch.  I’ve heard their names.”

Aqualad blinked at her a few times, unsure what she was talking about.  “No. Red Arrow.”

Realization rippled across Chimera’s face.  She nodded, her eyes going wide.  “Oh!  Okay. Yeah.”  Robin and Kid Flash talked about Red Arrow a lot, but by his code name, rarely by his real name.  She would never have been able to remember it if she wasn’t prompted first.  Her eyes darted over to Robin to see if he held any answers, but instead of looking back at her, he was glaring at Aqualad as well. She looked back at Aqualad, noticeably more apprehensively.  Her brows furrowed in confusion.  “What about him?”

“Batman said he’s the mole,” Aqualad informed her, watching her reaction carefully.

Chimera’s face immediately fell, her eyes darted back to Robin again.  “Robin,” she whispered.  Her eyes moved over to Kid Flash, next to Robin, and turn pained.  She looked back to Aqualad.  “Is he sure?”

Aqualad nodded.  “Batman said he’s actually a clone of the real Roy Harper programmed to infiltrate the Justice League, but was discovered by Batman before he could do any damage.  

Chimera gasped, eyes entirely focused on Robin and Kid Flash.  “What happened to the real Roy Harper?”

“He didn’t say.”  Aqualad answered.  She tensed to go over to hug Robin and Kid Flash.  Robin and Kid Flash always talked about Roy like he was one of them.  They understood each other in a way few others could.  They would tell stories about him and laugh like their lives weren’t constantly at risk, like they were just normal teenagers.  Those times were some of the few she got to see Robin like the kid he was.

Artemis’ voice cut through her thoughts before she could move.  “But we have reason to believe that isn’t true.”

Chimera turned to her with a hopeful smile. “Really?”  A flash of relief appeared in her eyes.  She couldn’t imagine the toll it would take on Robin and Kid Flash if it was true and she didn’t want to have to see it.  They’d all been in this for a long time together, grew up in it together.  They were like family.  Not to mention she knew he and Aqualad were close as well.  If there was a chance Batman was wrong, they had to investigate it.

“I wanted to let you know because… we know you're dating him.” Aqualad informed her carefully.

Chimera’s eyes snapped back to Aqualad, her mouth hanging open in shock and her body turned rigid.  “That I’m what?” Her voice came out an octave higher than normal.

“Batman told us,” Aqualad informed her calmly. “And Roy has mentioned it as well.”

Chimera flinched back and shook her head.  “What?  I've never even met Red Arrow.  Why would he say that?  Why would Batman?”

“That’s why we have reason to believe Roy isn’t the mole.  Because Batman told us you were dating Roy at the same time he said Roy was the mole. He said they thought you were his handler,” Robin bit out bitterly.

Chimera’s heart stopped.  She gaped at Robin.  Batman… Batman said he thought she was betraying them.  Batman thought she was a traitor.  Batman was her mentor, as much as she had one, or at least she had thought of him as hers.  She had thought he might be more than just a mentor as well, but that must have just been her.  More than that, he was a League founder.  If he thought it, the rest of the League must as well.  They would all believe she was a traitor.  They would all turn on her, even her team.

Her breathing picked up.  She couldn’t handle this.  But she couldn’t even blame them for it.  This was her fault.  This is the price of anonymity.  This was the tradeoff of keeping yourself guarded.  You keep people from knowing you, but then they don’t know you.  They don’t know who you are, so they don’t know who you are and who you’re not.  She never let them know who she is, so of course her team will believe Batman.  

She was going to lose them and even if she proves herself, there will always be that doubt and once you’ve lost that trust, it never fully recovers… as her trip home proved.  Everything seems the same on the surface, but if you pause to examine it more closely, everything is different.  The way they look at you, the way they relate to you, the way they see you, has changed.  Robin wouldn’t trust her anymore.  He’d put up a wall between them, the same one he put up with anyone he didn’t fully trust, keeping them at a distance with a false smile.  And Conner!  He’d pull away too.  Still friendly, but not friends.  Still there, but not the same…

“…imera!  Chimera!”

Chimera felt a squeeze on her shoulder and a hand on her cheek, bringing her back to reality, stopping her descent into panic. She slowly moved her eyes to the arm belonging to the hand on her face and followed it back to its owner, looking up to see Superboy’s soft, concerned eyes.  He gave her a supportive smile and nod to let her know they were on her side. “That’s why we knew he was lying,” Superboy assured her.

Chimera let out a shuttering breath and buried her face in Superboy’s chest.  He wrapped his arms around her protectively, nuzzling into her hair.  “We know you better.  We know you would never do that.  No matter what he said, we know you,” he whispered into her hair.

Aqualad looked between them and nodded once, satisfied for now with her innocence. “Roy… Red Arrow is the key.  We need to find him and see what he can tell us. If Chimera is innocent then he may be as well.  Regardless, we need to find him before the League does.  Artemis, Superboy, Zatanna, you’re with me.  The rest of you, see what you can do about Tornado.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with Red Tornado?” Chimera’s eyes peeked out from Superboy’s chest.

“I’ll stay here,” Superboy responded with a sharp edge to his voice.

“We’re potentially going up against Red Arrow.  We need you with us to bring him in if…” Aqualad took a breath.  “If he decides to fight us.”

“I thought you didn’t think he was the mole,” Chimera asked uncertainly, subconsciously clinging a bit closer to Superboy.  If they still thought Red Arrow was the mole, did they really still think she was his handler as well?

“I don’t…” he looked away in contemplation.  “I don’t know.  But we need to speak with him to figure out what is going on.  Hopefully peacefully and it is best to be cautious,” he added. His voice was even, but anybody familiar with him could hear the strain in it.

Chimera gave him an understanding smile.  Although he didn’t speak about Red Arrow often, and almost never with Chimera, she knew they were close.  Believing his friend capable of something like this must be hurting him deeply. She looked up to Superboy.  “You should go,” she whispered.

“They can handle Red Arrow,” he argued back quietly.  “I can stay until you’re…  I can help with Tornado.”

Chimera shook her head.  “I’ll have Robin.  I’ll be okay until you come home.”  She glanced subtly over to Aqualad.  His shoulders were more tense than usual, his grimace more pronounced.  He was trying to hold it together, but he was suffering. “Aqualad needs you more right now.

Superboy huffed and looked over to Aqualad and the others Aqualad had singled out for a moment before looking back into Chimera’s eyes.  “Fine.  But I don’t like it.”

Chimera rested her head back on his chest, watching the rest of the Team. “Nobody likes what’s happening right now.”  She closed her eyes and squeezed him for a moment.  “Be safe.”

She stepped away from him, avoiding his eyes.  “You too,” he whispered, letting his fingers linger on her as she walked away to join Robin, Kid Flash, and Rocket.

“The problem’s hardware, not software,” Robin mused, examining schematics on a holographic display.  He didn’t even look up when Chimera stopped next to him.  He reached out, giving her a one armed hug.  She slung her arm around his shoulders, returning the squeeze. “But where do we start?”

Zatanna paused on her way out of the room.  “I have an idea.”  She glanced quickly behind her to see how far away the rest of her group had gotten. She bit her lip nervously, not wanting to upset Aqualad with her tardiness.  “Chimera, you remember the android he had in his quarters?”

Chimera perked up immediately.  “Yes! New hardware for his existing software. Brilliant idea, Zatanna.  Good luck with your mission,” she called to Zatanna as she ran to catch up with the rest of her group.  “Hey, Rocket, do your force bubbles move?  Might make moving the body easier.”

<><><><><> 

“I heard we’re dating,” Chimera started out with a sarcastic smile, extending her hand to shake Red Arrow’s.  “It must have been a terrible relationship if I can’t even remember you. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I don’t think this relationship is working out for me.  I think we should see other people.”

Red Arrow huffed out a laugh and smiled against his will.  He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.  He looked up at her sheepishly.  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Chimera shrugged and moved past him to sit on a bulkhead.  “Not your fault.  And not the worst end to one of my relationships, so...”  She offered him a smile.  Red Arrow smiled back and moved to sit next to her for the planning meeting, but was cut off by Superboy taking the spot before Red Arrow could sit.

Red Arrow raised an eyebrow at him, but backed down.  He wasn’t looking to start a fight with the only heroes he knew that weren’t under mind control. Instead, he took a seat between Robin and Kid Flash.

“Would anyone care to enlighten us as to why you have Black Canary tied up and gagged?” Aqualad asked, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand.

“Yeah, about that…” Kid Flash started with a grimace, warily eying the hero that was bound and gagged at their feet.

“Can we start from the beginning?  I don’t think I’m the only one who doesn’t have a clear picture of everything that’s going on,” Chimera requested.

“The entire Justice League is under the complete mental domination of Vandal Savage,” Red Tornado spoke up from his android body.  “Red Arrow seems to have been his means.  His method was something Savage referred to as Starotech.  An alien bio organism infused with nano technology and magic.  It shuts down the mind’s autonomy allowing Savage to reprogram the individual to suit his needs.  Even my inorganic brain was not immune.”

Chimera straightened up in surprise.  “Wait, so Red Arrow was the mole?”

“I was the mole,” Red Arrow confirmed with a grimace.  “I just don’t know why.  If it was the Starotech, then they wouldn’t have needed to have a handler for me or key phrases that would shut me down and ready me for new orders.”

Superboy watched him curiously.  “Batman and Tornado said you were a Cadmus clone, like me.”

Red Arrow sighed and looked down.  “That explains it.  I must have been pre-programmed to infiltrate the League.  I was probably given occasional new orders as well.  I think one of those orders was to focus suspicion on Artemis and Superboy.  More recently, I think Chimera was added to the list, in a much more explicit way.”

“Why?” Superboy straightened, glaring at Red Arrow.  His arms twitched to circle around Chimera and pull her closer to him.

“They didn’t tell me,” he shrugged.  “I never knew why I did any of it.  I wasn’t part of the team, I was a tool.”

“I’m an easy target,” Chimera spoke up quietly.  “He was already implicating Superboy and Artemis.  Robin, Kid Flash, and Kaldur have known each other or of each other for years and see each other regularly enough to know if something was off. Zatanna and Rocket joined after Kaldur started noticing indications of a mole.  That leaves me.  And since you know almost nothing about me, I don’t even have a mentor to vouch for me, it makes doubting me easy.”  

Superboy ran his hands up and down her arm to comfort her.  Chimera leaned into his side slightly, keeping her focus on the conversation.  Superboy looked over to Kid Flash and Red Tornado.  “So where does Black Canary fit in?”

“Oh! Riiiiiight.” Kid Flash awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.  “We were transferring Red Tornado’s consciousness from his regular body to his android body when she interrupted us.  She attacked us and we had to stop her.”

“So she’s infected as well,” Artemis observed.

Aqualad frowned at the ground in concentration.  “If it’s an infection, then we need a cure.  I will contact Queen Mera about creating an immunization based on Starotech.  We have Black Canary we can test the cure on.  Let’s move.”

Robin wormed his way next to Chimera as they moved to the communications hub for the ship.  He pulled her into a quick side hug.  “You know, we don’t need to know everything about each other to trust each other.  And I do trust you.”  He spoke quietly so only she could hear him.

Chimera closed her eyes as she hugged him back. “I trust you too, birdbrain.”

Robin rolled his eyes and shoved her away.  “I take it back.  I hate you.”  Chimera cackled with laughter.  Robin reluctantly joined her, trying to keep his annoyed facade.  They tried unsuccessfully to school their expressions when Aqualad glared at them until Queen Mera answered, drawing his attention away.

<><><><><> 

Waiting was torture.  It always was.  Waiting for something to happen when there was nothing you could do until then except think about the upcoming event, was agony.  Chimera looked around the room.  The Team was scattered each in their own space, waiting for Black Canary and Red Tornado to finish their preparations so they and Red Arrow could go in first and distract Savage, while the Team put the vaccine patches on the rest of the Justice League one member at a time.  

Everyone was in their own head, bodies tense, and emotions on edge.  They were going up against people they’d looked up to their whole superhero careers, parental figures, mentors.  People who taught them how to fight, how to strategize.  They knew more than the Team did and it was still unclear how much of their previous fighting knowledge they retained or if the person controlling them would have to come up with their own moves and techniques.

The Team was clearly dreading the former option, including Chimera.  With so many different powers to go up against, she had cleared out the miracle box so she would have options for which powers to utilize.  Changing was going to be tricky and she was going to have to keep Trixx well fed so she would be able to keep up her illusion of her suit not changing, but there was too much of a possibility for failure not to at least try.

She hoped she was hiding her apprehension better than the rest of the Team.  No matter how much they tried to hide it, Chimera knew their tells.  She knew Artemis set her jaw like that when she was anxious.  She knew Aqualad clenched and reclenched his fists like that when he was nervous.  She knew Kid Flash held his arm like that with his other hand when he was afraid.  She knew Robin stared intently like that when he was apprehensive.  She knew Zatanna bit her lip like that when she was unsure.  She knew Superboy glowered like that when he was worried.  It was slightly different from his many other glowers.  And she didn’t need to know Rocket and Red Arrow to see their nerves in the darting of their eyes.

She looked between them and furrowed her brow until she perked up, something occurring to her.  “So… it’s like a video game, right?”  All the eyes in the room darted to her with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, but she continued on undeterred.  “I mean, they’re like characters in a video game, being controlled. That means there’s someone with some kind of controller.”  She looked over to Aqualad.  “Do you think there's any way that we could get our hands on that controller?” she asked with a devious glint in her eyes.  “Just for a few minutes?”

“Oh my God!  Yes!” Kid Flash exclaimed, immediately seeing where she was going and excitedly bouncing.  “Can we? Can we, please?”

“We will not take advantage of our compatriots and mentors in such a demeaning way,” Aqualad answered sternly.

“Yeah, yeah morally reprehensible reshmensible.  But, do you think we could?” Kid Flash asked again, his eyes bright.  In an instant he was next to Chimera, both giving Aqualad overly wide smiles.

“No,” Aqualad said firmly.

“Angelic smiles aren’t working,” Chimera noted in a stage whisper.  “Deploy kitten eyes.”  She and Kid Flash immediately switched to sad, pleading eyes, aimed directly at Aqualad who barely noted them before rolling his eyes.  Chimera harrumphed when she realized hers wouldn’t work since she had sunglasses hiding her eyes.  Instead, she elbowed Zatanna who looked confused for a second before grinning and schooling her face to offer her own kitten eyes.

Superboy quickly looked to the ground to hide his smirk, but Artemis and Robin made no attempts to hide her laugh that echoed throughout the room.  “Oh my God, you guys are such dorks,” Artemis eked out between laughs.  

“Yes,” Kid Flash agreed, “dorks who love video games.” He turned back to Aqualad.  “Pleeeeeeeeease.”  He held his hands out in front of him in supplication.

“Are you two going to take this seriously?” Red Arrow snapped.

Chimera rolled her eyes and offered a kind smile. “Come on, tell me you don't want to see Batman punch Green Arrow.”  Her smile turned enticing.  “We can make that happen,” she singsonged at him.

Red Arrow scoffed.  “I don't need remote control to do that.  I just have to tell Batman any of the things Green Arrow has said behind his back and then suggest a spar between them.”

Chimera waved him off.  “Fine.  Green Lantern or Wonder Woman punch Green Arrow,” she offered instead with a knowing smirk.  “I’m not even a protégé and I definitely have JL members I’d like to see get punched a few times.”  She shrugged in an overly casual way.  “Or, you know, one member anyway.”

Red Arrow cocked his head to the side considering the image of Wonder Woman decking Oliver.  “Now that you mention it...”

“Oh my God!” Chimera exclaimed, eyes widening in excitement.  “Dance Party!”

“Yes!” Kid Flash jumped on to her thought process, mirroring her excitement.  “The Flash breakdancing.   Hawkman doing the Carlton.”

Red Arrow looked over to Chimera with an analytical look.  After a few seconds, his face broke into a reluctant smile.  “Batman doing a scene from Phantom of the Opera, that’s angsty, he’d like it.”

“Yes!!” Chimera exclaimed, jumping with excitement that he had joined.

“Green Lantern and Aquaman doing the Kid ‘n Play,” Robin gave a small smirk, nerves still there, but lessening.

“Do you think we can get Martian Manhunter to do the Macarena?” Superboy pondered, coming up behind Chimera and resting his arm on her shoulders.

“It’s our imagination.  We can get them to do whatever we want,” Chimera laughed.

“I would pay to see Wonder Woman do the worm,” Artemis smiled coming up next to Zatanna and bumping her hip with her own.

“Can we get my dad to do something?  What should we get him to do?” Zatanna added with a hesitant smile.

“How about the Running Man?” Rocket offered, joining the rest.

“Green Arrow doing Gangnam Style dance,” Red Arrow gave Chimera a playful smile, joining the group to stand next to Chimera.

“My flute records.  I can take video for posterity,” Chimera grinned back conspiratorially.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Black Canary grinned as she came up behind them.  “I think it sounds like fun.  Plus, I need more blackmail material.  If I come across the opportunity, I’ll let you know.” She winked at them before turning to Aqualad with a serious expression.  “We’re ready to go.”

Aqualad’s expression immediately transformed from light to serious.  He stepped forward to address his team.  “It is time. Are we ready?”  He looked around to the Team waiting for nods from the group. Once he received them he watched Black Canary, Red Tornado, and Red Arrow step up to the Zeta tube.  With them in position, he turned to Chimera. “Open the portal.”

*Note 2: The android body is from the show as is Queen Mera and some scientists coming up with a vaccine in a few hours, so those cheap cop outs are theirs not mine.

Chapter 10

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[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 45

Both of them looked so different this time, Carl with his hair tied back, his eye exposed, Negan’s leather jacket wrapped around his shoulders with a black bandana tied around his neck, and Rick with his beard gone, more than a few new scars littering his face and neck, and mud painted in stripes down his face the same as every Raider Carl had come across.

His former father wasn’t one of them anymore, he hadn’t been since he sold out their community to get back at Negan for taking his son and friends away. Carl and Jasmine had almost died the day the Raiders infiltrated Hilltop and none of the Survivors were willing to forgive Rick for causing that pain.

“You look older, son.”

“I am older.”

“So you are.”

“I don’t know where you were or how much you told them, and quite frankly I don’t care. But now that you’re here, you’re never getting out of Alexandria.” Carl told him in a flat tone of voice that left no room for negotiation, standing his ground when Rick moved closer to the bars and biting his tongue to keep from stabbing the man with the dagger in his belt.

“Are you going to act like a savage and beat my head in? Like Negan did to Glenn and Abraham? That’s okay with you?”

“You’re the one that looks like a savage right now, Sheriff Grimes, and the debate on Negan’s loyalties ended a long time ago. You’re the only one who hasn’t let it go yet, and it’ll be the death of you.” He explained, turning his head away from him. “You put everyone in danger by bringing the Raiders here, you put our children in danger. You put my daughter in danger.”

“You mean the child you stole-”

Carl cut off Rick’s argument as he slammed his arm against the cell bars to shut him up, clenching his fist.

“You don’t- you don’t want to start talking about stolen children with me. Jasmine’s mother was already dead when I took her and I’ve been telling her stories about that woman her whole life. You murdered Gracie’s parents in cold blood and then never told her where she came from. It’s fucking different.”

“Of course, Negan’s pretty little wife has the moral high ground now.”

“Christ, what happened to you, dad? You weren’t like this before, before you attacked that outpost, you were getting better.”

“The end of the world takes it’s toll on everyone, your husband should know that better than anybody.”

Carl sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath as he shut his eyes. He knew what he had to do with Rick, he just didn’t know how to do it yet. Especially not when he was in front of him talking and alive. For some time after Rick’s betrayal of the group, the young man couldn’t care less about whether his father was dead in a ditch somewhere or lying drowned at the bottom of the ocean, but since then he had started to miss their interactions when he was a boy, even if they became few and far between later in life. Now, he was faced with the prospect of killing his own father as payback for almost killing him and his daughter and so many others that were slaughtered in the occupation of Hilltop.

It was a difficult thing to process.

“When Negan killed Glenn and Abraham, he was paying the debt in lives that you took from his community. It was necessary, even if it was painful. When you brought the Raiders to my home and tried to kill me, that was not necessary. You’re a traitor to this community and you will die for it.” He told him, hesitating for a moment before gripping Rick’s arm through the cell bars and twisting him around so he could handcuff him behind his back.

“At least my death will torture you. Killing your own father is a hard pill to swallow.”

“You didn’t have much trouble swallowing when you tried to kill me, I think I’ll be fine.”

Wrenching the door to the cell open, Carl dropped the keys on the floor outside it and then shoved the older Grimes up the stairs to ground level. His mind was still conflicted about what he was about to do but everything had gotten so bad right after the occupation. Food was running out, the weather had hit them hard, and they had to cram three communities into two.

It wasn’t ideal or liveable and Rick had done that to them. He had to pay, even if things were getting better. It would send a message to the Raiders that were still trying to break their supply route, you don’t fuck with Alexandria or Sanctuary and get away with it.

“Feeling conflicted, son? If you don’t trust yourself to do this, maybe that’s a sign that you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“Not conflicted, just sorry for you. You might have actually been a good grandfather to Jasmine had you not turned into a psychotic asshole. Could have made up for your shit parenting skills.”

“I did my best, you just went down a wrong path.” Rick commented, amusement plain as day in his voice as he nodded to Maggie and Sydney where they stood in the centre of the town.

“How did it come to this, Maggie? Your husband’s best friend being executed while you’ve got a new girlfriend and a brother in the man who killed-” Rick spat blood from his mouth as Maggie broke his nose with the heel of her hand and then hooked him in the jaw, leaving him short of breath when she got in his face with an angry expression.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, you tried to kill your own son. You don’t have a moral high ground to stand on here, Rick.” She growled before stepping back, letting Carl shove him to his knees where he stood over him.

With a gun barrel pressed to his forehead, Rick’s blue eyes cast shadows over the crowd that had gathered to watch his execution and the kids that were experiencing it too.

“No Daryl or Negan to watch my murder?”

A different gun belonging to Luke, who so far had done well to bite his tongue and keep from striking the man that had brought hell down on all of them, came down across Rick’s cheek, shutting him up only for seconds before he was back at it.

“What? You don’t like the word murder? But that’s what you’re doing, Colonel. You’re letting my son murder me in cold blood.”

“You deserve it. Maybe I’d feel worse for you if you actually apologised for what you’ve done.”

“I am sorry.” Rick nodded, to Carl’s surprise, lowering his bloody face for a moment and taking a deep breath before looking up at the group again, a smirk on his lips.

“I am sorry you became a psychopath’s little slut and turned all my friends and family against me.” He sneered, making Carl’s jaw twitch as he finally pulled the trigger and his father’s body slumped to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in his skull to add to the facial injuries he’d already received.

As Rick dropped dead from the fatal shot, Carl fell to his knees and felt Maggie’s arms around him as he cried, grieving for the loss of a father he never really had. Her reassurances in his ear served to calm him while Negan was still in the infirmary dealing with Daryl and Liùsaidh, soothing his pain as he gripped her arm around his shoulders.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. The death of a man who barely gave him attention in the last few years that he knew him shouldn’t have affected him so much but he felt the pain deeply, wondering if this is what Maggie felt when her father was murdered.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” Her whispering voice soothed him further as he was helped up off the ground and into the house he shared with his family and hers.

Behind him, the other residents of Alexandria set about cleaning up the execution scene, lifting Rick’s body and carrying him to the graveyard where they knew what to do with burying him. He would go beside the empty graves of Glenn and Abraham, next to the lost Hilltop residents that were slaughtered in the occupation and all the rest that they had marked remembrance for along the way.

So many empty graves lay beside the outer wall of Alexandria that it was amazing anyone had survived, but even a traitor like Rick would be buried with his people. It was the only concession Negan or Carl had decided to allow for him.

Meanwhile, Liùsaidh woke up in the infirmary with a fight in her lungs, hacking up a small spatter of mud that had been caught in her throat before looking up at Negan and Daryl watching her. She was glad to see them both but that relief only lasted a second before she bolted upright, gripping Negan’s arm when he held her to keep the woman from getting out of bed.

“What happened to the others? Eve? Avery? Thalia? Are they okay?” The panic in her voice and expression was evident but the news didn’t change from Daryl as he ran his hand over her mucky hair, not caring that she was coated in dirt and sludge.

“Thalia’s alive, she’s recovering in the next room.”

“And the others?”

“We lost Eve when a rock fell from the edge of the sinkhole, she didn’t feel any pain. Avery drowned.” Luke answered her question as he came into the room they were gathered in, showing his bloody arm to Negan so he could get stitched up.

The new chief and doctor of the twin communities took Luke’s arm in his hands and frowned, leading him over to the other bed in the room.

“It’s a nasty cut, lucky you got a new tetanus shot last month.” He sighed as he wiped the blood from his arm, glad that the soldier didn’t even wince.

Luke’s ability to handle pain was always a bonus when he walked into his infirmary with a new injury every week. For a man who did his best to stay out of trouble deliberately, he sure did have a habit of attracting it anyway.

Daryl helped Liùsaidh lay back down on the bed she occupied and kissed her forehead as she sucked in a watery sob, leaning into his shoulder to stop the others from seeing. It didn’t get any easier when they lost people, especially people who had been with them for years.

Luke knew this better than anyone as he watched her cry, shaking his head while Negan stitched his arm.

“We brought their bodies back. We can bury them once we’re stitched up and able to walk.” He told her in a soft tone, knowing that being treated like a wounded animal wouldn’t sit well with the woman but what option did he have.

She was a wounded animal right now.

The group in the infirmary all went quiet for a moment, only Liùsaidh’s sobs breaking the silence as they all prayed without speaking for the dead. After a while in the apocalypse, you learned to accept the death and hoped that the people lost would find peace on the other side of wherever the fuck you went when you died.

Soon enough, Liùsaidh recovered from her moment of sadness and held onto Daryl so she could lean up and stare out of the window to watch Rick’s body being carried away. She caught a brief glimpse of Carl and Maggie going into the adjacent house and sighed, frowning.

“Poor kid. I’m sorry, for your friend.” She looked up at Daryl, pressing her nose to his cheek and smiling a little, hoping the feeling and sight of her being close would help the archer deal with seeing his dead friend better.

Rick had hurt them all by joining that other group and killing many of their own, but she knew that Daryl had still grown through the end of the world with him as his brother and he would find it hard to get over his death. It was never easy to lose your own people, even if they were bad people. Rick was bad, he couldn’t be saved and they all knew that, but it wouldn’t hurt Daryl any less knowing that his friend was crazy when he died.

He turned towards her nose pressed to his cheek, though, and smiled that slight smile that was always reserved just for Liùsaidh, planting a soft kiss on her muddy lips and humming against her mouth.

“I’ll be okay. Carl will be too, he just needs some time and comfort.”

“Which is exactly what I exist for so if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, my lady, I need to go and take care of my lover before he starts getting so upset he throws shit.” Negan chuckled as he taped a bandage over the stitching job he’d done on Luke’s arm, leaving backwards out of the door to go home.

Liùsaidh smiled at the way he spoke, still finding joy in how he always made shit into a joke, and watched him cross the courtyard to get to his house, leaning back into Daryl with a sigh.

[dahlia-coccinea]

So I think @longagoitwastuesday and I have chatted before about Nelly perhaps having a preference for Heathcliff over Cathy? But I saw it mentioned today and thought it would be interesting to look at some of the instances I can remember that perhaps show this. Personally, I think she doesn’t really defend or is biased towards him (I’d go so far as to say I think she sometimes shows prejudice against him) but they do have an interesting connection since in many ways she was a mother figure to him from 7 to 16 years old. My opinion of Nelly is that once she’s made a judgment about a person it takes quite a lot for her to reshape her opinion of them. Her opinions are also very much emblematic of her position as a servant in the house and that has been discussed already by some critics. 

Regarding her biases towards Catherine and Heathcliff, it is apparent Cathy was always the wayward daughter in her mind in part because she caused her master, Mr. Earnshaw, much anxiety and distress. Heathcliff on the other hand inspired sympathy in part because of Mr. Earnshaw’s feelings towards him as we see in Chapter 7:

“I remembered how old Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant lass, and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmas-box; and from that I went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and his dread lest he should suffer neglect after death had removed him: and that naturally led me to consider the poor lad’s situation now, and from singing I changed my mind to crying”

In another scene, a little earlier in Chapter 4, we see where her sympathy for him started to grow while all the children were sick, and after her initial siding with Hindley:

“Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadn’t wit to guess that I was compelled to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him and the others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly: he was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble.”

And again in the same chapter after Hindley throws an iron weight at Heathcliff and Heathcliff mentions that Hindley has given him “three thrashings” that week alone and his arm is “black to the shoulder”: 

“He complained so seldom, indeed, of such stirs as these, that I really thought him not vindictive: I was deceived completely, as you will hear.”

Eventually, she recants a lot of this early partial softness towards him and she shows fear and hatred towards him notably during the scene of catching him kissing Isabella when she cries, “Judas! Traitor!...You are a hypocrite, too, are you? A deliberate deceiver.” Before that, she describes his visits to the Grange and how she decided she must keep a close eye on him, Catherine, and Isabella, saying:

“I wanted something to happen which might have the effect of freeing both Wuthering Heights and the Grange of Mr. Heathcliff quietly; leaving us as we had been prior to his advent. His visits were a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master also.”

But there is something the returns to her now and then, that makes her sympathize with him. After Catherine’s death in Chapter 16, she tells Lockwood:

“Poor wretch!” I thought; “you have a heart and nerves the same as your brother men! Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pride cannot blind God! You tempt him to wring them, till he forces a cry of humiliation.”

Surprisingly these feelings of sympathy are during his mistreatment of Isabella. A few days later, being aware that he stayed outside of the Grange, she “opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance to give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu.” He completely does not deserve her kindness - yet since Nelly does seem to make lasting judgments of people she can’t help but feel for him.

The scene that I think is perhaps most representative of her confused feelings towards him is when she informs him of Catherine’s death:

“He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to death with knives and spears. I observed several splashes of blood about the bark of the tree, and his hand and forehead were both stained; probably the scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the night. It hardly moved my compassion—it appalled me: still, I felt reluctant to quit him so.”

Her feelings aren’t always so confused though - there are times when her aversion is clear. In Chapter 11 when she talks to little Hareton and “bade him tell his father that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him.” When Hareton brings out Heathcliff instead, she is so struck by fear and dread that she “turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin.”

I know I’m missing quite a few scenes where she expresses true disgust and hatred towards Heathcliff and his actions towards Cathy and Linton but this is getting quite long lol. I think these are enough to show that she does have a complicated understanding of her feelings towards Heathcliff - at least much less clear than her obvious dislike of Catherine. 

As I mentioned at the beginning, a lot of her judgments are long-lasting, and tend to side with her master. This is repeated with Cathy II who behaves intolerably to Hareton, yet Nelly is quick to defend or only lightly admonish her, compared to how she easily condemns her mother as “haughty,” “headstrong,” and “saucy.” Some critics believe this is because Cathy II is still good to Edgar, who is Nelly’s master, compared to the grief Catherine Earnshaw caused her father...but I’ll leave those thoughts for another time.

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 5

part 1 | part 4 | part 6

A/N: Y/N finally meets the gaang; on a side note, I am really proud of this chapter ❤️

She caught it just a moment before it smacked her in the chest. Her reflexes were delayed from her sleepiness but also from the realization that her Fire Princess just had dropped to her knees and tied her boots for her. “Easy. I’m not a bender. I don’t need the sun.”

“Lo and Li have advised me that it isn’t smart to go after Zuko and Uncle with a Royal Procession.” Azula leaned in the doorway to Y/N’s room. Her hair was a black curtain around her pale face. Y/N ran her fingers through her own loose hair before replying.

“It would be less conspicuous without guards flanking us on all sides. Do you think that the two of us could do it ourselves?” She asked hesitantly, thinking back to just a day earlier when Azula said she was a liability. Y/N wasn’t even planning to fight when she agreed to come! She thought it was going to be easier, she didn’t expect Iroh to be so suspicious of them from the get go. Apparently, neither did Azula. She was so mad when they pulled her from the sea, the water was steaming off of her clothes and skin. 

Azula smiled and sat in the chair to the small, empty writing desk in the room. “I need a small, elite team.” She tapped one pointed nail on her chin. “I think it’s time to call on some old friends, don’t you think so?”

“Mai and Ty Lee?” Y/N questioned. The last time one of them was mentioned Azula set fire to the napkin she was holding at dinner and pointed a butter knife in Y/N’s direction telling her never to mention their names again. 

“Of course them.” Azula rolled her eyes and cracked her fingers. “They’re our friends, Y/N. They’ll do anything I want.” Her voice was low and even though it wasn’t meant as a threat, it sounded like one. 

Azula shut the door to Y/N’s room with a sharp click. She leaned back against her pillow and crossed her arms. This was not going to go well. 

Anytime she and the girls exchanged letters, the answer was always the same. Neither Mai or Ty Lee were planning on coming back to the palace any time soon. They never explicitly said that Azula was the reason–one could never know who was reading your letters–but Y/N could see the subtext. A taste of life outside of Capital City and outside of Azula’s influence had spoiled them. Y/N had never felt like that before, but every day, she got a little bit more understanding as to why one might want to leave. 

It was still dark out when Azula came into Y/N’s room the next morning. She tapped Y/N’s cheek with her nail. “Get up, we’re leaving soon.”

She glared at Azula from under the very warm covers. “Why so early?” 

Azula’s gold eyes flashed with humor. “It’s a long ride into town. I’ve got us a carriage.” She grabbed the blanket that Y/N was clutching and threw them off the bed, leaving her shivering. 

“Every time,” Y/N muttered as she pulled her night clothes off and her red tunic and pants on. 

“Every time what?” Azula asked. Y/N thought she could hear a smile in the other girls words but she was currently too busy looking cross-eyed at the laces of her boots to check. 

“Why are you such a morning person?” Y/N knew the answer that Azula was going to give, but it didn’t make the question any less relevant in her mind. She hated mornings. 

“More like a question as to why aren’t you?” Hands slapped Y/N’s own fumbling ones away and tied each boot deftly. Before Y/N could even utter a ‘thank you’, Azula was grabbing her sword from where it was propped in the corner and tossing it in Y/N’s direction. 

She caught it just a moment before it smacked her in the chest. Her reflexes were delayed from her sleepiness but also from the realization that her Fire Princess just had dropped to her knees and tied her boots for her. “Easy. I’m not a bender. I don’t need the sun.”

Azula had only tied the boots because she wanted to get going, Y/N decided. Probably.

“You sound like one of those Water Tribe savages. Next thing you know, you’ll be howling at the moon.” Y/N laughed with Azula no matter how awful she thought the joke was and basked in the warm that her friend gave off. She was always so much nicer in the mornings. 

The sun was just rising as they set off, probably purposeful if she knew Azula. Y/N stared out the window the whole trip. She’d never been to the Earth Kingdom before and she was so intrigued by everything she saw. There was greenery everywhere. It made her heartache for her childhood home on Ember Island. The climate was different, here it was much cooler and the wind ruffled the leaves on the trees every now and then. And Ember Island was hot and muggy year round. But she couldn’t miss the similarities of the two places. Every now and then she’d catch an animal she’d never seen before run past and she’d all but hold her head out the window to get a second look. Azula was much more regal, which was unsurprising though she wasn’t sure if Azula had ever been to the Earth Kingdom either. She sat in the seat across Y/N with her arms crossed and her feet on the bench next to Y/N. Azula had her eyes closed the whole time, reclining in a beam of sunlight coming in through the windows, but Y/N knew she wasn’t sleeping. 

She thought Azula looked much better like this; with her face softened in relaxation. No furrowing of the eyebrows or pursing of her lips. Occasionally, the wind would blow in the windows and ruffle her usually pristine hair. Y/N thought Azula glared and frowned way too much for a fourteen year old girl, Fire Princess or not. Just then Azula cracked open one of her eyes like she knew Y/N was thinking about her. But Y/N didn’t look away like she usually would have done. She just stared and smiled at her friend until Azula closed that eye again and settled further down into the seat. Y/N chose to ignore the light tap of Azula’s toe on her elbow, but not the small smile that was now on her face. 

After reaching the town it wasn’t hard to find the circus. Azula and Y/N just followed the noise and the smell. They were set up in a large field where they could have enough room to set up their tall tents and keep their platypus-bears and scorpion-lions. 

Ty Lee was in the middle of it all. 

She didn’t see them when they first approached. Y/N thought it looked like Ty Lee was flying as she flipped head over heels in the grass. She held herself in a perfectly still handstand. Y/N’s abs ached just watching. 

“Azula! Y/N!” Ty Lee rushed forward, hastily bowed, before crushing Azula in a hug. Y/N received the same tight–albeit longer–hug. “It’s so good to see you!” Ty Lee chirped. 

“I’ve missed you!” Y/N did realize how excited she was to see her old friend until she was in her arms. She smelled the same, like rose perfume and the rosin she used in her tricks. Letters were nice, but they took weeks to travel to each other. Something always happened between them, and when it was time to reply, that ‘something’ was never important anymore. 

“Don’t let us interrupt… whatever you’re doing.�� Azula raised an arched eyebrow.

Ty Lee took that as permission and backflipped back into a forearm stand and began scissoring her legs in the air. She held herself on her elbows and rested her head in her hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

“You look like you’re having the time of your life here, Ty Lee,” Y/N said. The glow on the girls cheeks and the permanent smile on her lips was obvious. She was always bubbly, but she’d never been like this.

“What is the daughter of a nobleman doing here?” Azula asked, gesturing around to the tents and people who walked by. A hurt look erased Ty Lee’s smile, one that Azula didn’t pay attention to. She jumped right in, never caring for small talk. “I have a proposition. I’m hunting a traitor. You remember my old fuddy-duddy uncle?”

“Oh, yeah!” Ty Lee exclaimed. “He was so funny.”

“I would be honored if you would help me and join my mission.” 

Ty Lee’s feet, which moment’s ago rested on her head, slipped as she lost balance and nearly fell forward on her face. She looked to Y/N for assistance but like a coward, Y/N looked at the grass under her boots. The glance lasted half a second, maybe even less but it still made Y/N tense next to Azula as if she was caught with her hand in the bowl of unfried dough by her mother. This was between Ty Lee and Azula. Any indication that Ty Lee and Y/N had spoken since she’d left would. Be. Bad. 

“Oh, you know Azula, I would love to.” She flipped back to her feet. “But the truth is I’m really happy here. My aura has never been pinker!” Y/N smiled. Leave it to Ty Lee to lighten the mood by talking about her auras. It was incredibly smart, to make it seem like you were dumb to avoid consequences. Y/N wished she could pull that card with Azula sometimes, but she knew her too well. And Y/N knew nothing about auras. 

“Well,” Azula frowned. “I wouldn’t want you to give up the life you love to please me.” 

Y/N ground her teeth. She looked up through her lashes at Ty Lee. This was somewhere she finally fit in. Y/N knew the story with Ty Lee’s sisters and how she felt like part of a matched set. This is where she needed to be, not traveling the world with Azula on some mission that wasn’t going to do anything for her. Y/N didn’t have a choice. Ty Lee did. Don’t fall for it! Y/N wanted to scream. 

Maybe it was Agni, or maybe Ty Lee just had more self control and a self-preservation that Y/N lacked. She placed one fist against her open palm and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Azula.” 

Azula was bristling beside Y/N as they walked away. “Of course before we leave we’re going to catch your show. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Azula gripped Y/N’s arm like a vise. 

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Y/N said. 

----

Y/N wasn’t sure what Azula told the ringmaster, but every seat in the tent was empty that night. 

High above their box, a square frame filled the stage. Lanterns hung around the frame, illuminating the whole tent. A tightrope spanned across it; a tightrope which Ty Lee was currently balancing on. 

“We are so pleased to have the Fire Lord’s daughter here tonight to see our humble circus. Please tell us if we can do anything to make it more enjoyable.” the ringmaster bowed and left the stage. 

“I will,” Azula muttered. Y/N furrowed her brow in Azula’s direction but she stared straight ahead like she didn’t even notice. What was she planning? Y/N wondered. 

Ty Lee was perched on a pole that rolled along the tightrope like pulley. She slowly switched from hand to hand, posing with a split in the air. Her costume glimmered under the candle-lit lanterns and her full dancer’s skirt bounced as she moved. 

“Incredible. Do you think she’ll fall?” Azula asked Y/N. 

Y/N scoffed at the question, never taking her eyes off of Ty Lee. “Of course not!”

“Then let’s make it more interesting. Ringmaster! Let’s remove the net at the bottom.”

The man’s grey eyes widened. “Remove the net? The thing is–the performers–”

Azula waved a hand. “You’re right. That’s been done. Set the net on fire.”

“Azula, don’t you think that’s a little much?” Y/N asked warily. She wasn’t sure what her friend was playing at but risking Ty Lee’s life wasn’t the answer. Y/N, however, didn’t get an answer. The ringmaster had already done what she had asked. 

For a second, just as the fire reached all the corners of the net below, Ty Lee seemed to teeter, before regaining her balance. Azula huffed, almost like she expected the other girl to fall. “Brilliant. And ringmaster, what kind of dangerous animals do you have here?”

“Azula, I don’t think–” Y/N started only to be cut off by a hand waving in her face. 

“Well, Princess, our circus boasts an assortment of exotic–”

“Release them all,” Azula smiled. 

Y/N sat in horror as she watched saber-tooth moose tigers, scorpion-lions and even an elephant-bear get released below the tight-rope. 

How Ty Lee managed to finish her act without falling was a mystery to Y/N. When she reached the opposite platform she even blew a kiss in their direction before climbing down and ceding the stage to the rest of the performers. 

Azula had only been interested in Ty Lee’s performance and ignored the rest of the performers, finding filing her nails into sharp points more interesting. Y/N wasn’t much better, her head was still spinning at what Azula had done. This was her friend. Someone who ignited such a rage in leaving her that Azula had threatened Y/N with fire if she ever mentioned her name. Was that why she did it? Was this some type of revenge for running away to the circus?

For a second she allowed her mind to think of what would have happened if Ty Lee hadn’t been such a good acrobat. What would either of them have done had she fallen into the flames? The net was in tatters, blackened and burned away. It couldn’t have held her weight from a fall that far, would have been like it wasn’t even a net at all. Plus she would have been on fire! Y/N had just watched Azula try to publicly kill her, and Y/N had just sat there and watched. 

As soon as the performance ended Azula dragged Y/N out of the tent. The air was full of black smoke from the net being burnt away and it blotted out the stars above. They made their way to Ty Lee’s tent. 

She was sitting at her vanity peeling sticky jewels off her face and wiping away layers of makeup. Y/N stared at the stain of ash that coated her gold-plated headband.

Azula leaned against the table forcing Ty Lee to look up at her. “What an exquisite performance. I can’t wait to see how you’ll top yourself tomorrow.”

Ty Lee caught Y/N’s eyes in the mirror and Y/N knew what she was going to do. 

“Unfortunately, there won’t be a show tomorrow.”

Azula widened her eyes in mock-surprise at Y/N. “Really?”

Ty Lee stood to hang her headband above the mirror. “The universe is giving me strong hints that it’s time for a career change. I want to join you on your mission.”

And that’s when it all clicked for Y/N. That net being set on fire and the animals being released wasn’t about killing Ty Lee. Sure, it would have killed her if she had fallen, but the real motive behind it all was worse. 

She could tell by the smirk on Azula’s face that she had gotten exactly what she wanted. Because during Ty Lee’s show, Azula was putting on her own. She was displaying the power she held over them. Telling them without so many words what would happen if they proved disloyal, or stepped out of line. She was in control. And suddenly, Y/N was very fearful of her friend; even as she allowed herself to be pulled into a hug. 

“Let’s go get Mai.” Azula tucked a stray hair behind Y/N’s ear and nodded at them to follow her out of the tent and back to the carriage. 

----

Azula made the carriage take them back to the ship that night. The mountain roads were too small for a carriage as large as theirs to carry them to Omashu, where Mai’s father governed and they needed to dock the ship at the city’s port. This time, Azula entered on a palanquin. Ty Lee and Y/N marched behind it as they entered the palace grounds. 

“Please tell me you’re here to kill me.” Mai bowed to Azula as they approached. She looked at Azula seriously, before smiling and laughing. 

“It’s good to see you too, Mai,” Azula confessed. 

Ty Lee rushed past both of them to hug Mai. When Y/N could tell that the hug had lasted long enough for Mai, she gently pulled Ty Lee off and replaced her. 

“I thought you ran off and joined the circus?” Mai asked Ty Lee. “You said it was your calling.”

Ty Lee smiled brightly. “Well, Azula called a little louder.” 

“And you–” Mai gripped Y/N’s bicep. “Swinging that stupid sword must be all you do. You’re built like a guard.” A comment like that coming from anyone else might have offended Y/N, but from Mai she knew what it really meant–you’re still in one piece. 

Mai was quick to join their team. Y/N knew from letters that Mai was bored with Omashu, and this was a perfect opportunity to get out from underneath her parents. 

“You guys came at the right time,” Mai said as they entered the palace. “My brother was kidnapped by the resistance last night.”

“Oh no!” Ty Lee gasped. 

“Why would they take Tom-Tom?” Y/N asked. There had to be a motive behind kidnapping a baby. Omashu might have been taken over by the Fire Nation but surely the people here wouldn’t resort to anything...murder-y just for their city back. He was just a baby! 

Mai looked back at her and Y/N noticed dark circles under her eyes she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t sleep at all last night knowing someone had her brother. “We don’t know.”

As she led the three of them to the throne room where Ukano and Michi were waiting, she caught them up on everything they needed to know. The room smelled like dust, clearly sitting unused since the governor took over the city. The three girls, as well as Mai’s parent’s knelt on pillows as Azula ascended to the throne. 

They all bowed before sitting up. Mai continued, “We’ve offered up an exchange; we sent a messenger hawk last night. We have Omashu’s King in the prison–Bumi.”

Azula turned to Ukano. “I’m so sorry to hear about your son. But really, what did you expect by just letting all the citizens leave?” She clasped her hands together and crossed her legs. Y/N noticed she didn’t look sorry at all; her face was cold, angry even. 

“Princess–” Ukano bowed his head respectfully. 

“My father has trusted you with this city, and you’re making a mess of things.” She stepped down from the throne and the girls all rose to meet her. “Mai will handle the hostage trade so you don’t have the chance to mess it up. And there is no more Omashu.” Azula growled. “I’m renaming it in honor of my father. The city of New Ozai!” She strode out of the room with all three of them on her heels. All three of them ignored the tears in Michi’s eyes.

They met on the landing of a construction project. Looking up, Y/N could see what it was. It was a giant statue of Ozai. It was mostly covered in scaffolding but Y/N still shuddered just looking at it. Though this Ozai was made of stone, the eyes were the same, cold and dead. Mai took the lead flanked to left with her and Azula, the right with Ty Lee. 

Even from a distance Y/N could tell that these weren’t members of any resistance. They were kids, probably her age, but maybe younger. Two were wearing Water Tribe blue–the boy in the middle though–was wearing yellow and orange. Y/N had never seen anyone wear those colors before. She could hear Azula hum thoughtfully next to her. 

A crane from above lowered the metal box that held former King Bumi. Y/N noticed he seemed rather chipper for being locked in a metal coffin with only his head sticking out. 

“You brought my brother?” Mai asked. Her low, raspy voice carried over the distance between them. 

“He’s here. We’re ready to trade,” The one in orange answered.

Azula turned to Mai. “I’m sorry, but a thought just occurred to me. Do you mind?”

Mai tensed. “Of course not, Princess Azula.”

“We’re trading a two-year-old for a king. A powerful, earthbending king. It just doesn’t seem like a fair trade, does it?”

Mai’s eyes narrowed, searching over every inch of Azula’s face. Her jaw tightened and slowly she turned to look back at the ‘resistance’ members. “You’re right. The deal’s off.”

Ty Lee and Y/N shared a look. What was Mai thinking? This was her brother. 

As King Bumi was once again lifted into the air, the boy in orange ran towards them, a swirling mass of dirt trailing him. Azula stepped out and threw a ball of fire at him. Or at least where he should have been. He jumped and then flew? high above them, floating on air currents with his staff that was now a glider. He was an airbender. 

“The Avatar!” Azula exclaimed. “My lucky day.” As Azula took off after the Avatar, Y/N ran to the Water Tribesmen, Ty Lee and Mai hot on her tail. She drew her sword and cut an ice dagger in half that the girl threw at her head. She ducked a rope of water and slipped past the waterbender, leaving Mai and Ty Lee to take care of her. Y/N was going to get Tom-Tom. 

The Watertribe boy was furiously blowing on a silent whistle and trying to wrangle the squirming baby in his arms. He turned and ran but tripped over a loose board and slid backwards to the edge. Y/N was nearly there, her fingers inches from grabbing the baby when something wet wrapped around her ankle like seaweed and pulled her hard in the opposite direction. She hit her chin on the wooden boards and lost her grip on her sword which skittered away helplessly over the edge and down to the ground. 

She kicked out but there was nothing for her foot to hit. The waterbender had grabbed her foot with a water rope to stop her and went back to fighting Mai and Ty Lee. She had her hands full with them, dodging chi blocks and blocking knives so she was protective of the boy–loyal to him. Her brother. Use it. A voice in Y/N’s head that sounded too much like Azula’s told her.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the sting of her chin and slid down the ladder just as the Water Tribe boy had done seconds earlier. 

He stood at the bottom looking to the air like he was waiting for something. He watched her come near but didn’t move. That’s when she saw her sword laying a few feet away. He saw her see it at the same time. 

They both rushed to it. Y/N grabbed the hilt but couldn’t pull away. He’d crossed his club over it holding the blade down.

 “Don’t.”

“Then I won’t.” She kicked his club away and pulled her blade back. They both backstepped giving each other space. She held her hand out to him. “ I just want the baby.” 

“Not a chance.” His bright blue eyes watched her every move. He shifted Tom-Tom on his hip.

“Please, it’s my friend’s brother. What would you do if this was your sister?”

“Don’t talk about her!” He shouted. But Y/N didn’t miss his eyes flicker to the platform. 

“I can talk to Princess Azula. I can tell her to make the deal. Bumi for Tom-Tom. Just trust me.”

“Trust you?” he echoed. Then he laughed. Y/N didn’t get to ask him what he was laughing about because she was suddenly hit with something large in the ribs and thrown under the scaffolding. She grunted as she sat up and crawled through the broken beams she was thrown through. In the sky was a flying bison.

“Damn it.” 

After climbing back up the ladder, Y/N and her friends met in the middle of the platform, Azula nowhere in sight. 

Y/N shook her head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get Tom-Tom.”

Mai massaged a bruised wrist and shrugged. 

“But why would Azula cancel the deal?” Ty Lee asked. “We want Tom-Tom back just as much as they wanted King Bumi!”

“Azula didn’t,” Mai spat. 

Y/N sighed. “Why’d you let her do it, Mai?”

“You know why.”

“It’s not fair.” Ty Lee slung an arm around Mai’s waist. Y/N mirrored her on the other side. They walked back to the palace in silence. Nothing needed to be said, they knew what one another were thinking. 

----

“We have a third target now,” Azula announced from inside the palanquin as they marched out of the city. “We’re going after the Avatar.” 

“Ooh, I’d like to see that cute Water Tribe boy again, wouldn’t you?” Ty Lee nudged Y/N in the ribs with her pointy elbow. Y/N smiled, he was pretty cute, she thought to herself. 

Her smile grew to a grin. “Yeah, but I bet Mai’s more excited to see Zuko.” Y/N poked Mai in the arm and watched the girl who tried her hardest not to show her emotions flushed a deep red. 

Ty Lee and Y/N fell into a fit of giggles. Y/N missed her friends.

Taglist: @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ , @myexgirlfriendisthemoon​ , @astroninaaa​

A/N: if you’re getting vibes that Azula likes Y/N more than a friend, you are right ;) AND HEY we finally meet the gaang!! Y/N thinks Sokka’s cute!! Sokka hates her Fire Nation guts!! 

Like & reblog!! ❤️If you would like to be added to the taglist please shoot me a message or ask! 

[ikeromantic]

Loyalty

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic. This scene occurs at the start of Ch. 10 it the main route. Alternately titled Taking Out the Trash. Approx. 2300 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Right

Evening fell in a grey hush. At least to Mitsuhide’s eyes, though his vision was grainy, blurred at the edges. He couldn’t trust the little spots of color that blossomed in halos around candles and lanterns. There were no such lights in this abandoned warehouse. Only what came from the setting sun, and the rising moon and stars. 

“My lord, our forces are in place. Scouts indicate the monks have retreated beyond Honno-ji - should we bring them in?”

“No. They are unimportant. What of the Oda vassals? Nobunaga? Any movement?” Mitsuhide’s voice betrayed nothing of his exhaustion. It sounded cold and distant in his ears. 

The warrior nodded. “What is your command?”

“Tell them to hold. I will give the signal to move in after full dark.” He watched the warrior run off to pass the message on to the Imagawa, and the rag-tag militia Yoshiaki had conscripted for this attack. 

Mitsuhide stood, stretching. His joints popped and his bones creaked. Every aging bruise felt fresh, sending a pulsing ache through his body. He made no sound as he forced himself to prepare for the coming fight. There were so many variables. So many points where it could all fall apart. 

Outside, the grey faded to a dark blue, the depth swimming with tiny white stars. The moon sat above the horizon, fat and round and full. Men in armor whispered in alleyways and shadows, voices lost in the cold night breeze. There were no other sounds. No chirping crickets or hunting owls. 

Mitsuhide left his warehouse, signaling to the men that now, now it was time. He drew his sword, stilling the trembling of his hands. Just a little more. 

He rushed forward, silent as he covered the ground between himself and Honno-ji. Behind him, his troops also ran, their steps a wild drumbeat. The next few breaths were chaos. The flash of blades in moonlight, violent exhalation as men breathed their last, and the savage of shouts of men in blood-lust.

On the balcony above them, Mitsuhide made out a shape. Someone standing at the railing, looking down. Despite the darkness, he knew it was her. His little one. Watching. He had not wanted her to be here, but now, somehow, it felt right to him that she was. That she witness this moment.

The kitsune warlord avoided the door guards and the smattering of vassals between himself and the large inner chamber where he knew Nobunaga would make his stand. Behind him, Yoshiaki’s vassals crowded into the halls, keeping track of Mitsuhide’s movements to be certain he could not betray their lord. It might have made him laugh, if he had breath for it.

He heard more than saw Hideyoshi charge out to meet Yoshimoto and the Imagawa at the main doors of the temple. It was impossible not to recognize his voice, even in this pandemonium. That should hold most of the conscripts and mercenaries. Mitsuhide chanced a look back to make sure the shogun’s men were still following. They hadn’t lost any ground, and better, it seemed they’d summoned their lord now that victory was imminent.

“My liege! Nobunaga is this way,” Mitsuhide called, motioning Yoshiaki toward him. Then he turned back, leapt up the narrow stairway, and kicked in the door. 

His calculated melodramatics had the desired effect on everyone but Nobunaga. Yoshiaki’s vassals filed into the room, cocky and self assured. And the shogun himself followed. 

Mitsuhide’s gaze pulled toward the woman at Nobunaga’s side, but he refused to let them rest on her. He could see enough. She was safe. Unhurt. So far. The kitsune warlord forced his eyes to his target. “It’s been a while, Nobunaga.” 

There was nothing but confidence in those carnelian eyes as Nobunaga greeted him. 

Yoshiaki strode into the room, his soldiers moving aside to make way. “I hope the great fool of Owari is not too foolish to realize when he is bested.” 

“Oh? As opposed to you who was too foolish to realize all the times I called you an idiot to your face?” Nobunaga’s left brow rose as his lips turned up in a mocking grin.

“He’s trying to be funny, I see.” Yoshiaki’s mouth twisted with distaste as his vassals all gave a forced laugh. 

Mitsuhide kept his expression cold, and added his own polite chuckle to the shogun’s words. He had to hold to his role a while longer yet, no matter how plainly distasteful. He caught sight of his little mouse sticking out her tongue - and for a breath his laughter was genuine. Only she would make such a face at a shogun. Only she would have so little a care for her own safety. 

Finished with his failed word games, Ashikaga turned to Mitsuhide. “Go now and finish the job. Just . . . don’t get any blood on my robes.” He swept a hand over the fine embroidered silk, as if suddenly realizing battle was a messy affair.

“As you wish, your excellency.” Mitsuhide gave a slight bow. It gave him a moment to check his composure. It seemed there were no bounds to Yoshiaki’s arrogance nor his ridiculous demands. What a sad creature, he thought. To be such a useless creature and to still be so certain of your own importance. 

He held his sword toward Nobunaga, preparing to strike. One of the Oda guards launched himself forward, intent on defending his lord. 

And as if Mitsuhide had scripted the moment himself, the other guard lunged, plunging his sword into the defender’s back. Revealing himself as the traitor embedded in the Oda forces, the hidden blade Mitsuhide’s spies had been unable to identify. How fortuitous. 

Dying, the guard turned to his friend, stumbling against him. “Why? Why -” did you kill me - the words died in a rattling breath.

The other guard shoved the body to the floor, his expression one of triumph. “I fooled you all! My life and my loyalty have always belonged to the shogun!” He turned to Nobunaga. “This is the end for you.”

The Ashikaga vassals pressed in close, grabbing Nobunaga’s arms and forcing him down in front of Yoshiaki. 

Mitsuhide surreptitiously watched his little one, making sure she stayed clear of the violence. She didn’t look afraid, even now. Just shocked and angry. Some of the soldiers grabbed her and held her down. Seeing them handle her like that made his jaw clench. If she had a single bruise, he thought, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his hilt tightly. 

“Mitsuhide,” Yoshiaki called. “Remove the Devil King’s head from his neck and offer it to me as a gift of your loyalty.” 

And now he had his opening. The moment he’d hoped this farce would provide. Mitsuhide smiled his knife-sharp smile. He advanced, the sharp edge of his sword gleaming in the pale moonlight. Then he struck. His blade bit into the fine, embroidered silk of the shogun’s clothes and parted the flesh of his chest and belly just as easily. But with Mitsuhide’s fading strength, the strike was not a killing blow.

Ashikaga stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. He held a hand to his stomach and then pulled it away, staring at the crimson smear in confusion.

“Dearest me,” Mitsuhide’s grin widened. His golden eyes shone. “How clumsy I am.” He lifted his sword for another attack. “I meant that to be a killing blow. It looks, well, it looks quite painful.” 

The shogun’s vassals flung themselves between Mitsuhide and Yoshiaki, ready to spend their lives to keep their lord safe. But they were too slow. 

Fighting through his fatigue, Mitsuhide dodged behind the flailing shogun and forced the man to his knees. He brought his sword to Ashikaga’s throat. “I wouldn’t make another move, were I you. It might startle me into cutting right through his throat.”

He could see behind the men, his little mouse standing up. She straightened her clothes and shot him a proud smile. It felt so good to see her look at him like that. As if he were a hero.

Yoshiaki trembled, though Mitsuhide could not be sure if it was fear or anger. “You - you can’t betray me! Not here! You’ve - you’ve gone mad!”

Mitsuhide laughed. “Well, you are right about one thing. I can’t betray you. I was never loyal to you.” He pressed his knee into the shogun’s back, forcing him to lean forward, into the sharp edge. “I am loyal to my ideals alone.”

Nobunaga began to laugh. “And that is why you are my left-hand.” He stood and straightened his clothes, sauntering over to where Mitsuhide held the shogun.

“My liege.” Mitsuhide nodded to him. 

“You base, vile, traitorous dog!” Yoshiaki’s voice was shaking. “D-don’t you know the penalty for laying a hand on me is ruin?” He turned his gaze to Nobunaga. “You may think you control things, you foul upstart, but I am still shogun! You will lose everything for this!”

“Oh, I think not. Nobunaga will retain his good standing with the court.” Mitsuhide tugged Ashikaga’s head back so that the shogun was forced to look up at him. “You see, it will be I, Mitsuhide Akechi - traitor - who is guilty of your murder.”

Nobunaga shook his head. “I should have known that was why you arranged this theater. You sly kitsune.” 

“That’s why you never told anyone what you were up to. So only you would be found guilty . . .” His little mouse spoke up from where she stood, just out of reach. Her expression was troubled. 

Mitsuhide met her gaze, wishing he could tell her how difficult it had been to hold to this path. How he’d wanted to share his burden with her, and yet, never wanted his misdeeds to sully her. How even now he wanted to put this behind him and take her away from here. But even if he could tell her these things, such wishes were meaningless.

“Are you saying you had this all planned? That you expected my messenger?” Yoshiaki swallowed carefully past the sharp edge of Mitsuhide’s sword. 

The kitsune warlord smiled down at him menacingly. 

“E-even if you kill me, none of you will survive. My army will sweep in here and slaughter all of you.”

Nobunaga glanced down from the balcony as if remembering something. The chatelaine’s gaze followed and even Mitshide found himself looking that direction. 

Out from the dark road, armor glinting coldly, there came a sound of a thousand men shouting.

“Wha- what is that,” Yoshiaki tried to turn himself to see.

Above the roar of voices, one stood out. “Is this where the traitor Mitsuhide Akechi has hidden?” 

“Masamune?” The chatelaine said softly, her eyes going wide.

Ashikaga sputtered. “You- you brought an army to Kyoto? How do you expect to get away with that? The court-”

“Will know that the Oda forces came here in search of that vile traitor, Akechi,” Nobunaga interrupted. “And if they happen across allies under attack, no one would blame them for offering assistance.” He smiled. “Now do you understand?”

Mitsuhide felt a moment of genuine respect for Nobunaga. He couldn’t have crafted a better response himself. He removed his sword from the shogun’s throat and kicked him forward. He was ready to be finished with this. “Now, your excellency, it is time for you to gracefully die.” 

His sword arced through the thin, cold air. And came down hard enough to part bone. But it was Ashikaga’s vassal that took the hit, leaping forward to use his body as a shield. What a bother, Mitsuhide thought. That such an arrogant ass could still hold sway over otherwise good men.

“Quickly, peasants! Guard me!” Yoshiaki crawled toward them, letting his men form a human wall.

Mitsuhide stepped forward, intent on finishing the job. The shogun could not leave here alive tonight. But he stopped, turning back to Nobunaga.

“Go after them,” Nobunaga urged.

“Yes - but first, the chatelaine -” he gestured toward his little mouse. “She should be taken somewhere safe-”

Nobunaga pushed her forward gently. “Go with Mitsuhide. You are ordered to stay by his side at all times.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe I should hide instead of getting in Mitsuhide’s way?”

Mitsuhide nodded, glad she said something sensible when he was slow to respond. 

“You will obey.” The command was unmistakable. “Further, when the battle has ended you will bring Mitsuhide back to Azuchi.” He arched one dark eyebrow as if daring her to make him repeat himself.

She turned to Mitsuhide with a wicked smile. “Alright. You can count on me. I promise, I won’t ever leave Mitsuhide’s side again.” She reached out and took his hand, not seeming to mind the sticky, drying blood or the cold sweat on his skin. 

Mitsuhide was torn. These were words his heart yearned to hear and yet - this was not the time or the place. This was a battle and she, and she could not be at his side, where all swords would be turned against her. He tried to say so, to speak reason, but his throat would not let a word pass. 

“Your response,” Nobunaga pressed.

Her hand was so warm in his. Mitsuhide could not let go. It was too late for that. “If my lord commands it,” he said softly. The words were barely audible. And yet, he found himself smiling.

Next: Not An End

[ilguna]

Anteric - Aleatory (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. BLOOD.

wc; 4.6k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

In the ceremony room, factions are arranged in concentric circles. On the very outside circle is where you’ll be standing with the rest of the sixteen year-olds from every faction. Since you’re not an actual member from Abnegation, you’re not allowed to sit with them during the ceremony. It doesn’t matter if you intend to stay with them or not.

What you choose today will make you an initiate, and if you complete initiation, you become a member. While some factions are difficult to get into, like Erudite, Candor and Dauntless, others are much easier, like Abnegation and Amity. Which narrows down today’s choice.

You and the rest of the teenagers here, move around to put yourselves in alphabetical order according to your last names. It lands you between a Candor boy, dressed in black and a white. And a Dauntless girl, dressed only in black, playing with the piercing in her nose. Finnick is further down the list, since his name starts with ‘O’, this means that you’ll get to choose before him.

In the next circle are rows of chairs for your families, with each faction divided into slices to avoid inter-mingling. You watch as Reed brings Alyssum to a single chair, not wanting her to occupy another since she’s only three. He sits down, and places her right on his lap, letting her play with the sleeves of her shirt. Even with kids, they have to wear clothes that are too big for them. Reed says that she’ll grow into them as she gets older.

Because the responsibility of hosting the Choosing Ceremony rotates every year, it falls on Candor this time. Their leader is a tall man with dark hair and dull grey eyes. Haymitch Abernathy looks as bored as he does each time he appears anywhere. He stands on a podium that fits tightly between Erudite and Dauntless. He doesn’t smile.

As the chairs fill, silence begins to settle on the factions, with the exception of Dauntless. Once there’s not a single space left, they take the hint on their own, and allow Haymitch to go on with the ceremony. 

You curl your hands into fists at your sides, staring at the back of Reed’s head.

Haymitch’s voice is very monotone, “Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony, the day we honor the democratic philosophy given to us by our ancestors. Let us say thank you for allowing them to give us the idea that every man has a right to choose his own way in the world.”

It’s mostly the Abnegation that murmurs out a quiet ‘thanks’. You keep your lips sealed, unlike everyone in this room, who had been told what they should go do, you’re left to your own thoughts. You actually get to make the choice on how you live the rest of your life. Three different factions, three different lifestyles. Only one of which you are familiar with. 

Which is why you should stick to Abnegation.

“Our children are now sixteen. They are on the edge of adulthood, which means that it’s now time for them to decide what kind of people they will decide to be. A long time ago, our ancestors realized that politics, religion, race and nationalism are not to blame for the awful world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of a human’s nature to go towards evil. 

“Since evil presents itself in many different ways, factions were formed to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world’s disarray.” Haymitch pauses for a moment, “Those who blamed aggression formed Amity.” 

Amity, a faction that already has someone from your family. Yet, you don’t qualify for it like he does.

The Amity share smiles, dressed in yellow, orange and red to trick their minds into being happier. They sing songs, pick apples from trees, and live in healthy communities. They are loving, and care-free and kind, everything that you’re not, since you picked up the knife and eliminated this option. You chose violence over peace without knowing what it represented. 

“Those who blamed ignorance became the Erudite.”

With how Erudite has been behaving recently, they’ve made it easy for you to turn your back to them. It’s the easiest decision that you’ve made all day, and it really says something, doesn’t it?

They all hold one article of blue clothing, since blue is supposed to soothe the mind into being calm. Most of them also wear glasses, to make themselves seem smarter to others. You think it makes them look stupid.

“Those who blamed duplicity created Candor,” Haymitch’s lips turn up slightly, creating just the ghost of a smile.

Even if you had wanted to join Candor, it’s not an option. They don’t lie, and their initiation process has something to do with that, you’re sure. They can pick out liars, and they think keeping secrets is a form of lying. Since you’re Divergent, the entire faction is a hazard to you.

They wear black and white, to signify that truth and lies are black and white, with no grey area offered. They are also the people who smoke the most, you think it’s because of the stress that they endure.

“Those who blamed selfishness made Abnegation.”

Your home, you’ve grown up in this faction for sixteen years, and you’ve been selfishly debating whether or not you’ll stay. In Abnegation, you’re supposed to forget yourself, but all it’s done is magnify the things you hate the most about it. 

If you made an effort and stayed, you might be able to change that thought. You just have to give it a chance. You have to give Reed a second chance.

“And those who blamed cowardice were the Dauntless.”

Dauntless is dressed in solid black, tight-fitting clothes. They have piercings, brightly-colored hair and tattoos. They’re loud, and reckless, which makes them the complete opposite of Abnegation. If you were to give your life away today and go to them, you’d flip your world upside-down. 

Not to mention how hard their initiation is, going there is much more of a risk than trying to stay here and fix everything broken. At least you know how to make things work in Abnegation, there’s not even a guarantee that you’ll make it past Dauntless initiation.

“Working together, these five factions have lived in peace for decades. Each faction is important, as they contribute to a different sector of society. The Abnegation gives us selfless leaders in our government. Candor has provided us with trustworthy leaders in law. Erudite has supplied us with intelligent teachers and outstanding technology. Amity has given us understanding counselors and caretakers. Dauntless provides us with protection from threats both inside and outside of the walls.

“But the possibilities of each faction do not end there. We give one another more support than we can put into words. In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life.” Haymitch pauses, “A life without factions, is a life we would not survive in.”

The last sentence is an attack on the factionless, who are supposed to be savages. You can see where they’re all coming from, even though for a while you didn’t. You’ve seen what the factionless can do first-hand, how they killed your father in an act of kindness. And now they’re hiding a murderer, refusing to give him up.

Without them, though, the city would not be clean and well-functioning. They’re the janitors, the garbage truck drivers, the construction workers, and more. They help your society in ways that you can’t even think of. 

It might be time for you to finally let the grudge go. It might have only been a few years ago, but all of them can’t be bad, right? If that were the case, then they’d be just as awful as everyone says they are. Yet, the Abnegation continues to feed them, and clothe them, and volunteer over them to give them better living situations.

If you stay in Abnegation, this is a concept that you have to accept.

“This day marks a happy occasion, in which we receive our new initiatives, who will work with us toward a better society, and a better world.” Haymitch finishes, allowing loud applause to come from your families.

He reads the names one at a time. A sixteen year-old will step out of their place in the line and walk toward the middle of the circles. This is where five metal bowls lay, each one having an element that represents a faction. For Abnegation, there are grey stones, Amity has soil, Candor has broken glass, Dauntless has lit coals, and Erudite has water.

For a while, no one switches factions, and you can’t blame them, to be the first to do it must be nerve-wrecking. Then the streak breaks, when an Erudite girl transfers to Candor. The Erudite section isn’t happy, casting glares towards Candor, but Candor gives her smiles and nods on her way behind their section.

You think it’s funny that the two factions don’t realize how similar they are. Candor and Erudite both find ways to disturb the peace. In a way, telling the truth and striving for knowledge at any cost is the same. You wouldn’t be surprised if you saw them swap many initiates.

Still, with the girl transferring, it means that she’ll eventually be seen as a traitor to Erudite. It doesn’t make sense, since you said so yourself, you aren’t actual members of the faction that you come from. It doesn’t keep the factions from being territorial over the teenagers that they thought would be theirs, though.

With the Erudite girl being the first to switch, it gives others the courage to do the same. Each faction welcomes new faces and fresh blood, and the initiates seem to be happy with their decision once it’s over with. With the way they sigh and smile, it’s like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders.

Before you realize, the Candor boy next to you is being called to the middle of the room. You grit your teeth, allowing the tight feeling to grow in your throat. You have to take deep breaths if you want to stay calm. You don’t need to clam up down there, you need to have one fluid motion when you choose if you go or stay.

The Candor boy cuts his hand, and holds it over Erudite’s water. Haymitch gives him a brief look, allowing him to clear the middle of the room before reading the next name, yours.

“(Y/n) Gallows.” 

His eyes land on you now, you take in a deep breath before heading down the steps one at a time. You know that Reed’s eyes are on you, anticipating your next move. The last time the two of you went to a Choosing Ceremony, your brother had ended up transferring to Amity. Reed has to be wondering if you’ll be a repeat of him.

If you do, you’ll leave him all alone. 

You’re not sure if you can do that, even after everything that happened between you two, and between you and Abnegation. You might have lost everything you have here, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to build it up again. You can make Abnegation how you want it to be, only if you stay.

You stop in front of the metal bowls, eyes sweeping over the table. The elements inside of the bowls are all stained in some way by now. Erudite’s water is pink, Candor’s glass shows red, Abnegation’s stones have droplets of blood littering them like freckles. The only two unbothered will be Dauntless and Amity.

Haymitch offers you the knife, it will only be used once, and it will only be used by you. He gives you a curt nod, and you’re left to decide by yourself. The knife you hold in your hand now is nowhere near as heavy as the one you held in the aptitude test. This one is lighter, and sharper.

You bring the blade to your palm, carefully dragging it across. It stings badly, and you grit your teeth to combat the tears in the corner of your eyes. The blood springs to life outside of your body, showing the rich color. You stare at it for a second as you shift your body to the left, where Abnegation and Dauntless lie. 

You are not cut out for Amity, you are too mean. You are not cut out for Candor, you are a liar. And you are too smart for Erudite to have.

The blood needs time to pool, giving you more time to think.

If you leave Abnegation today, you will leave Reed alone with Alyssum. Alyssum will have no older sister, Reed will have no one to take care of her. She’ll grow up the same way you did, in silence without a single mention of Mox. This time, you’ll be added to the list.

If you leave Abnegation today, you will no longer have the comfort of knowing that you’ll be able to pass initiation. Dauntless is not Abnegation, their initiation process could be living hell. While on the other hand, you could volunteer for thirty days and officially call yourself a member after Initiation Day. There will be no fear at night. 

If you leave Abnegation, you will leave everyone you know behind. People that you could rely on in hard times. You will have to learn new faces, names and mannerisms. You won’t get to meet people who knew your parents, already offering up stories about them without you asking. No one will know where you came from.

The only problem with staying in Abnegation, is that you run the risk of losing your best friend. Finnick hates it here, he always has. He doesn’t fit in, he fights, and you’ve watched him do it. He’s been waiting years for the Choosing Ceremony just so that he can switch factions and find a place better for him.

However, that’s the only downfall you’re seeing with staying.

You know that Abnegation isn’t perfect, that there are many issues you have with the faction, but all of them can be fixed if you stay. All of them can be fixed with time, especially the ones concerning Reed. If you go, though, none of it will be possible, and you risk losing what relationship you have left with him.

You have to remember that you have the aptitude to stay. You’re not an outcast, not in Abnegation.

You love Finnick, you really do, he’s just not enough.

You hold your hand over the Abnegation stones, and tip your hand over, allowing your blood to join the rest. A smile comes over your face as you turn to Abnegation, eyes locking with Reed, who gives you a small smile in return. He bounces Alyssum a few times on his knee.

On your way up to stand behind your home faction, you earn a few approving nods. You slip your hands into your pockets, staring ahead at the center of the room. You know for a fact that your hand is still bleeding, there’s not much you can do to fix it, is the thing. You could always wipe it on your shirt, but that would draw attention to you.

The Ceremony continues on, not a lot of people deciding to join Abnegation. It has to be the fault of Erudite, normally Abnegation has a healthy group that they train each year. With every person that leaves the line, the closer Finnick’s turn draws. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling nervous for him.

“Finnick Odair.” Haymitch calls.

Finnick leaves his place in line, heading down the stairs fluidly. Haymitch hands the knife over to him, gives him a nod, and then observes. Finnick turns to the Abnegation and Dauntless bowls on his left, which is no surprise to you. You can already see him in Dauntless black.

He lifts the knife, drags the silver blade across his hand, and patiently waits for the blood to build up. To anyone else, this might look like he’s stalling, to you it seems like he’s trying to make it as excruciating as possible before he transfers. Abnegation is supposed to be a good faction, which is why hardly anyone ever leaves. If he builds up suspense, it’ll make the news a little harder to bear.

You already know what’s coming, though.

Finnick swallows, and then moves his cupped hand over Abnegation.

You hold your breath.

He tilts his hand, allowing the liquid to run down his skin and drop onto the stones below. 

What is he thinking?

Finnick turns around, injured hand diving into his pocket in an effort to hide the mess he’s made. You begin to feel lightheaded, so you’re forced to let out the air you were holding. Without so much of a glance at you, he stops to your right. 

Your eyebrows draw in, mouth open slightly when you reach out to touch his arm to catch his attention. It works, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, and you shake your head at him, because you don’t understand. He hates it here, why would he want to stay? Why didn’t he take his chance to leave?

He doesn’t speak, only gives you a gentle smile before turning back to the Choosing Ceremony.

—

—

As you expected, Abnegation initiation didn’t even come close to being hard. Volunteering for thirty days is the equivalent to walking in a park. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t make it through. You would have had to make an effort to fail, which says a lot about the program.

It wasn’t easy in the beginning, you won’t lie. You were more used to small acts of kindness, by giving up your seat on the bus and making dinner even when it wasn’t your turn. That was not the case when it came to the actual initiation, though. You’ve spent hours in the sun, feeding the factionless. You’ve labored in the kitchen in order to fill a quota for food that needed to be handed out. And you’ve filled in jobs that haven’t been taken by the factionless, and so much more.

There were a couple points in time where you were sure that Finnick was going to burst the bubble that he had worked so hard to form. It only furthered the idea that Finnick was not cut out for Abnegation, and he had only stayed because he wanted to be around you. But then he’d bounce back, and you’d be unsure about it again.

You two made it though. The journey was far from easy, yet the two of you sit side by side on the bench in the initiation room. You have your hands in your lap, Finnick has his placed on each side to him, leaning forward slightly. To your right is a transfer initiate, Verda, who didn’t have any problem with fitting in.

In front of you are a few of the leaders of Dauntless, one of them being Naida’s husband, Amon. For the Abnegation-born initiates, like you and Finnick and a few others, your families are also gathered together, behind the leaders. They’re all smiling, excited for you.

The oldest leader that Abnegation has, clears his throat, looking over the bench. This year, no one had failed initiation, which means that all of you are basically touching shoulders because the bench isn’t big enough. They would add another one, if it weren’t for the fact that the bench has been here for a long time. The new bench wouldn’t have the same wear and tear as the rest.

“I will be my undoing, if I become my obsession,” the man starts. It’s the Abnegation manifesto, part of the initiation ceremony, “I will forget the ones I love, if I do not serve them. I will war with others, if I refuse to see them. Therefore I choose to turn away from my reflection, to not rely on myself, but on my brothers and sisters. To project always outward until I disappear.”

There are a few people who mutter, “And only God remains.” after the final sentence. It’s an optional sentence, mostly spoken by the religious members of Abnegation. It’s not a requirement by any means.

The leader that had been reciting, gives you all a gentle smile, “Congratulations initiates, tomorrow you can officially call yourselves members.”

No one responds at first, not even the ones that were born here. They must not have older siblings that live here, because silence is not the answer. You know for a fact that Finnick has a younger brother.

“Thank you.” you say, breaking the silence.

“Thank you.” Finnick breathes.

One by one, some overlapping others, each of you thank him.

After that, your least favorite part comes.

During Reed’s Abnegation initiation, there were three parts to it. The first, is to read the Abnegation manifesto, which is about forgetting yourself and knowing the dangers of selfishness. The second, is getting your feet washed by the older members to symbolize leaving a life of selfishness behind. And the third is to then share a dinner with everyone in attendance, serving the person to your left.

Obviously you can understand why they will wash your feet, but it’s not exactly a comfortable situation. If you were born in Abnegation, you’ll typically get your parents--and in your case, since they’re not here, you will be getting Reed--or if you transferred, you get a leader or a volunteer instead.

If you could back out, you would. The last thing you want is for Reed to wash your feet, especially since your relationship isn’t exactly healed just yet. You’re on the road to getting there, but there is a long way to go still.

Still, you watch as parents, siblings, leaders and volunteers alike bring out glass bowls, placing them at your feet. Finnick gives you a look, face twisting. You’ve already told him that it was going to happen, so he could prepare himself. He must’ve forgotten, because you’ve been having nightmares of this situation this past week.

Reed gets on his knees in front of you, pouring the water into the bowl. He sits back, and then holds a hand out for your foot. You give him a polite smile, allowing him to get it over with. For Finnick, his father sits in front of him, taking his time washing Finnick’s feet.

Finnick looks extremely uncomfortable, stuck between smiling and staring at his father with a straight face. 

Finally, your feet are patted dry with a white towel, and Reed gets up from where he was sitting. Others follow at a steady pace, disposing of their water and washing their hands. 

Then it’s finally time for dinner.

You get up from where you sit on the bench, looking at Finnick with a funny smile. His face is twisted, lips pursed as he gets up from his spot. He closes his eyes for a long moment, shakes his head, and the two of you move on to find a free bathroom to wash your hands, shoeless.

Verda, Clay, Moises and a few others follow you two, since you seem to know what you’re doing. They’re right, because you lead them to the gendered bathrooms. They split, going through the swinging doors. You’re about to head into the girls bathroom, thanking Verda for holding open the door, until Finnick asks for you to stay back.

“Oh, sure.” you nod at him, looking at Verda, “I’ll be inside in a moment.”

She gives you a smile, the door sweeps shut behind her.

You raise your eyebrows at Finnick, giving him a smile, “What’s up?”

He makes a face, and then sighs it out, “I want to thank you for sticking with me during initiation. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through.”

“It’s really no problem, Finnick.” you laugh, “I can’t leave you behind, even if I wanted to.”

Finnick cracks a smile, and then it fades. He’s got more on his mind.

“What is it?” you ask, “Are you nervous for dinner?”

“No, dinner will be easy.” he waves it off, “It’s something else.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugs.

You shake your head, settling for a tilt, “I’m not a mindreader, Finnick.”

“I know, it’s just…” he scratches the back of his neck, eyebrows drawing in. He’s not looking at you anymore, he’s staring at the floor, “I like you.”

You stare at him, blinking. When there’s not an immediate response, he finally looks up to your face, scanning for a sense of direction. His face begins to turn red, his ears too. 

He has to be kidding.

“You don’t like me back, okay.” he breathes, straightening to his full height, “That’s good to know.”

“No,” you say, still staring at him. You don’t think he’s kidding anymore, “No, that’s not it.”

Finnick lightens up, “It isn’t?”

You have spent this whole month listening to Verda talk about how cute Finnick is. It started off fine, it didn’t really bother you because you couldn’t see what she was talking about. In Abnegation, physical affection is a powerful thing, which is why it’s so rare, and no one dates during school. Relationships typically form after a long period of time, and after initiation.

But after listening to her talk about him, day in and day out, he was forced to the front of your mind. Not to mention her constant question of whether or not the two of you were dating, a question you tried to shut down. She was so insistent over it, how he would do things for you. As if the entire Abnegation motto isn’t to be selfless and help your neighbor if they need it.

Unfortunately, she began to be right when he would do things for you, that he wouldn’t do for others. Verda wanted to show you that it wasn’t normal, that he was going out of his way for you.

It took everything in your power not to strangle her in her sleep, when she simply stated that he had feelings for you, and it’s the same for you. You’re not sure what Verda did for most of her life in Amity, but some of that stuff doesn’t translate into Abnegation. And with her pointing out your feelings for Finnick, the thoughts of you two together began to crawl.

You thought that it was impossible, though. Finnick has never expressed a liking for any guy or girl. There was a greater chance that he wanted to be alone or with someone else, than you.

Yet here he is. Verda was right.

“I like you too.” you say, the relief on his face is immediate.

“Really?” he begins slouching again, “You’re not just saying that?”

“Really.” you laugh, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead.

He laughs too, his head is back to look at the ceiling.

This is it. You were right to stay in Abnegation, right to think that you could fix what had happened here. You can’t help yourself when you reach for Finnick’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He locks eyes with you, squeezing right back.

This is the first day of the rest of your life.

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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[ashes-and-ashes]

Lightning and Marauders

Draco stares out of the window.

He’s still furious, with Harry and with Dumbledore and the entire fucking Order. He can feel it, rage coiling around his bones, the anger making him feel light-headed. He’d always had an explosive temper, the type that ended up with shattered glasses and holes in walls.

It didn’t work when his father attempted to beat it out of him, but then again, rarely anything worked. He learnt though, over the years, learnt to keep everything contained inside of him, because at least he didn’t cut anyone when he shattered.

With a sigh, Draco stares down at his arm, the ugly brand that couldn’t cover the scars on his wrist. He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about - something small, he was sure, something inconsequential and pathetic. Stress had blown it up, turned it into something so much bigger then it should have been, made him keep pushing, keep arguing until him and Harry were both screaming at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen table.

Of course, he had spat, anger making him feel like he was on fire. Of course you would say that. You’ve always had it easy, being the fucking savior.

Don’t you ever say that again, Harry replied, all hissed words and cold fury. Don’t you ever say that I had it easy. You’re the one on your Malfoy throne, all high and mighty -

You don’t know what they did to me.

What? Harry sneered. Bought you a broomstick and held your hand? Is it to your advantage to switch your side?

Fuck you.

Harry laughed. What did I expect? You’re the son of a Death Eater. Why did I ever think that we could trust you?

Draco had stormed off before he could say those damning words spinning around in the back of his head, echoing the cold words spoken by his father so long ago. You’ll never be enough. You’ve doomed us all.

He couldn’t though, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It would destroy them, that already fragile bond he had with Harry, the small hope of something more. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to risk that.

Draco leans his head against the window, the glass cool against his cheek. The rain cast patterns over his face; he watches the shadows trace against his skin.

He doesn’t know where he is - some tower room in Grimmauld Place. The house was huge, larger then the Manor, all stone and dark wood and huge green drapes. There are tapestries all over the walls, symbols embroidered on them in heavy gold thread; he recognizes a few of them. Whom ever owned this house must have been rich - Charmed Marks were expensive and there were hundreds of them all over the walls.

He sighs, turning his attention back to the scene outside. His head pounds; he lets it drop back against the window frame.

“Done being all melodramatic?”

He can see the barest hint of a reflection in the window, all darkened shapes and blurred lines. He doesn’t bother to turn around though, just shrugs. “It’s my forté. I should go into acting.”

The person lets out a dry chuckle. “Aren’t you a spy? It’s close enough.”

Draco stiffens. “Who told you that?”

“You’re not the only Drama Queen here.”

Draco turns slightly in his seat, just so that he could see the figure standing by the door. He’s tall, hair down to his shoulders and covered with tattoos. There’s a casual sort of elegance to him, the type that Draco had spent most of his life trying to perfect, all careless arrogance and stunning grace.

Charcoal eyes met his; grey, he thinks, just like mine. Draco gets to his feet quickly, leaning back against the wall. He’s learnt that appearing casual made others lower their guard. The man’s quiet chuckle lets him know that his action had not been missed.

“God,” he says, giving him a small smirk. It’s the grin of a younger man, the ghost of something that had long died. “You remind me so much of - “

“Don’t,” Draco says, cutting him off. “Don’t say that I remind you of my father. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? As if I wanted to be some egotistical fanatic - “

The man laughs. “No. I wasn’t going to say that. I get the sense that you aren’t fond of your father though. He was an asshole. A brilliant, conniving asshole but an asshole all the same.”

Draco looks up, startled. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Everyone who knows about Death Eaters, that is.”

Draco flinches. “I - I’m not - “

“Like them? Family bonds can be hard to sever. Just take me for an instance.”

“What do you know?” Draco fires back. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about Pure Blood families. You don’t know what it’s like to be suffocated, to be forced into a mold that doesn’t fit you - “

The man throws back his head and laughs; bitter and amused. “Oh I don’t know, do I? I probably know better then anyone else here, I Draco.”

Draco turns away, willing the tears not to come. “Oh, really?”

The man smirks. “I’m Sirius,” he says. “Sirius Black.”

“Harry’s Godfather.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been known as anything but Traitor.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “I’m a Malfoy,” he says. “Your name was synonymous with Hero back at home.”

“Nice to know I’m still worshipped.” Sirius leans back against the wall. He’s covered in scars, hundreds of them; up his arms and wrapped around his fingers, disappearing under his shirt. Draco thinks of his own back, the smooth, pale skin and shudders. His father was careful - and even Voldemort’s Crucio’s didn’t leave any scars. He didn’t want to think about how bad the pain was to leave so many scars across Sirius’ flesh.

“What do you want?” Draco says, keeping his voice even. “I assume you don’t just want to chat.”

Sirius shrugs. “Harry. You had a fight with him.”

“Why don’t you check in with him?”

“I already did.”

“Did he tell you about how much of a manipulative, lying bastard I was?”

Sirius shakes his head. Draco stares at his forearms, the silver moon tattoos inked onto the skin. They seemed to shimmer, even in the dark room, the edges rippling and fading into the next shape. “He told me all about you, actually. How brave you were. How you’re only 17 and yet you’re spying for a side that will try and execute you if they win this war.”

“What do I have to lose?” Draco whispers. “There’s nothing left for me in this world. I might as well try and - “

“Make it better?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius smiles. “I was actually going to say, before you interrupted me earlier that you remind me a lot of myself. Back when I was younger. You have the same...complete disregard for yourself. Self-destructive tendencies, almost. Because who cares if you burn as long as you’re warming those you love?”

“I - “

Sirius fixes him with that piercing gaze, the one that saw into his soul and stripped him bare. “Jesus, you’re young. I fought in the first War, back when I was 19. I still have nightmares. To do that to innocent kids - I don’t - you’re so - “

“Young?” Draco’s voice was a near-breath. “I’ve already killed 8 people, Sirius. I’m a little too damned to be innocent, don’t you think?”

He stared at his hands, palms up, the light dancing off his fingertips. “I’ve tortured people and been tortured myself. Spying is nothing.”

“True.” Sirius’ voice is light. “But I never knew Lucius would lay a hand on his son.”

Draco’s breath hitched. “What?”

“Don’t what me. My mother was the one hurting me. I know those marks.”

Draco stares down at Sirius’ hands, the tiny scars that flecked his skin. “What are those?”

Sirius’ grin was savage, brutal and cutting and painful. “Crucio.”

“Crucio doesn’t leave marks.”

“When you use it enough it does.”

“I’ve never met someone who knows what it feels like. Besides Harry and myself.”

Sirius blanches at the sound of Harry’s name. “He’s been...”

“Yeah.”

“God.” Sirius drops his head in his hands. “12 years. 12 fucking years I’ll never get back. God, I missed so much.”

“He loves you,” Draco says quietly. “He adores you.”

Sirius looks up. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Draco feels the blood drain from his face, his heart falling to the floor. He takes a deep breathes, holds it, waits until he knew his voice wouldn’t shake. “He’s one of my closest friends.”

Sirius studies him for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “God, you are practically a carbon copy of me.”

“What do you mean?” Draco demands.

Sirius just studies him, his head tilted, those piercing eyes shredding him slowly apart. Draco just grit his teeth, met his gaze.

Finally, Sirius speaks. “I was in love with a boy,” he says, and Draco flinches. “For ages, actually. Since I was 12. He was my best friend.”

“How did you know?” Draco breathes. “That it was love?”

Sirius smiles. “You just know.”

“I don’t though.” Draco looks down, at his feet. “I always hear things, about how love makes you soft, makes you happy, lifts you up and turns you lighter. And I always think what bullshit. Because that’s not what I feel. Not at all.”

“It’s fire,” Sirius says quietly.

“God, it’s more then that. It’s consuming. It scares me, because I’m in a war, and if something happened to him...There’s nothing I wouldn’t do - I’ve switched sides for God’s sake. I’ve damned my soul because of him, I love him that much.”

Sirius just shrugs, head propped up against his han, and Draco thinks again that he looks very, very young. “The only monster made are ones that are in love.”

“And he doesn’t - I don’t even know if he loves me.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh Merlin. Harry most definitely does, Draco.”

“No - “

Sirius cuts him off. “Yes. He does.”

Draco looks down, at his feet. He can feel the weight of Sirius’ gaze against his back, burning into his soul. “Tell me about him,” he says.

Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t know. He was...beautful. All full of light - the steady kind. A candle, compared to the raging flames inside of me - inside of both of us,” he adds. “He never thought he was good enough, but he was better then I ever could be.”

Draco nods. He thinks about Harry - his smiles, his eyes, the way his hair felt when Draco let his hands brush through. The harsh set of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way he laughs, all quicksilver and molten metal, the way Draco’s heart stopped every time they touched. He thinks about how he dropped everything - his family, his title, his home, how he was willing to die just to give Harry a chance and he wonders if he’ll ever have anything like this again.

“Do you regret it?” he asks. “Telling...telling whoever it was?”

Sirius’ holds Draco’s gaze.

“No,” he says, and Draco believes him.

[indianamoonshine]

chapter iii | knightly behavior

summary: every summer you work on your father’s strawberry farm with your three sisters. it’s a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father’s old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become…well, let’s fact it…smitten.

rating: (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author’s note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won’t ever go into physical detail about the reader’s appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone.

You looked upon him in a way that no one had ever looked upon him before.

And it was strange, he thought, because the two of you had been introduced not even twenty-four hours prior. But in your eyes was a subtle enchantment that made Din forget the misfortunes that brought him to the farm in the first place.

You smile politely at him, albeit a bit drunkenly, as he mends your wound. Your foot is propped against his thigh as you sit prettily upon the bathroom counter. Your eyes shine, cheeks rosy with alcohol and adrenaline. The thorn had been removed, but the cut still bled enough to upset Din. When you flinch at the peroxide, he himself grimaces as though he can empathize with your pain.

“I’m surprised I felt it at all,” you say to him as though you’re sheepish from the fall. “With all the vodka and whatnot.”

Din meets your gaze and catches himself staring at your petal-like lips. He forces himself to look away, as much as it burned, but he was far too concerned with your feelings at the gesture.

there was no way you could look at a man such as him the way he looked at you.

Din places a Band-Aid on your foot, sealing it gently, and inspects it once more. “This is a tender part of the body,” he says. He finds himself squeezing you gently in a show of affection he had not expected. He swallows before adding, “-I would be concerned if you didn’t.”

A flash of mischief crosses your face before you tease. “Are you a doctor, Mister Djarin?”

He finds himself chuckling lowly at the question. His answer was quite the opposite, but you needn’t know the true nature of his lot in life. If possible, he’d avoid being transparent in that regard for as long as fate allowed.

“No,” Din finds himself saying. “And you can call me Din.”

A bold choice, but when you embrace with a gentle smile. “My father always told me to refer to my elders with their respective titles.”

You were funny. Witty. Charming to the last. Din found himself growing more fond of you with each passing moment; even in your disheveled state did he think you beautiful.

He mustn’t become attached. You could very easily become ammunition if he weren’t careful. In his pursuit of sound welfare, you had almost become something of a villain; you were making it increasingly difficult to focus on protecting his own interests. In just a few hours, Din felt an unwarranted dedication to you.

He wasn’t comfortable with it.

But he didn’t know how to stop it.

Those of Mandalorian creed did not devote themselves to anyone outside of the order. They hunt and they seek – they survive. And to be senselessly bewitched by someone of such (what he would’ve once considered) little importance was preposterous.

Nonsensical.

Din hadn’t ever been irrational before. Everything was calculated.

Not anymore.

Din tries not to grin, but he can’t bear it. His body is traitorous. “Funny,” he quips. He releases your foot.

You remain silent for a moment, formulating thoughts of whatever it was celestial beings like you did in quietude.

“How did you and my father meet?” you ask after what felt like eons of stillness. “He hasn’t told us very much.”

Din starts to clean up the medical supplies – bits of paper from the Band-Aid and the hydrogen peroxide he had so carefully dabbed upon your skin.

He falters for a moment. While what he was about to say was the truth, it felt dirty. There was more to your father’s past than what you’d have believed and Din knew it wasn’t his place to expose any of it; he would have tread carefully.

“We met when we were teenagers,” he replies.

You let out a messy giggle – like it caught even yourself off guard. You place a hand against your mouth as though to cover the goofy smile. “So when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, then.”

The age-gap hadn’t been lost on Din.

He opens the cabinet very carefully to avoid bumping your head with it. The bathroom was in older shape compared to the rest of the house, so it came as no surprise when the mirror rattled loudly as it opened.

“I was the one who carried you to safety, remember?” Din meets your eyes, hoping you’d find the humor in them.

You do.

“Yes,” you boff. The twitter that escapes your mouth causes his heart to jump to his throat. “And now you’re mending me after a vicious rose bush attack.”

He cracks a grin, though slyly to avoid sharing any bemusement due to your jesting lip. He couldn’t help it; your devilment was far too pleasant to make him scornful.

“Thank you,” you add meekly, but you’re smiling and it’s more than enough gratitude he required.

He wishes to see you smile all the time.

Din’s placed both hands against the counter, consciously ignorant of the space between the two of you. He meant no harm by it – was simply leaning against the sturdiness of the tile. But as you watch him, there was a sense of longing Din hadn’t beheld in quite some time. He tries to avoid it – whatever it may be – by tearing his gaze away from yours and pushing himself off with a casual grunt.

You blink when he separates himself from you, eyes fluttering a bit carelessly, and expression computing back to its neutralness. He does the same, brows raising in panic at the sensation.

“We met while I was camping in Michigan – the UP.” He scratches the back of his head and leans against the wall with arms crossed.

Anything to look complacent.

He finds himself engrossed by the way your ankles cross over one another and how your legs swing. Your dress had threatened to expose the more fragile parts of you, but you were of sound enough mind to eschew that from happening. Had that occurred, Din would’ve punished himself for looking. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but what was that verse in the Christian bible again? “And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.”

Faith didn’t belong in his repertoire, but that particular verse was commonsensical enough to recite.

Over and over again, apparently.

“So you’re from around here then?” you inquire.

“You know that people can visit the Midwest, right?” he remarks.

He was certain you’d simper mockingly – and sure enough, you do. “You’re very bratty for an old man.”

Din takes pride in guessing your responses; it must mean something.

Before he returns, he allows himself to laugh. It’s not full-bodied, but it’s some of the most genuine laughter he’s been able to conjure in quite some time.

“I’m from Chile,” he answers, perfectly amused by your bantering. “I moved here when I was a child.”

He watches as your fingers tap against the tile of the counter. They were well manicured, but cut short, and he guessed that was because you worked with your hands. He respected that – admired it. You clearly come from humble background and trialing youth.

Din could relate to that.

And yet you’re still soft, kind – gracious in your endeavors. And he was not. He was clinical, meticulous in the frayed edges of an odyssey he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue anymore. The two of you were snow and flame, and the old wife’s tale certainly wasn’t true. Opposites don’t attract. Opposites – the grunting, savage neanderthal of the two – are attracted. Someone ripened with softness such as yourself would surely never take rapture in a Neolithic man.

He could dream, of course. And he will.

“That’s very impressive,” you hum, chin raised in speculation.

Din furrows his brows, arms linking themselves around his frame tighter than before. It brought himself a semblance of comfort. For almost all his life, Din was the hunter and never the prey. He was large, foreboding enough to exude the kind of energy the average man could only theorize about, and yet here he stood…before you…

Feeling like the bounty he sought.

“Interesting to have been born in Chile?” he taunts.

Your brows crinkle, nose wiggling a bit to avoid showing your doubtful speculation. It wasn’t a look of disgust – Din was convinced you could never find fault in anyone. Maybe not even him. He hoped for this, anyway.

“No,” you reply. “To be able to keep that information from everyone.”

He shrugs, right brow arching in a show of faux derision. “Who said I was keeping it?” he all but drawled.

Something in his tone must’ve engaged your interest. Maybe you could see right through him; Din couldn’t find himself dumbfounded by the idea. You were smart enough to content with in a war of wit.

He notices how you head tilts in measured consideration. “You’re a very interesting man, Mister Djarin,” you whisper.

A heat flushes him from head to boot. He tears his fixation from the way your eyes swallow him whole – like a boa constrictor might do to a mouse. But he feels no fear for his safety – just his survival.

Because you were going to make this very difficult for him.

|||

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