#like. don't get me wrong. also in a platonic way

[mattslilies]

Sharing - M.S. (ft platonic C.S.)

"yeah, man, it's fine. cmere." or... the one where chris has trouble sleeping, and turns to matt as usual. the only thing different? you're there too. warnings: mentions of sleep paralysis, bit of fear, nothing too crazy. word count: 481 a/n: requested by anon! divider credit to @roseraris! also i think there's been a fic like this, however i don't remember who wrote it, so if anyone knows, pls tag them so the anon who requested it can read another fic like this!

chris slept in matt's bed a lot. probably more than any other brother ever did. you'd never once judged him for it, having just accepted it with kindness. their bond truly was unbreakable and like nothing that you had ever seen, and you were just beginning to see and experience everything that came with it.

you were laying in matt's bed, his arm around your shoulders as some mindless show played on the television across from his bed. you laid your head on his chest, eyes beginning to close as sleep began to take over you.

"what time is it?"

he giggled softly, running a hand through your hair.

"it's about 2:30, baby. go to sleep, you're clearly exhausted."

a yawn followed his words from his mouth as he realized he was also quite tired.

"you should rest too."

your words were slightly muffled as you responded to him, head already drifting off to sleep. he smiled, kissing your forehead before falling asleep as well.

about an hour passed before you awoke, having always been a light sleeper. you looked around for the source of the sound that had woken you up, noticing matt's door open and a figure standing in the doorway. you recognized the stance as chris, and rolled over to shake matt awake.

"wha' happened?"

matt rubbed his eyes as his sleep was disturbed, but blinked at the doorway and realized chris was there.

"what's wrong?"

you stayed quiet, huddled up against matt's body as he spoke. chris stepped a little closer, clearly unsure of himself, anxiety radiating off of him as he moved.

"sleep paralysis. scared the shit outta me."

matt's face turned sympathetic immediately, knowing how horrifying chris' sleep paralysis could get.

"do you wanna sleep in here?"

he looked over to you, and you nodded, giving both of them your approval.

"can i- i mean, is that okay?"

matt nodded, yawning.

"yeah, man, it's fine. cmere."

he slid closer to the middle of the bed, tossing back the covers and waving chris over.

"just close the door, yeah? the light will keep us up."

chris quickly closed it behind him, making his way over to the bed and sliding under the covers, his body immediately curling up against matt's back. his shoulders relaxed, the tenseness in the air surrounding him immediately dissipating as he got comfortable.

you reached over matt, gently grabbing chris' hand for a second, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"i can't imagine how scary that was for you."

he shook his head, lips firmly pressed together, clearly not wanting to speak about it. you took the hint, instead offering him some words of comfort before letting go of his hand, curling up against matt's chest.

"you're always welcome in here with us. get some rest."

he stayed fast asleep the rest of the night, and so did both you and matt.

[bewitched-hours]

So umm I had an idea of reader being like a deity in the past before being forsaken. They knew Telamon and were really good friends and they both meet back in the cabin but not as gods (right because Telamon is now Shedletsky and reader is in their human form or idk how to explain that).

I don't really have a scenario in my head so write whatever you think of :D

And thank you for erlier!

Dear anon, thank you for this delicious meal- If you want, I'll make more of this but then I want to know if you want it platonic or romantic-

Reader's getting She/They, we need more goddesses-

You still remembered...

A past that made your feathers shiver.

Back when you were a goddess... Much too similar to Telamon...

But he eventually disappeared, leaving you to cover for him until you were finally taken in your mortal form.

In a way, you were even grateful to get away from it all. To start anew and make yourself less important.

You even made a couple of friends in this hellish realm! Some better, some worse.

But among your closest was Shedletsky. You saw him as just some silly guy who could bring up the mood with a simple joke and you two seemed to click pretty quickly through your similarities in humour.

You also both had wings. Neat!

It even got to the point where you'd help other take care of your wings further down, where it was hard to see by oneself.

You couldn't count on both hands how many times you've helped Shed out and vice versa. Hell, you memorized which spots make him jump the most if you ever just wanted to mess with him.

But you eventually decided to open up about your past...

"Shed... I gotta confess something but promise you won't be mad..." You began quietly, looking at the ground in front of you as he was working on your wings.

He was still all smiles, not showing a shred of concern as he nodded. "Of course! You can tell me anything!" He said cheerfully, as though you could do no wrong in his eyes.

So, you swallowed your anxiety and with a deep breath, the words simply slipped out. "I used to be a god... A cruel one..." You could feel him stop for a short while but he continued on, thanking him under your breath for not leaving right then and there.

"I regret who I was back then... I thought I was above everyone else and could do whatever. Didn't help that I managed to befriend Telamon back then..." Another pause, this time longer, but he hesitantly continued letting you talk. "Only when he disappeared did I gradually start to understand how wrong I was... I wasn't above anyone and I didn't have the spine to own up to what I did."

Silence. For seconds, minutes, and then...

"I know what you mean... Old friend."

Silence. For seconds, minutes...

"Tel?" Your voice sounded louder in the silence, staring ahead as tears pushed themselves out of your eyes.

More silence. Seconds, minutes...

"Guess we never really grow apart, do we?" He chuckled, causing a smile to form on your lips as you nodded along. "Yeah... We just keep following the same route in life..."

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[darkfictionjude]

just read a post saying you feel unmotivated to write the platonic routes and, honestly, don't! don't feel unmotivated, i mean. i've got a lot of slots for wwc, including purely platonic slots, and even when i'm romancing someone i always take whichever platonic options (for the non-romanced ROs) i get the chance to, and i lowkey really love the scooby doo gang. I love being best friends with Nia and I love the badass-by-association thing we have with Imre and the hesitant the-jabs-are-more-funny-than-hateful thing with Lorcan. They fight all the fucking time and repeatedly say they hate or don't care at all about each other, but I think you make a good job in showing, bit by bit, that this isn't really true anymore, and, as someone who plays as the MC (obviously lol), I'm especially interested in how each of the friended!ROs care about Crowny in their own way. Yeah, they're all different flavors of extremely fucked up, they definitely got their own issues with Crowny, and Imre definitely has some sociopathic tendencies, but like...nia got revenge on that girl for crowny. imre dismisses his adoring friends to dance with friended!Crowny and "cares" enough to let the thing with James happen (well, he thinks he's caring, since it's to "make MC stronger" and "that's what friends do", and I can't see him "caring" about his usual popular school friends that way — as the real Imre, not as his fabricated good-guy persona). all three of them either expelled james from the party or tried to fight him before the murder thing happens, and, when it does happen (one of them might have killed to protect crowny!), they all bury the body together, no questions asked.

Don't get me wrong, I'm under no illusions that they're bffs or anything at this point (although they are the closest thing Crowny has ever had from 'having friends', so really, they're probably Crowny's besties even if they — especially Lorcan, since Nia's best-friendship is canon and Imre is well aware of how friendless MC is — would rather choke), but I like their dynamic exactly like that, fucked up and in a "are they friends?" "worse" kind of way. Also they're all really funny together. I do hope we get more friendship scenes/platonic route scenes with the ROs we're not romancing! platonic scooby doo gang for the win!!!

crowny making friend flower crowns for the ROs who are like '?'

honestly it does fit, they aren't friends nor enemies but a secret third thing 😭

[yourbloodysunrise]

Hello. How Huggy Wuggy, Mommy Long Legs, Dogday, Yarnaby and Doey would react to Reader who goes full-on "I'm getting all of you out of here" mode: picks evey single toy which is currently alive, quickly patches it's wounds, returns with it to the exit (somehow avoiding every single obstacle), leaves the toys there, promises to return, tells them to not try to eat other toys, do this with another new toy, and do this until every single toy is at the exit and ready to leave this place with them? Sorry if it's too much.

🌤️ — it's not too much, don't worry! I actually glad to see that you want me to write for Dogday and Doey, they are my favourites :)

🌤️ — please, enjoy!

°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°

❝ No matter how much you want to, you can't save everyone. ❞

— FANDOM: POPPY PLAYTIME.

— PAIRING: HUGGY WUGGY, MOMMY LONG LEGS, DOGDAY, YARNABY, DOEY x READER THAT TRYING TO SAVE OTHER TOYS.

— RATHER PLATONIC THAN ROMANTIC.

— HCS/CONCEPT.

— TW: BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, OOC, MENTION OF VIOLENCE, MENTION OF DEATH, SOFT ANGST.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°

— HUGGY WUGGY:

☆ ┈ Since you won't see any other living toys in chapter 1, the action will take place in chapter 4.

☆ ┈ First of all, Huggy is furious. He is injured and in great, great pain, not to mention that when he fell, he realized that he has a lot of competition in who will eat whom, and it will not be easy for him to survive with wounds.

☆ ┈ However, he survives, and that's not good for you.

☆ ┈ Huggy Wuggy blames you for everything, and, although, it's not surprising, so almost all the time he's just trying to find you to get revenge.

☆ ┈ And when he finds you, he first decides to follow you, since you are often in someone else's company.

☆ ┈ Apparently, this will save your life.

☆ ┈ He sees you taking small toys somewhere, as he heard, to the exit. It discourages him.

☆ ┈ Do you want to help them?..Why?

☆ ┈ In fact, Huggy almost feels insulted. You feel sorry for the toys, you want to help them, you want to save them.

☆ ┈ Why, even though others have done you harm, do you feel sorry for them?!

☆ ┈ ..Why he want you to feel the same way for him?

☆ ┈ Now, his purpose is changing. He doesn't want to kill you, but he also doesn't know what else to do, he doesn't know how to get out of here.

☆ ┈ Huggy Wuggy just wanders in the shadows, watching you, interested in your actions..

☆ ┈ For a while, you can say that he has no bad intentions, and he may even try to approach you purely out of curiosity about how you will react to him.

☆ ┈ ..However, unbeknownst to him, someone noticed his presence next to you. Perhaps Huggy shouldn't follow you everywhere, it could let someone think about it in wrong way.

— MOMMY LONG LEGS:

☆ ┈ Oh, that's so sweet! That you think you could break through her to the exit.

☆ ┈ Whatever good purpose you have, it just won't let you go.

☆ ┈ Although we know that Mommy Long Legs treats children more gently, and the sight of how you want to save toys makes something forgotten wake up in her..

☆ ┈ She won't let you leave just like that.

☆ ┈ It reminds her of how she treated children before the Hour of Joy came. She's not sure if these are pleasant memories or not, but she would like them to stay anyway.

☆ ┈ If Huggy is rather offended and puzzled by your attitude towards other toys, Mommy is jealous.

☆ ┈ You tried to help Bunzo even though he wanted to eat you. You tried to make friends with the Mini Huggies after you won.

☆ ┈ Why do you feel sorry for them? Why did you pay attention to them? You should have focused on the games, on her! Why? Why why why?!

☆ ┈ You can try to offer her help, but Mommy Long Legs will just laugh like crazy at this.

☆ ┈ There's no way out of here, she realized that a long time ago. Especially for people like her. It would be foolish of you to let a few eternally hungry creatures come to the surface.

☆ ┈ So, nope, you're staying. Even if she has to kill all the other toys, she won't let you get away, and she won't let you help them.

☆ ┈ Your only option to help others is to kill her. So, decide: them, or her.

— "Where are you going with this little pathetic thing? To exit? Ahaha.."

— "..But Mommy was hoping you'd stay forever! What makes you think that other toys won't eat your insides once they'll be free?"

— DOGDAY:

☆ ┈ When you reach out to help him, his first reaction is shock.

☆ ┈ Do you really think you can save him?

☆ ┈ DogDay feels ambivalent. On one hand, he is impressed by your desire to help him, but on the other hand, he has long since given up hope.

☆ ┈ He asks you to leave and abandon him, as he will not survive, but you persist and manage to free him.

☆ ┈ As soon as you freed him, the Ruined Creatures appeared, intent on devouring both him and you.

☆ ┈ DogDay tried to tell you to let him go and escape on your own, as your life was more important to the fate of the factory than his, but you still took him with you as you fled from the small toys that wanted to gnaw on your face.

☆ ┈ He is not just grateful to you; he is amazed that you did not leave him behind but instead saved him. After all, if you had stayed a couple of minutes longer, he wouldn't have been alive.

☆ ┈ He's amazed. He's almost certain that there might be hope in this forgotten place.

☆ ┈ Somehow, you've managed to find toys that don't want to kill him or you. He doesn't know how it's possible, but he's glad that there are still someone who haven't lost their minds in this place.

☆ ┈ Of course, you're unlikely will return to exit, but even in his condition, DogDay will want to help you.

☆ ┈ Please, let him.

— "..You truly are Angel, you know that?"

— YARNABY:

☆ ┈ I'm not sure how he'll react, but I think confusion will be the first thing he feels.

☆ ┈ Like, for him, you're helping the food, so he finds it strange. You, his goal, helping the food. Unclear.

☆ ┈ The Doctor will likely be annoyed by your attempts to help the other toys, and he'll encourage Yarnaby to kill you.

☆ ┈ He'll listen, but there's a doubt in his mind.

☆ ┈ The exit. You're looking for an exit.

☆ ┈ ..Exit even real in this place?

☆ ┈ Hm. Strange. But curious.

☆ ┈ Yarnaby is slightly interested, and watches you before attacking.

☆ ┈ You could try to offer him help as well, but..He will most likely try to attack you.

☆ ┈ If you manage to calmly approach him, it is only if he does not fall completely into the lava vat and you help him out, possibly by putting out his paws and tail that have managed to ignite.

☆ ┈ If you save him, he will be confused and will stay where he is, trembling and growling in pain. He will only allow you to approach him if you have extinguished him.

☆ ┈ Yarnaby involuntarily presses himself against your outstretched hand, trying to find comfort in your presence and imagining The Doctor in your place.

☆ ┈ He is unsure whether to attack you now or not. If you are The Doctor's enemy, you would not help him, would you? He's so confused...

— DOEY:

☆ ┈ He almost feel how his thoughts is drifting away when he sees this.

☆ ┈ When Doey first met you, he wasn't completely sure about you. Ollie said that he can trust you, and he would like to think so, but he still doubts you.

☆ ┈ His trust in you is small at first. But it accelerates very, very fast. Faster than you would like.

☆ ┈ Poppy told Doey what happened to you. And, admittedly, you suffered at the factory too. Not like him and the others, but you've done yourself a lot of harm.

☆ ┈ He's developing towards you..sympathy.

☆ ┈ You're nice with the toys from Safe Heaven. It makes something inside him shrink, the memories of how he once behaved with other orphans almost make him go crazy.

☆ ┈ Everyone is starting to like you. Matthew for how gentle you are with toys, Jack for reminding him of his parents. And since the personalities of all three are connected, Kevin also has thoughts of affection for you.

☆ ┈ And no matter how much he starts to get attached to you, when you tell him your opinion that you should evacuate toys from Safe Heaven (obviously suspecting something), he is against it.

☆ ┈ It's dangerous outside, Doey can't risk losing the toys in Safe Heaven! Including you..

☆ ┈ They're his family..But now you are too.

☆ ┈ Now, he's starting to panic. What if you yourself try to evacuate others without listening to him? His thoughts are filled with those moments where you were on the verge of death, escaping from other toys.

☆ ┈ He's afraid for you and for others. Even if he tries to evacuate others, he will be there for you, every second.

☆ ┈ When it turns out that Safe Heaven was blown up while you were evacuating..He doesn't know what to do.

☆ ┈ He pretends to be confident in himself and that you will bring other toys to the exit, but this is just a mask to give hope to others.

☆ ┈ Doey creating a kind of new shelter not far from what's left. It's much less secure than the past, but he's trying his best.

☆ ┈ He notices the other toys next to you that you saved, and he's not against them. On the contrary, it makes you even better in his eyes.

☆ ┈ However, he soon notices that there are..hostile toys hanging around you..

☆ ┈ Doey intends to keep you safe, albeit in a slightly brutal way.

— "Heey, pal!..You seem tired. Look, our Safe Heaven is also yours, so.. Uh- here, you can rest in there."

•.✯.• BONUS •.✯.•

You sigh, shaking your head, leaning against a concrete wall, staring forward wearily.

You've just lost a toy you were trying to bring to Safe Heaven. The small version of Hoppy Hopstotch you tried to save took the hit when Yarnaby attacked you..

You've lost count of how many toys you've lost like this. Guilt consumes you because some of them willingly sacrificed themselves to help you.

You look down at the two trembling, tired toys clinging to your leg. No matter how much you've suffered from failure, there are still those who need your help.

Gently pushing them forward, you turn around when you hear a noise. You tense up, but you can't see anything, even though you could have sworn you heard something fall.

— "..Is everything okay?"

One of the toys asks you, gently tugging on your pants/skirt. You turn your head to them and see them looking at you with their friend, and although their expressions can't change from smiling to anything else, you know they would have a pleading look.

— "Yes..Yes, it's fine. Let's move on, we shouldn't stay in one place."

You say it encouragingly and lead them on. At least you hope it's all fine..

..As soon as you get far enough away, long arm wraps around the corner of the wall, peeking out from behind it, staring at you in the distance.

Huggy has been following you for a while now. He must have discovered you a few hours ago. He's not sure, time passes terribly slowly here...

Wanting to step further so as not to lose sight of you, he takes a few steps forward before stopping, not by his own will, but by feeling something holding his other hand.

Huggy turns around to see what's going on, but feels something heavy gripping his arm and pulling him back forcefully, hitting him against the wall several times.

He growls, trying to break free from the grip, scratching and biting, before noticing who it is.

— "..Hiya there..Now, what are you doing so deep in here, hmm?"

— "You shouldn't have wandered in here. Especially near them."

..Uh. Huggy didn't realize that he wasn't the only one watching you.

..:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟﾞ｡.:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟ🌤

🌤️ — while I was writing for Doey, I had an idea that it would be interesting for Doey to think that Huggy wanted to attack Reader while Huggy was just watching, so I added this.

🌤️ — hope you like it, have a good day ☆

[takaraphoenix]

Oh, that Peter-Stiles dynamic is just so fascinating. Right off the bat. I remembered that it fascinated me, but I didn't remember that they are fascinating right from the start.

The tension in their first meeting at the hospital. How Peter, who has hurt or killed everyone he encountered so far, just... circles his prey until Derek gets there to defend Stiles.

The way Peter just. Tore into Lydia without a thought. But didn't harm Stiles at all.

The way Peter only bit Scott out of opportunity but wants Stiles in his pack - because Stiles is "the clever one" - and actually offers Stiles the bite. Doesn't force it onto him, fully giving Stiles the choice and then leaving without doing... any harm at all... when Stiles says no.

Obsessed with how obsessed Peter is with Stiles.

[vaguely-concerned]

tiny animation detail from this scene I really like: rook glances towards the locations of lucanis and bellara's rooms (and possibly where they're most likely to be found in this moment?) respectively when they deliver this line!

(honestly I expect that lucanis is hanging out somewhere other than the pantry during this to give everyone in this unfolding catastrophe some space, but consider: it's so much funnier if he IS sitting in the pantry hearing this all go down on the other side of the wall like

taash stomps in with thunder and trepidation in their eyes like 'hey. I need vegetables. can we make vegetables happen.' and lucanis already handing them a lettuce and tomato like i gotchu fam this is literally the only thing I know how to do for you in this situation go with the maker and these salad ingredients I resignedly already know you'll just put on a plate with no dressing no spices no nothing. just the most sleep deprived caffeinated to the point of vibrating gently in place awkward-yet-painfully-well-meaning man in the world standing there before his friend about to have one of the most difficult conversations of their life like '...can I offer you a turnip in these trying times' while rye desperately treads social water out in the dining room to buy time. amazing. our lives really all do touch each other. headcanon passionately embraced)

[oneshotgremlin]

Up and Down

Thoughts on how beings generally perceive their world one spatial dimension lower than the dimensionality of the space they inhabit:

In the flatlands, the way people perceive the world around them is through lines, and so visual receptors HAVE to be on the edges of their shapes

Otherwise by all accounts the person would be effectively blind

So Mrs.Red and Mr.Blue have this strange yellow boy

Who appears to be born with no eyes

(It’s directly in his center, but without tests and doctors nobody can see it)

And for all intents and purposes, the boy is blind

He has to feel his way around buildings and people (in his hand a black cane that his parents bought to aid him)

And he doesn’t know what his parents look like, and only knows them by their voice as they guide him

They love him all the same, regardless

(Meanwhile, he stares up at the infinite expanse of the night sky. But the thing about infinity is that it makes where you stand so infinitesimally tiny in comparison, and no matter how far you run side to side the stars do not move an inch for you. And if they’re all someone sees, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn is that where they are is unspeakably, claustrophobically small)

(It doesn’t matter if the kids at school bully him and the adults look at him with pity and disdain that he can’t even see, because don’t they know how SMALL they are? Don’t they know how small EVERYTHING is?)

And so, with years and years and nowhere else to go, Bill reaches UP

(And no-one else has tried before, because why would they? There is no up or down to conceive, only forwards and backwards and left and right.)

It takes unimaginable amounts of energy to punch a rift into a dimension. In a time and space unmeasurably far away, a six fingered man and his five fingered twin would learn that lesson well

In the flatlands, it’s less of an interdimensional portal looming ominously in a metal room and more of a calculation

l is for length. w is for width. h is for height

And like a computer told to divide by zero, everything falls apart

Did you know that when energetic particles that erupt from the stars collide with a sufficiently nitrogen rich atmosphere, it produces the color blue?

Did you know the only reason the flatlanders didn’t drift off into the freezing cold yet boiling hot void of space, despite not having a planet with the volume and mass needed to produce a gravitational field, is their dimension’s lack of third dimensionality?

Like insects pinned underneath glass, yet the glass protected their corpses from falling apart?

They scream. He cries. He laughs. They die.

It’s an old saying: “When gravity falls and earth becomes sky beware the beast with just one eye”

And when little Billy looks away from the stars, looks down to finally see his tiny, minuscule home

For the first and last time, he sees a blue triangle with a hat, and a red triangle with a bow.

[possamble]

realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille

[kimbapisnotsushi]

man the only thing that makes me sad about the final family-gathering dinner scene in derek's route is that cove couldn't be there too . . . he and derek were besties!!! he was OUR bestie!!!! he's basically family!!! his DAD was there!!!!! cove could have been there joshing us and making fun of us and telling derek "yeah, [name] spent forever pining after you when you left" bc that's information we sure as hell wouldn't have told liz back then. cove could have spilled all the embarrassing shit the way derek's family did for him. i just really loved being able to have cove by my side and being able to do all the interactions with him as purely platonic and familial and imagining him as my support in this whole route. and then he's not there at the end and it just makes me sad AGH

[tenok]

.

[a-fucking-tornado]

I miss Jackson's Diary season two.

[ame-to-ame]

Life is weird as arospec asexual bc there's no good way to use words to describe what I feel and my experience that properly conveys it to allosexual alloromantic people

Even if I use vocabulary meant for this there's no way to grasp what it truly feels like, what the lived experience is like for me, because the allosexual doesn't experience it doesn't understand it

And so it's like trying to convey colors to someone with a different perception of color. They experience a reality different to mine. And maybe perception and sensation is the wrong allegory to use, even. Maybe the stimuli we experience is different in the first place. Maybe the sensation is different. But perception is definitely different. And it's hard to tell at which point do things start to differ.

But either way it's hard and I find it increasingly hard to explain myself or want to explain myself. It's so much easier to adopt that language and that culture aside from the gaping feeling that it's not exactly what you're experiencing. I can co-opt the term crush but what I feel. I know. Is not romantic attraction. Maybe some elements are the same but it's definitely diverged somewhere. But is there really a point in explaining the differences or clarifying that it's different? As long as the final goal is achieved does it really matter? Why am I doing this again.

[kenyummy]

✰ 05. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 05. your closed-off heart.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: avoidant attachment damian is canon to me okay. it's canon to me... </3 also pretty long chap idk how many words but it's a bunch

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

The sky has fallen to an ashen black by the time you've all settled down and watched a fun game show together; so different from the ones back home.

After those hours of catching up—you've made sure to be careful with your words and not mention anything about any alternate universes. You can't—not with that lingering stare behind you, after all.

Whether they realised your avoidance of the topic or simply didn't think to bring it up—you were glad the rest of your friends never even hinted at it once, either.

Now you were back, sitting on the couch under a low, flickering light and cuddled up beside Johnny and Franklin.

"Franklin..." Your voice is low. Said boy is cooped up to your side, snoring softly as he drools onto you. You avert your gaze toward Sue and Reed. "How's his... mutation going? It's pretty rough being so strong so young."

Johnny glowers at the sight of Franklin so attached to your left arm—even though he's just as close, if not closer to you than his nephew is. If he were sunken any farther into you, he'd practically be in your lap.

Sue sighs, pressing her palm against her face with an exasperated look. "After that whole incident with Annihilus, his power has been developing so drastically, we aren't sure on what may occur next. He's so... he is so strong. We asked the Professor about it, and his only advice was for when we believe we cannot properly help him develop, to send him to his school."

Reed slinks his hand into his wives', gripping tightly. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Franklin... is a good kid. I don't believe he will ever lost control of himself, not like the Professor is afraid he will. Regardless—he's doing fine, and that was the reason we took him with us."

The mood is sunken, a little bit quieter as you rake your nails over Frankin' scalp—gently. Such a power so young—you remember the first time you were told this young boy was creating pocket universes under his bed at three. Two years later, and he's developed the abilities comparable to that of a god.

To be so incredible is a blessing—but for a child like Franklin, it can feel like a curse often times. You would know, you think solemnly, palm falling over his cheek.

Ben sinks into the dented couch, leaning back with a knee crossed over his leg. He breaks the silence with ease and that lovely Yancy Street accent, "That, and we didn't wanna let Tony babysit again."

"Oh yeah," Johnny grimaces. "Last time he was left alone with Frankie, he made him a suit and he flew all the way to the Carribean!"

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning to Johnny and laughing, "I heard about that! Didn't you nearly get sunk by Namor and his Atlanteans?"

Johnny hisses and looks to the side—the tips of his ears alighting with a flicker. You reach up and pat out the flame, brushing his hair back as he hides his face from your view.

Judging by the smug, knowing look Sue shoots her younger brother, you assume he was pretty annoyed by your pampering.

Despite this, the mood has become lighter. You aren't worried about what may happen in the future, or what could possibly go wrong with the young child beside you.

"Don't even mention him, or any bad guy—" Johnny slumps down, head reeking back dramatically. "I'm going stir-crazy not being able to get out and fight 'em."

Ben gives him a pointed look, "brows" furrowing, "Yer sounding less stir-crazy and more batshit mental. Ya gotta get out more."

"Tell that to him!" The blonde juts his thumb towards Reed, who simply averts his eyes. "He's the one who said we can't be seen in this unknown place."

"Yeah, it's a shame, isn't it?" You cross your arms. "While you're all resting here, I have to go out and fight crime all day. Lucky me."

Johnny raises his hands in defence, "Yeah, you are lucky. I'd kill to get out and get some action. I'm tired of being cooped up in here all day like the world doesn't need me."

"Don't go getting a big head, Johnny." Sue frowns. "This world has survived fine without you. I'm sure it'll live even without you, as well."

Johnny and Sue start to bicker in the traditional sibling fashion—shooting the other glares and mocks, all the while Reed seems to be deep in thought. (And as always, Ben is simply enjoying the scene in front of him).

"Actually..." Reed speaks up—catching the attention of everybody in the room with ease. "Perhaps... it could be a good thing to go public. It would give us an easy way to collect materials we need if we could go out and use our powers freely."

"... Reed? You can't be serious—" Sue blinks in shock.

Ben slams his two rocky fists together, "Hell yeah! It's been a minute since I said my favourite line—"

"—It's clobberin' time, we know." Johnny shakes his head. Ben simply shoots the matchstick a glare.

"That aside; it'll help us make that..." Reed hums, glancing at you for a moment, "That very intricate device we'd been needing to create. The last one was created by the combined nature of me, Tony, and Hank—so making it alone may provide more difficult, but absolutely not impossible. Not much tech to work with, either... this might take a while..."

Sue places a hand on her husbands shoulder, and he seems to break out of the strange mumble he reduced his voice to. "Thank you, Susan. But yes—given we collect the right resources and I have time to work on this, we should be able to remake it."

"That's great!" You smile, grin brightening. You could go home! You could actually go home! Not sure when—but soon couldn't come soon enough. "You guys can fight alongside me, and now this! This is great news!"

"Eh ... I already told you Reed was making some of that crazy tech stuff, didn't I?" Johnny shrugs, resting his head to the side. "Besides—It's Reed. Why wouldn't be tinkering with some weird invention?"

"... Thank you for the vote of confidence, Johnny." Reed murmurs, eyes falling to the side. "If we want to make something as intricate as... that, from scratch, we'll definitely need the most brilliant minds helping."

"Ah... yeah. Too bad Tony isn't here, huh? Hank, too. They'd be a real help." You smile sadly, looking to the side.

"Actually, [name], I'd rather like you to look over some of the teleporters with me. Give your opinion on what I should do with what I have."

"R... really?" You look up at him with sparkly eyes. "You really...?"

He nods, smiling. You bite down on the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning madly—instead, you opt to rushing over and wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping up and down.

"Thank you! Yeah, I'd be—" You pull back, coughing with a flushed face. "I'd be totally honoured. Yeah. Um—I promise to not get any webs on them this time!"

"I'll take your word for it," Reed chuckles. Happiness practically bursts out of your chest at the recognition from the smartest man in the world.

Perhaps you were more than you gave yourself credit for—and way more than what that family gave you credit for.

You sit back down and Franklin crawls back into your lap, snoring softly. Johnny attaches himself to your side and keeps a warm arm snug around your shoulder, smiling down at you.

The warm fuzzy feeling pools down at the bottom of your stomach and each time you laugh, you feel your heart grow fonder.

You had never felt so at home in this strange place. These four—these five—this was your family, and you'd never feel otherwise.

Damien feels a tug in his chest. More than a tug, actually—it's like a rope has tied a noose around his ribs and is rattling them repeatedly.

He's biting down so hard on his lips and the inside of your cheek that blood seeps from between chapped lips. He chews them raw—not even noticing the pain.

He hadn't even realised when he pulled his katana out from its holster on his back. He hadn't realised when he gripped it so taut his knuckles turned a milky white. He hadn't even realised when his eyes zeroed in on the sight of you cuddling up with that dark-haired boy.

Allowing him close to you—clinging to your arm so pathetically and pressing his face against your stomach as if he'd done it a hundred times over and acting like you're his older sibling or something stupid like that—

Damian steadies his erratic breathing. Unscrunching his face, but he cannot seem to stop glaring daggers. Even when he makes eye contact with that man—Reed, he believes you referred to him as—he does not tear his sharp gaze away.

You stare so tenderly at the young boy (younger than Damian is. By a few years or so, most likely). You cradle his cheek in your hand with such love it makes your actual brother, your blood brother, feel sick to his stomach.

Raking your fingers through his hair like you'd never done with your siblings before. Holding him close like you wished to protect him from the world and all the horrors within it.

How could you possibly hope to protect this... Frankie, when you cannot even protect yourself? The scarring left from the bullet still lay on your shoulder, a ghostly reminder of how you became victim to the evil this city holds.

A reminder to Damian on how he must protect you now. As his duty.

In this cruel world, you have lost to it—and yet, you choose to coddle others? You choose to keep others safe and close to your heart, but never your family?

His heart is lit aflame with rage. His jaw is taut and clenched tightly—feeling his teeth grit beneath his tongue and his mind fizzle with boiling anger. He hadn't felt this irrational in so long. Not until...

He doesn't remember ever seeing you in a such a light. He doesn't remember seeing you.

But now he does—and now, he feels so much fuming ferocity. Watching you send the softest of smiles to him and allowing him to feel your soft, untainted touch.

(A touch not tainted by years of relentless crime fighting—a silky grasp that could only be given by that kind of regularity Damian had never known).

Much earlier, he had realised you were that vigilante he met so long ago. That spider-like fiend who seemed to have those never-endingly sticky webs.

This is why you'd been skipping classes so often, and why he never saw you around. That's why he hadn't seen those pitiful eyes be directed toward his two, barely there elder brothers, after each and every violent patrol.

That is why you have become so distant. So far away—Drake had described it. Damian didn't bother to listen because he didn't care enough to.

That doesn't matter. In the end, none of it matters. Not to him. It didn't change his image of you.

He hadn't known you long enough for it to shift in any way—nor had he ever tried to. Despite this, he is content. If this new version of you is all he will ever know, then so be it. This will be his you—the sincerity in your touch and the love in your eyes.

(Yet, never seen toward him).

He has little time to ponder and brood. Before he knows it—the glass door is sliding open and, on that balcony, he is no longer alone.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Damian?"

He blinks. He is not used to hearing his name from your mouth in anything but a furious tone. Yet, despite this—it is anything bur the saccharine way you told that Franklin he's your favourite—

"Damian. Why did you follow me?" You demand, voice more firm than your question-like tone before.

You stand before him, arms crossed under your chest and a hard expression on your face. Stern. Like a real older sibling. He had never seen you make that kind of face before.

(For whatever odd reason, he feels small again. Like lowering his head and apologising for something he had not even done—you've never had that sort of effect before).

... And yet, despite all he's acted like in the past; in this present moment, he doesn't know what to say to you. Very uncharacteristical.

(For that Franklin, it came so easy. Like running up to you with those stupid googly eyes was the most regular thing to him. Damian doesn't believe he will ever be able to feel as normal as that).

Fortunately, he manages to scrounge up some words to say like it was a board game. "I... happened to catch you swinging here. In that ridiculous costume and to your even more ridiculous friends."

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his words. He notices it so wholly that it strikes deep into his chest. Why are you so dissatisfied with him? Why does it make him so unfathomably upset?

"One, my costume is cool. Two, my friends aren't ridiculous. Don't talk about them like that." Your tone is upset.

All these strong emotions hit him like a freight train and suddenly he doesn't know how to speak properly. Don't look at him like that. Why are you so kind to that other child, but you are so cruel toward him? It's unfair. Absolutely unfair.

He must've been quiet longer than he realised. Clutching the bottom of his cape tight into his blood-bathed grip, practically shaking. He must look so utterly pathetic for you to offer him menial pity.

(Just like you used to—except now it feels like a wave crashing against the shore, covering the burning lava stones in a cool tide).

"So, you know, then?" You glance downward at Damian after pinching your temple. He breaks his eye contact with the concrete and looks back to you. "That I'm that spider hero."

...

"Yes. After seeing your school bag webbed up, it was far too obvious."

You glance downwards once more. To the strap wrapped around his shoulder, connected to your bag. He tries to shuffle it discreetly behind him, but he knows you've spotted it when a smile crawls onto your lips.

Gritting his teeth—yet this time he does not feel that same blaring anger as before—he decides that hiding it was useless and opts to shove it into your arms roughly, before he can even think.

"The leather is crumpled. You need a new bag," He says, matter-of-factly. You grasp onto the leather with wide eyes; gaze shifting from it to him.

"... I know. It's been like this..." You aren't exactly sure on how long, exactly—but you're sure it's been... "For a while. I'm used to it."

Damian pauses, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a sneer. He's practically offering, and yet you still deny? You pretend everything is fine and you are strong.

...

You lean down the slightest. "... Still. Thanks for considering me."

You almost can't believe you're thanking this younger brother for the bare minimum—but from what you've seen, that bare minimum isn't seen much in your household. (Especially towards you).

Despite this... you have always had a soft spot for kids. You ruffle his dark hair and he practically squawks, slapping your hands away like it burnt.

He recoils back, hissing, "Who do you think you are?! Don't patronise me!"

You chuckle and move back, brushing off your hands. He watches that action like a hawk. "... Are you going to tell them?"

"TT. About your little side hobby playing dress up?"

You want to point out how he does the exact same thing. But you don't, because you know it will lead to nothing good.

Damian sneers, turning his head to the side, "I don't care for what you do in your spare time. As long as I do not have to be there to save you every time."

"Fair enough. This can be our little secret, then." You nod. "... You can go now. I'm just going to suit up and sneak back in."

"Is that what you have been doing for the past several weeks?"

"Guilty as charged," you shrug, pressing on the necklace pendant sitting comfortably between your collarbones. "If nobody notices, then I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean—"

He watches in fascination as the minuscule robots crawl over your body and form into the familiar Spidey suit.

You tuck your hair in as the mask forms. "—Most of them are barely home to begin with, and it's not like Bruce has spare time to be worrying about this."

... "Don't you mean father?"

You stare at him weird. "What?"

"You called father Bruce." His eyes narrow furthur.

"Oh. Right." You must've become accustomed to not saying father. Uncle Ben was the only father you'd ever had, and it wasn't like you were going around calling him that, since you know—he was your uncle. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Damien doesn't reply this time. He throws on the hood of his costume, turning his back toward your costumed form.

You walk back inside into the dimly-lit room, engulfing those people in warm hugs you'd never spared any of them before.

He leaps off the roof and swings away into the night, face unreadable; mind consumed with little crime and more thoughts of you.

Perhaps he was... wrong about you. Less helpless, but still just as weak. And a lot more confusing. Unfair. So much confliction.

Though, he feels his chest beat strangely warm when he tousles his hair back to its regular style.

Swinging in through the window in your room and with one click on your necklace, you land flat on your heels.

Peering around, you hum at your empty, dark room and change into a pair of pyjamas.

It's been a day or two since you'd eaten here. Usually you'd go around as Spidey and picking up some takeout as you swing back home, or go to Harry's house for some dinner (since Norman had taken a strong, un-evil liking to you in this world).

But today, you'd been too wrapped up to even think about dinner. You'd missed the familiarity of Sue's warm cooking but you hadn't even thought to ask while you were there. Damn.

It's way too late to go out and get something now. Crap. You really got ahead of yourself, didn't you?

You put on your pair of fuzzy slippers, and swing open your door. It's late, so most of them should be out on patrol.

You'll probably only run into Alfred, at best. You can live with those kinds of odds.

You walk down the stairway and towards the kitchen (it took you a bit—learning the ropes of this place was harder than it looked). Your steps sluggishly drawl across the floor as you yawn.

Being Spidey sure was tiring. Post-patrol naps were always the highlight of your week, but you could never do it on an empty stomach.

As quietly as possible, you begin to rummage around in the larger-than-life fridge. Fruit, condiments, almost all ingredients than actual food.

You groan. You hate rich people. Aunt May always used to just buy a bunch of pre-cooked meals whenever she was away—you'd become so accustomed to it.

Maybe there were leftovers? ... Do rich people even keep leftovers? You slouch down at the thought.

You open a few drawers just to find a pile of spinach of all things. Then fruity flavoured drinks. Some more vegetables. Lots of vegetables. A child's waking nightmare.

"There's a pack of pizza pockets in the third drawer in the second row."

You barely even react, hand already inching for the drawer. You open it, and find it. You hum.

Your sense acts up when you hear footsteps approaching—you glance over your shoulder to see a man you have not previously met before, but have seen.

That blob of red—that figure you saw before everything went black and when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder. It was him.

A white tuft of hair in the middle of his forehead and a jaded expression. A red helmet under his arm and a pizza pocket in the other hand.

It was undoubtedly him.

"Jason..." You try your hardest to not make it sound like a question.

His expression remains unchanged. "[name]. You... your shoulder is all healed up already."

You glance at your exposed shoulder. There is barely any visibly sign of a wound ever being there. Perks to a healing factor—well, you heal. Downsides to a healing factor—people start asking questions.

"It didn't hit me too deep... and Bruce got me the best hospital stuff, too." You put the pizza pockets on a plate then stuff it into the microwave. The beep resounds in the quiet as you lean back on the counter. "Guess I got lucky."

"Didn't feel so lucky when you were bleeding out in my arms, did you?" His eyes narrow and you think you may have said the wrong thing. "What the hell were you even doing out at that hour? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Oh, I was just dropped in from another universe and switched places with Wayne-ie here. No biggie.

Yeah, no way in any of the layers in hell. Facing Galactus head on feels like a safer task than telling him that. You shake your head, trying to formulate a proper excuse.

"I was hanging out with my friends. Lost track of time."

His eyes widen at your sheer audacity to say that—then, his brows furrow and he steps forward, "Don't give me that shit. You never go out past ten. Bruce won't let you. We drilled it into your head you'd die out there. And look—you nearly did. Don't you dare sit here and lie to me, [name], because I swear to God—"

Your jaw clenches and you have to hold your hands behind your body—pressed against hard granite—to stop yourself from pushing him back.

You hiss, low and tense, "What do you know? You'd never stay long enough to find out."

You remember flipping through that diary. The words getting scratchier and the paper getting more crumpled as you went on.

"You'd never stayed longer than a few days. You'd never even looked at me even then."

As you became older, you became hateful.

"You could see Dick. You could hate Tim. And despite everything, you could bring yourself to like him. You even tolerated Damian."

But you also became sad. Increasingly so. So miserable, trapped in that newborn skin you'd never truly seemed to break out of.

"I didn't care that you killed people. I didn't care that you never stayed for long. I didn't care that you hated Bruce."

So lost, so desperate for that touch you'd received so long ago; you never really grown up, had you?

"I didn't care that you'd never stay for him. For Dick. For any of the others."

So bitter. It's no wonder you'd never talked to them. It's no wonder—

"But damn it, Jason—"

"I really thought that you could've stayed for me."

—that he's staring at you in such horror.

None of this came from your heart. This entire speech was scripted on a piece of paper—by a version of you who felt so much pain and hate for those who abandoned you so easily.

But... looking at his expression now—you think it's something he needed to hear. Something that couldn't be left unsaid any longer. All the feelings pent up in them (in you, one could say) and the words they were to afraid to speak aloud. The words you were not afraid to say.

His lips parted, eyes wide as he doesn't reply. How can he? What could he ever, possibly say?

That he was doing this for your own good? That he never wanted you to see the man he had become? To never want to sully that image of that older brother who played tag with you when you were younger?

How does he tell you about the bullet he put through the skull of the Penguin goons with smoking guns he'd found minutes after he saw you bleeding out in a dirty alleyway? He couldn't possibly tell you about that.

How could he ever tell you that this was all for you—when you were hurting so badly?

(Hurting without him? Had you missed him all these years, so terribly? The thought brings some sort of twisted satisfaction. Sick reassurance. That, despite everything, you still loved him).

How could Jason Todd ever show you that he cares without destroying everything he was before? The answer was simple to him—he can't. He thought you knew. He thought—

...

Now, everything doesn't feel so simple. His sunken eyes search all over your face in frantic motions. Your eyes are so blank, and you don't even look to be feeling anything.

Are you tired? Of this? Of him? Just what did that bullet do to you?

The beeping of the microwave catches both of your attention before he has a chance to say something he will likely regret.

You turn your head to the side, and slip away from where he had cornered you against the granite. "Pizza pocket's done."

You glance his way, and he feels pathetic. Absolutley, spectacularly pathetic. "... Want some?"

You sit in incredibly uncomfortable silence, chewing on the food. At least it was good. Familiar.

Clearly there was a lot to discuss between the both of you. ... Jason and this other you, at least.

(Or was it you, the one who was shot? You could never truly tell).

There's so much to say, so little time. Jason could never stay, and definitely not around you. All these years—this world's you thought he hated them. Despised them.

Now, his expression feels like the complete opposite. Longing.

You shove the rest of the pizza pocket into your mouth, wiping off the stray greasy cheese off the corners of your lips.

"I meant what I said earlier." You clarify, as if he needed it. "And I don't appreciate you only getting on my ass after all this time, only when something bad happens. You don't get to do that. That's not how this works."

You gesture between the two of you and his heart feels like its been stabbed with the sharpest of knives.

Then, it twists.

You were always his favourite. The sweetest. The little kid he'd once held so dearly and near his heart. Until that heart stopped and turned into the deepest black, poisoned and compromised.

How could he ever risk poisoning you, too?

He wanted to keep you safe, and somewhere, somehow—he came to the conclusion that the only way you'd br safe is if you were away from him. Kept at a distance. Staying at arm's length.

Now, he isn't sure he was ever thinking of how safe you'd be. Not when he'd seen you, light-headed and bleeding. Not when you were practically dying in his arms and he couldn't do shit except kill those stupid fucking goons; because what is he good for if not revenge?

"I miss the old days," you say. But there's a distinct lack of emotion in your voice. As if it wasn't even you who was saying this. "But to hang onto them forever—when will we ever move on?"

...

He doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Those are the only memories he has of you. Of himself.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling his heart pound and stomach feeling sick. This sort of uncanny, soul-consuming feeling—it only ever happened whenever he would look at you.

Eyes blurry and vision failing him, he wants to go. To run. But at the same time, he wants to keep you close. Make sure nothing will ever happen again. Make sure you never feel that pain again.

His head is going to split. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands sink into his hair, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight.

"I just..." His voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. Shakier. Almost timid. He feels like a boy again. That same child you'd stare at so reverently. He doesn't know when he was beginning to forget that. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You're almost tired of this. Pissed off. Is that all they say? Is that really all they say to tell you why they'd kept you so far away? The distance was all-consuming. You'd noticed it in the first week you lived here. You couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of "love" all your life.

"Then, you were doing it all wrong." You say, simply. It sounds like you know. Like you have experience. Like a wise old wizard who'd "seen it all before". "I'm not incapable (truly, you are not) and my life is my own. Keeping me safe isn't trying to keep everything the same, like it is as it was."

He lifts his head from his hands when your chair pushes behind you, screeching across wooden boards.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that. But... you don't get it. You don't know..." You swallow. "You don't know enough about me now to judge whether I need protecting or not. You never did."

... You're right. He never did. He still doesn't. Jason never watched you grow up. He never got the chance to see you go through your awkward teen years. Get your first boyfriend. Scare the shit out of him. He didn't get to hang out with you and get ice-cream after school.

He never got the chance to do anything of these things. Not with you. Never with the one most dear to him, and his small, dark heart.

But that could change. Starting now, he could change. He would. He could. He will. For you.

He stares, eyes blankening. Then, they fill with something dark. A nervous shiver runs down your spine and your sense starts tingling in the back of your mind.

He speaks, low and steady. The shakiness is gone and you're not sure what went on in his head—but he sounds so sure now. So certain.

"Then, I will."

It's not a threat or a claim—but a withheld promise. The heaviness of it weighs down on you, and you aren't sure whether you should feel safe or scared.

He gets out of his chair and walks over to you. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, blood running cold as he stalks closer. That huge imposing frame that (probably) used to hold some semblance of comfort toward you; now terrified you to the bone.

His big hand rests atop your head, and ruffles your hair. "Starting now, I'll get to know you again. Then, everything can go back to normal."

... Did he even listen to a word you said?

He sends you a smile as he leaves the top of your head a tangled mess, slipping on his helmet and walking away.

You're left alone, heart pumping wildly in your chest and your brain throbbing with that buzz. Every sense and nerve on full alert—you sink down into that chair and pull your knees to your chest.

You think you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew.

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[pizzapottah]

the future queen

summary: Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 7.0k

warnings: aegon is not a rapist not because he didn't rape dyana in the series but because I don't want her to suffer, mommy issues, i support women's rights and wrongs, vaemond is killed, my girl reader is going THROUGH it, aegon and princess' shenanigans (they hate everything and everyone)

author's note: rhaenyra when i catch you rhaenyra... but also aemond. AEMOND WHEN I CATCH YOU AEMOND THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT

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As always, you enter to find the tapestries back to a boring green. “Ugh,” you huff, “not again.” 

“Again?” Oscar asks, confused. 

“Happens every time I’m away for more than three days,” you mutter. “The wench changes the tapestries and hides the paintings. Like it’s named the Green Keep.” You bark at the first servant that passes, making him yelp, “You! Find the steward and tell him that the Princess is calling for him. I want these horrendous tapestries burned once and for all.”

The servant nods, trembling, and promptly runs away. “Aren’t you a bit too harsh?” your friend asks. You shrug. “If you think I’m harsh, then you should see the way Daemon treats the servants. Besides, I don’t treat them badly. It’s just one of the bad days. I make sure they get paid plenty enough for the trouble.” 

As you keep walking, lords and ladies of all kinds briefly stop to greet you, but you move on quickly, barely thanking them back — there’s no reason for them to make such greetings for you, when you’ve been away for barely a sennight. You figure they’re mostly happy to see you because it means the Queen and the Hand will be getting off the Throne soon. 

A month or so ago, your grandsire fell ill. The Maester wasn’t sure he would make it, but he did — he was just… weak. Too weak to attend court, to hold the councils and settle the Kingdom’s matters. 

And so his responsibilities were passed down to you. That was because he didn’t want his vicious wife as regent nor his Lord Hand on the Throne, after the various accidents that had happened when he had let them do it. I want you to understand what it’s like to take care of the Kingdom, he had said, wheezing. To learn who you should support and how to do it. 

There is no manual to learn how to rule. You could listen to the lords all day while they give you their advice, and you would wake up the next even more confused than before, so — as your mother said — there’s no other way to do it but to understand it yourself. 

You think that in the end, you worked pretty well as regent. You were the only one who dared speak back to the Queen and Lord Hand, so the councils went pretty smoothly, and court was held without too much of a hassle. But then you had to go to the Riverlands to help Oscar, and the Red Keep was left in the hands of the green wench and her vulture of a father. And as it always happened, you returned to find it changed: the tapestries of your ancestors were replaced with portraits of the Seven and the dragon statues with towers, seven-pointed stars and so on. 

It’s really incredible how in a sennight they've managed to turn the Keep upside down. Shivering, you briefly wonder how the castle would be if it was completely in their hands. 

“Princess!” someone calls behind you. It’s the steward, who pants and bows before taking a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. “It is good to see that the Riverlands have treated you well. I hope your travels went without any problems.” 

You nod briefly, pointing at Oscar. “Yes, they were fine. Could you show Ser Oscar Tully the guest rooms while I go talk to my grandsire? He’ll be staying for a while. And, most importantly, tell the servants to bring back the old decorations; take the new ones to the Dragon Pit, Nādrēsy will take care of them.” 

The steward nods, unphased; it’s not the first time you make him burn the Hightowers’ decorations, so he must not be surprised at all. “Will do, Princess.” He bows to Oscar, showing him the way. “If you’ll follow me, my lord…”

The way up to the King’s chambers feels like forever. Before you departed for Riverrun, you made sure that the guards assigned to his rooms were ones you could trust — so that no Hightower page or servant could enter and poison the King, as they have already tried numerous times. You made sure the only one who was allowed in the chambers was Grand Maester Orwyle — and Mushroom, when your grandsire needed a cheer-up — who you paid generously to make sure that the Hightowers couldn’t get to him. 

“Lord Commander, Ser Erryk,” you greet the guards, right out of your grandsire’s quarters, They bow their heads, murmuring their own greetings, opening the doors for you. The smell of burned wood and the warmness of the room engulfs you as the guards quickly close the door behind you, your grandsire barely raising his head from the pillow. 

“–’Nyra? Is that you?” he rasps. 

“No, Grandsire,” you reply gently, taking a chair and sitting down beside his four-poster bed. You murmur your name, “It’s me, I have returned from Riverrun.” 

“Ah,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, raising his hand for you to take. “It all went well, I hope?”

You squeeze his hand, barely nodding, “For now, the matter has been settled. What about you? What has the Maester said?” 

“That I need to rest,” he coughs, “did you know Rhaenyra has arrived, too?”

“I figured out as much; when she wrote to me, she was already on the boat to King’s Landing.” 

He hums. “She has shown me the boys– oh, they have grown so much. And little Aegon and Viserys…”

Ah, yes: he had never seen them before. Your mother hasn’t come back to the Keep since Joffrey's birth, and she only ever allowed you to sometimes bring Jace, Luke and Joff to the capital, insisting that Aegon and Viserys were too young — as if you weren’t almost a dragon rider by Aegon’s age. 

“They are so cute, aren’t they?” you chuckle, “They don’t look like Daemon at all, thankfully,” he adds. “They look a lot like Rhaenyra when she was little– a lot like you, too.” 

You are happy to see that he remembers when you were little — he has been forgetful as of lately, calling the Queen ‘Aemma’ and referring to Otto as ‘Lyonel’. Sometimes he slips with you too, calling you Rhaenyra, asking you when you plan to do the tour to find a husband. You haven’t heard him talk about Aegon, Aemond and Helaena in ages, and when you bring Aegon or Helaena to visit him with you, he seems to be hardly recognising them.

“It pains me that we were all reunited because of Vaemond’s petition,” your grandsire says, voice strained. “I would like to keep your mother closer to me, closer to the court– but the only idea seems to repel her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” you reassure him, “you know I have my ways. Besides, I can’t always be here. The Hightowers…”  

“I don’t trust anyone in this castle more than you and your mother,” he seethes, “how can I change Lord Hand, if you already have your own matters in the Seven Kingdoms and my own daughter won’t stay with me? This trial, the petition– it would’ve never happened if I hadn’t married Alicent and Otto wasn’t my Hand.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “What has happened can’t be changed, my King. After these matters are dealt with, with your permission, I would like to… clean the court, so to say, from all the snakes that have made it their nest in these last few years.”

“Of course, of course,” he coughs violently, trying to scoot enough to lean his back against the headboard. You hear a clutter outside, but ignore it for the most part, focusing on the heavy breathing of your grandsire. “Do of Vaemond what you think it’s best for the Realm.” he coughs again, trying to straighten up, “Could you pass me my quill and paper? Otto’s started to become more and more meticulous, and I suspect that without my word, he won’t leave you to handle the petition…” 

You do as he asked you while the rumble outside is getting louder; if earlier it was only a few whispers and angry stomping, now it’s turning into what seems to be a full-on argument between the guards and… Oscar? Is that his voice?

Your grandsire continues writing the delegation, handwriting shaky, and you’re horribly reminded yet again of how much he’s aging. ‘Tis a wretched thing, watching someone you love slip and slip and slip until only the Stranger can catch them. You wonder when the last time you’ll be able to talk to him with him recognizing you will be. 

“The seal,” he murmurs, passing the letter to you, “forgive this old man, I don’t think I should be trusted with wax as of now, or I’d spill it all over the letter.”

You shake your head, “Never apologise to me for such a trivial thing ever again, grandsire.” you smile at him tenderly, caressing his hand. “I’d be glad to seal every one of your acts and letters for the rest of my life, if it meant having you by my side.” 

You are preparing the hot wax for the royal sigil, when the doors slam open and the guards yell curses as they try to keep out a panting, screaming Oscar. “The trial!” His voice is so shrill that for a moment, you wonder if it’s just a maid dressed up as him. “They’re making it start now! And your grandfather–” the guards push him back, closing the doors with a loud bang!, making your grandsire blink in confusion. “What was that about?”

You hurriedly pour the wax, only half-melted, over the parchment, blowing air upon the sigil in hopes to fasten the making. “Sorry, grandsire, I fear this was my call for the Throne room.” You press a kiss onto his forehead, leaving even more confused than before as you dash out of the chambers. “Oscar! Oscar!” 

You find him outside, right in front of the doors, arguing with the guards, insisting to be let in. “The Princess’ orders were specific,” Ser Erryk reiterates, “no one, besides very few, are to be let in–”

They stop at your sight, and you wave them away, hurriedly marching down the stairs while being followed by Oscar. “So, I guess the trial is starting now?” you muse, not actually amused at all. He pants, shaking his head. “The steward– he, he was showing me to the rooms, aye? And then a guy wearing the Hightower signet came and asked him for a fine pillow for the Lord Hand so that he could sit more comfortably on the Throne during the ongoing trial. And then– gods, I looked for you everywhere, I have no idea how you manage to live in this castle– I heard some maids talking about the arrival at Driftmark of Lord Corlys, who apparently is on the verge of dying.”

Your what?! echoes through the hallway and makes a few maids flinch and some guards straighten up, but your steps don’t slow down. “You mean to tell me Vaemond called this petition because my grandfather is deadly injured and nobody thought of telling me? And even worse, that right now Otto Hightower’s arse is sitting on the Iron Throne with a pillow? My ancestors have burnt down entire cities for far less!” you gag, “Oh, forgive him, Aegon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing… sitting on the throne he forged with his fallen enemies’ swords out of dragonfire– with a fine pillow no less!” 

The guards that are stationed outside the throne room clearly have no intention of blocking your way in, opening the doors for you with no fuss and bowing their heads, “Princess, Ser Tully,” 

A page jumps at your sight, interrupting Vaemond’s speech by yelling out, “The Princess, ambassador of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms and– uh… Ser Oscar Tully, accompanying her.” 

Murmurs spread across the room; your mother smiles at you, moving forward but then stopping — you know she has just stopped herself from hugging you — and Vaemond tries to smile, too, but it ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. You try to think more of your mother rather than him, or else you’re going to strangle him right now, in front of all these witnesses. 

“Princess,” Otto Hightower gloats from above, sitting on the Throne with his stupid, horrendous green pillow. “You’re awfully late — unusual of you.” 

“Well, Lord Hand, I would’ve been on time if only anyone had told me that the trial’s time had been moved,” you hiss, “and I think that’s probably why you didn’t bother sending anyone to call for me. Now do me a favor and get your smelly and sensitive buttocks away from my Throne.” 

He raises both eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. “Pardon me?”

“I am not going to repeat myself twice, Otto,” you say, harsher this time. “I am the wielder of Blackfyre, which is the royal scepter. No one can hold court or trials without it, unless they’re the King.” he moves to open his mouth, but you don’t let him talk — he doesn’t deserve that privilege. “Besides, if you need a pillow to sit on the Iron Throne, were you really made to sit on it?”

Daemon laughs openly; besides him, everyone tries to keep their chuckles as silent as they can, even if you’re sure Mushroom’s going to combust soon if he doesn’t laugh out loud. “The Throne is made out of swords, nobody would ever be comfortable in it,” Alicent butts in– you had hoped she had called in sick today. Of course not. The sight of Aegon still holding in laughter from your remarks to Otto lightens your mood a bit. “But that does not matter. He is the Lord Hand, and unless the King has given other instructions, he is to replace the void left by the regnant.”

You snort. “Yes, grandsire said that you would have given me trouble about that. In fact, he did leave special instructions.” you pass the delegation to one of the public notaries present. He nods at it, confirming to everyone in the room the truth of your words, “Well, I guess the matter is settled then.” you squint at Lord Hand dearest, “Off of my Throne, and be quick with it.” The proud expression of your mother fills you with more happiness than it should. 

To say that you’ve had a rough relationship with her in the last few years would be an understatement to say the least. 

For the sake of your brothers, you try your best with her. You still love her dearly, but in the years your resentment towards her has grown immensely, and even if you would still die for her, that doesn’t mean that sometimes you just don’t want to kick some sense into her. You hope that after this, she fucking wakes up. You hope that she finally acknowledges that she stole what should have been your careless years and used them as her own. 

As for Daemon, you don’t necessarily despise him as much as you did once. Sure, he’s obnoxious and loud and a terrible man, but you can’t just continue to ignore him for the rest of your life. Your conversations these days mostly consist of sly remarks and jabs, but they are not made out of spite anymore, rather out of respect and complicity. In the end, Daemon — whether you like it or not — has seen you grow up, and sometimes, you think it could even be fondness the thing that softens his eyes when he looks at you  — something much similar to the gaze he holds exclusively for his own daughters. 

You nod to your grandmother Rhaenys and glare at Vaemond, proceeding to sit on the Throne and throw the cushion over the ends of the sheathed swords that surround the King’s — for this occasion, your — seat. You keep Blackfyre in your hand, holding onto the handle, keeping it like a scepter– like your grandsire once did. “Go on, Vaemond,” you muse, “I’m really curious about what you’ll say in your defense.” 

Vaemond’s eyebrows shoot up so high that for a moment, you think they might start flying around the room. “Pardon me– defense? I am not accused of anything. I am claiming my legitimate right for the Driftwood Throne.” 

You narrow your eyes. “If what I’ve heard is correct, you are issuing the legitimacy of my brothers.”

He blinks. “I am, Princess. Driftmark must–”

You huff, “That matter was settled long ago. The King himself said multiple times that anyone questioning Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon’s lineage was to have their tongue cut; besides that, our father, Laenor Velaryon, has always declared them to be legitimate. Did you think you were exonerated from such considerations, perhaps?”  

“I didn’t, Princess,” he hisses, and from the glare he sends Otto, you understand that they had planned not to bring that up. “But now the legacy is at stake. With my brother between the land of the dead and the one of the living, I want to set things right for the succession.” he falters, “I– I had hoped you’d understand.” there is much more behind his words, and you take immediate notice of it. 

You snarl. "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."  you wave your hand in the air. “My grandfather is not even dead yet and you already hover around his possessions like a vulture! Has nobody told you that during a Lord’s absence, a regent is named to make all the decisions for him?” 

He seems to be horrified. “The regent has much less of a claim over Driftmark than I do–”

“Yet my grandfather didn’t name you,” you counter. “I wonder why, uncle. Could it be that the regent holds his wishes more to her heart than you do?” You raise your eyes from his form, “Princess Rhaenys, a word?” 

Your grandmother steps up with a smile on her face. “Gladly,” From the way she looks at you, you understand that once you get out of this room, she’s going to brag about you to all her friends and every servant that is willing to listen. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son– Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra just informed me of her desire to marry Lucerys Velaryon to my granddaughter Rhaena to strengthen the bonds between our houses once again.” she chuckles, “And, as it is both Targaryen and Velaryon tradition to do so, Prince Jacaerys’ and Princess Helaena’s firstborn could marry Prince Lucerys’ and Lady Rhaena’s firstborn daughter.”

“Creating an engagement between kids who have yet to be born is a little tricky,” you murmur, an eyebrow raised, “But I don’t have anything against it. We can consider this matter settled once and for all– even if, I’m sure, once he wakes up, my grandfather will waste no time in stating his will once again.” you sigh, “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and the next Lord of the Tides.”

“You break law,” Vaemond hisses, “and centuries of tradition that I had hoped you’d have understood by now, niece.”

You shake your head. “Don’t try that with me, uncle, you know it won’t work.” you point your finger accusingly at him, “The regent has spoken, and her word is Corlys’. Besides, what good would you do ascending to the Throne of Driftmark? You’re old and you have no heirs, no daughters, no wife. You’re just a second son who hopes in his brother’s demise to have all that he could never have by birthright. Prince Jacaerys is already betrothed to Princess Helaena; the Velaryons will be princes, Vaemond, princes!”

“The fact that I have no heirs can still be changed,” he bluntly says. “I’m still young enough to find a wife.”

You grimace, “Yes, yes, there are way older men than you that get married at their elderly ages, but it will be a great feat to find you a wife with the face you find yourself in, even for all the gold in the world.” 

“You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?” he rages, “I will not allow it!”

“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond!” you state back, “I myself hold the Velaryon name, and you have no right to tell me who deserves it and who doesn’t when my own father and the man that is now miles away, fighting for his life, taught me everything I ought to know to carry it with pride!” 

He points angrily at Jace, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” the whole room gasps; you get up from the Throne, surely matching the tone of anger. “Continue and I’ll have your tongue cut out for this, Vaemond–”

“You all may run your house as you see it fit!” he shouts, “But you will not decide the future of mine. The Velaryons have survived the Doom and a thousand of tribulations aside– and gods be damned, I will not see it ended because of this–”

He stops in his tracks; from the look in your eyes, he knows that if he ends the sentence, he could lose much more than his tongue. But Daemon taunts him, “Say it.”

Vaemond’s right eye ticks. “Her children are bastards!” he bellows, causing the fainting of one of the ladies standing behind and the general outrage. “And she is a whore.” 

Before you can yell out every insult under the sun and call for the guards to bring him to the Dragon Pit so that Nādrēsy may feast on him, a sword comes behind him, slicing his head in two — leaving his tongue intact. Many scream and run out of the room, while both sides of your family stand there and watch his body fall forward. The guards are stopped by a gesture of your hand; Daemon merely grins, cleaning his sword with the dead’s clothes. “Let him keep his tongue,” he murmurs, “I’m sure the Stranger will be delighted in hearing his laments.”

Oscar is downright traumatised by the experience. “Do people often die here, during trials?” he asks you for the fifth time, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. “Not if Daemon isn’t around,” you quietly reply, looking over at your uncle and mother chatting — or, better… discuss animatedly — about what has just happened. The room is filled with the murmurs of your family: Baela and Rhaena are whispering with Rhaenys as Jace and Luke chat quietly. 

Anybody has yet to come to talk to you, too preoccupied with their own matters — not that you care. You’re waiting for everyone to be out of this room to be finally left alone with your mother and have a decent talk. As of now, you’re just sitting in your chair with your arms crossed, brooding. Oscar taps his fingers on the table beside him, and it irks you. “Will you please stop, before I send you out of this room?”

“I shouldn’t even be here!” he counters, shouting-whispering. “This feels like a family reunion!”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “my grandmother already hates you as only family can do.”

“That’s just because she thinks I’m your prostitute or something,” he mutters, offended. Though it is true that she loathes him– you have brought him with you to Driftmark many times, and every time, her despise for him was basically impossible to hide. 

“Why, you think she doesn’t hate Daemon for the exact same reason?” 

As Oscar stays there with his brows furrowed, gears turning in his head over your last sentence, your patience runs short. “This is madness. I am going to talk to her.” you rise from your seat, every eye but your mother’s and Daemon’s turning to look at you — and everyone knows you well enough to get out of the room before the storm can hit. 

Your mother and her husband are still hissing to each other for the Seven know what reason why, so much that they don’t even notice you. “Are you finished?” you say flatly, raising an eyebrow when their heads turn to look at you, surprised. Luke is the last one to exit the room, and he makes sure to close the door. “I thought you two were adults, but clearly I am in front of children. I would’ve killed Vaemond either way; could you kindly stop arguing now?” 

Rhaenyra’s face warms. “I– sorry, of course.” she still sends a glare to her husband, relenting only because of you. “Could you kindly leave us alone, kepa?” Daemon rolls his eyes, begrudgingly heading towards the door. Before he closes it behind him, he sends a look at Oscar, whispering, “I think you may want to leave now, too, whore-boy.” 

Unfortunately, Oscar only hears a few muffled words and then the door closes. He focuses on trying to make himself as invisible and small as he can, as he hasn’t been excused by either you or your mother, and figures he can’t leave his little sad seat until one of you tells him to. 

Rhaenyra is the first to extend an olive branch. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today,” she says calmly, smiling at you. “With Otto holding the trial, I don’t even want to think about what the outcome could’ve been.”

Your face remains still, not a smile in sight and no emotions to show. “Good. You have seen how to handle such matters. From now on, they will be in your hands.”

Your mother’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” you mock, “You let me pick up your slack for the last eight years, mother. I’m done.” she’s about to open her mouth again, but you talk over her, “You called me here because you needed my help — and I will help when I can, you know that, but you didn’t even tell me that in the first place this godsforsaken petition was called because my grandfather could be dying as of now.” you shake your head, eyes clouded with memories: of all the swims you and Corlys had taken together, of him and your father teaching you how to navigate — the only thought of them both dead makes you want to throw up. “You think you may lose an asset if he dies, maybe a once good-father– but he is my grandfather. He is much more than just a lord to me. He taught me how to swim, how to survive out in the sea — and he is, besides grandmother, the last thing left of my father.” 

You blink the tears away from your eyes. Blinking, you notice her eyes are watery too. “We have already talked about this, sweetling,” she murmurs. 

You shake your head. “We have, but you never actually listen to me. I am tired, mother.” A tear escapes her eye at seeing you in this state — head bowed, eyes full of tears, lip trembling. She has gotten so used to seeing you act mature that she has almost forgotten that you are only six and ten; at your age, her main concerns were fighting off suitors and assuring that nobody found out that she was sleeping with her ward. Meanwhile you are trying to hold the whole realm intact by yourself while trying to keep the Hightowers as far as they can be from the Throne, handling every lord and lady that complains, and — Rhaenyra as of now doesn’t know you well enough anymore to say it, but she suspects you are having an affair too. Just in case, she glares at Oscar through the tears. 

“I want to stay here, in the castle, with little to no worries until I am to be married off– oh, don’t look at me like that, mother, we both know it’s going to happen soon.” you wave a hand in the air, sniffling, “I want to finally be able to mourn my father. I want to wear all the pretty dresses I’ve bought in the last two years. I want to have handmaidens, I want to fly on Nādrēsy for fun rather than for Kingdom matters, I want to stop worrying about the Hightowers colonizing the Red Keep everytime I’m away. But I can’t do it without you, mother.”

She wipes away her tears with the sleeves of her dress, “I– I thought you enjoyed being the ambassador and having so many duties.”

You laugh bitterly. “I did for the first two years. When you give a child a cup of wine, he doesn’t think of the headache that he will have after drinking it– he only sees his opportunity to finally prove himself as an adult.” you grimace, a tear slipping from your eye, “At first it was fun. Grandsire kept me mostly away from political affairs and sent me around just to make Nādrēsy clean the Kingdom’s prisons; I didn’t have to do anything. But then he started considering me for political missions.” you spare a glance at Oscar, now trying to melt into one with the seat, clearly awkward. It was during one of the missions that you met. “He kept giving me more and more power, and I found it so funny. At ten I sentenced every remaining member of Cregan Stark’s family just because. I could have sent them to the Wall — after all, it wasn’t really clear how much his uncle’s sons had helped their father usurp Cregan, and the Wall is the usual punishment for Lords. But then, as I grew, I started feeling the weight of it. Not every situation was black and white, and sometimes I just wanted to kill both parties and call it a day.”

Your eye ticks. “And I don’t know how long I can hold it until it breaks me. I just need… time. If you pick up from where I left and become Hand, I won’t have to worry about anything until I become Queen or you become Queen and name me Hand. And until that happens, I think I will have learnt how to handle the weight just fine.” 

Your mother doesn’t say anything. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. In the end, she just hugs you and goes for the door. As she opens it, she turns towards you, eyes red. “I– I’ll send a… servant. So that you two might be… chaperoned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You open your heart to her for this? A dry laugh escapes you as she closes the door behind her, “Whatever,” and you move back to your original seat, letting your head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. You sigh. “Do you think she understood?”

He grumbles. “I hope so. I’m not willing to sit like this through another mother-daughter talk like this ever again.” 

Supper is predictably going to be a disaster. 

As your Grandsire enters the dining hall, wheezing and leaning against the maester, you glare at Aemond, who has graciously decided to sit as far away from you as possible — that does not deter you from cursing him to all kinds of pain and suffering in your head, though. 

You told Oscar to dine in his own room, knowing that as soon as any kind of cataclysm starts, he won’t want to be around. Looking at the faces of your relatives, you ask yourself who’s going to strike first — if Aemond, Aegon, Luke or, even worse, Daemon. 

Your grandsire groans loudly as he finally sits in his chair, Alicent on his right and your mother on his left, smiling as the Maester wipes sweat from his forehead. He tries to muster up a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “How good it is… to see you all tonight, together.” 

His wife hums. “Prayer before we begin?” as the others move to intertwine their hands, you and Daemon stay still, sending each other amused looks. Neither of you has ever been the greatest believer, not of the Seven at least. There’s a lot of things you believe in — your mother’s right to rule, the legitimacy of your brothers, Aemond’s utter and clear idiocy… 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods make him rest.” you roll your eyes at that; you hope they make him burn for the rest of eternity. 

Your grandsire takes the word again. “This is an occasion of celebration. My grandson Luke will marry his cousin Baela, strengthening the bonds between our houses.” he turns to your mother, giving her the biggest smile you’ve seen him make in a while. “And my firstborn Rhaenyra has asked me permission to stay here in preparation for her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, making her the first Lady Hand to be named in history.” 

You perk up, surprised. Looking over at Otto, you find him staring blankly at the King, no hand pin on his chest. You instead find it on your mother’s dress, pinned right above her breast. You look up at her to find her already smiling tenderly at you, eyes full of affection. “She also requested that her daughter be lifted from her duties until she is to be married, so that she may enjoy the last years as a girl that she has left. I think her reasoning is right, and with her by my side, I know my granddaughter will be able to step aside and spend freely the next few years.” he takes his goblet of wine, barely managing to raise it in the air. “So, a toast to the young prince, his betrothed and the princesses!” 

You all clank your goblets and dive into your food, as silent as ever. Aegon nudges your side, “You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?” he whispers. The smirk on his face tells you that he couldn’t care less if his grandfather has just lost his position as Hand. “We should go visit the Free Cities together now that you have no more obligations, niece. Ever heard of Tyrosh’s pear brandy?”

You roll your eyes, holding in a smile. “Always thinking about drinking, aren’t you, uncle? I’m surprised you’re still so awake this late in the evening with all the cups you down usually.” 

He huffs. “Mother kept me from drinking today because of the trial.” he shrugs, grabbing his goblet and motioning for a servant to fill it up again. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”

The chit-chatting goes on for a while; mostly everyone keeps to either themselves or the ones beside them, keeping their eyes on the plate and eating as fast as they could to get out of here soon. Your grandsire coughs, making everyone raise their eyes to look at him wheezing. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” he shakes his head, making both you and Aegon grimace while looking at Aemond, who is nodding like he’s not the one who has mostly caused all of this.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings into our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside all your grievances — if not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all dearly.” 

Either he doesn’t see the whole situation clearly or he keeps being a hopeless romantic, because you doubt anyone in this room will ever set their grievances aside. Even if you were to forgive Aemond for what he had done to you, your brothers would still hate him, and Baela and Rhaena would continue to resent him for stealing their mother’s dragon. Otto made your last six years a living hell, as you continuously tried to keep your grandsire from being poisoned by his stupid maesters and pages, and Alicent did the same to your mother, terrorizing her in her own home, making her walk right after giving birth to Joff and such. 

You’re about to open your mouth and protest on your family’s behalf when your mother herself rises from her seat, goblet high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” The look Aegon sends you says loyally?, and you have to look straight ahead to the windows to not burst out laughing. 

“She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my whole gratitude — and… my apology.”

The Queen presses her lips into a thin line, getting up and raising her cup. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

You and Aegon share a doubtful glance. “Are we the problem?” He asks you quietly, concerned about why everyone’s accepting this so quickly. You shake your head. “I have no idea, uncle. Maybe we are crazy.”

Jace clears his throat, raising too. At this point, you think you might actually be the problem. Is it possible you’re the only one who’s spiteful in this room? “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He sits back down, friendly punching Aegon’s shoulder. Your uncle coughs, “To you as well.”

Baela boldly gets up, and you’re starting to wonder for how long the toasting will go on. “I would like to toast to Rhaena and Princess Helaena. They'll be married soon, and even if I do not wish to marry, I am sure they’ll find good husbands in Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys.”

The rest of the night goes fairly well, with bards starting the music and Mushroom fooling around, raising everyone’s spirits. Without him, you think, the family wouldn’t stand half as strong as it did. Once, Alicent tried to ban him from court, saying he was too obscene- as if your grandsire would’ve ever allowed that, with the way the fool made both you and your mother laugh. 

At some point during the evening, your grandsire leaves for his chambers, not feeling well; and as soon as he leaves the room, your fears become reality. 

Aemond gets up from his seat, cup raised, malice in his eyes. He has waited for grandsire to retire to speak– he knows the King would not have appreciated what he has to say. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… and strong.”

Jace flinches. Alicent grimaces, reprimanding, “Aemond.”

He doesn’t listen. “Come — let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

You and Jace both get up. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” He laughs, “'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” 

Jacaerys strikes first, attacking Aemond with a punch on his face. Your mother is horrified, “Jace!”  Aegon whistles, laughing until you push his face into his food. “Not now, you dumb fuck!” She turns to you, eyes lost, “Not you, too!”

“S’fine,” Aegon chokes, face covered in sauce and peas and a piece of a roasted potato up his mouth. “She usually does worse.” 

Luke is on his feet the moment Jace’s knuckles touche Aemond’s face, but the guards stop him– they don’t come for Aemond quick enough to stop him from sending Jace tumbling to the ground, though, and your brother falls down only to rise up again, even more enraged– and that’s where the guards decide to step in. 

“That is enough!” Alicent yells, getting up and going to her son as your brothers struggle in the guard’s hold. She takes her son aside, raging, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

Aemond only snickers. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” he then turns to your brothers, still fighting the guards’ hold, “Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs.” 

Your mother hushers your brothers and cousins out of the room, “Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”

Daemon goes to stand in between your uncle and your brothers, hands joined and sword on his hip. His gaze is clear: if you have something to say, say it to me. Aemond opts for the better option — the one that will allow him to keep his head steady on his shoulders — and decides to just flee the scene, exiting the chamber.

You sigh, looking at your mother. “Well,” you mumble, “I’m departing for Driftmark early in the morn to see my grandfather,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Good luck with everything else though. It’s rare around here that supper doesn’t end in a fight.”

if my calculations are right, the slow burn will start burning next chap

[astraveritas]

── .✦ Dark side of the 10H SYNASTRY can have this “look what I have” type of energy, where one person treats the other like a possession and they want the whole world to know that. They want to post you on every social media they have, they will drag you to every event and introduce you to everyone they know. They will be proud of you, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it feels like it's that kind of pride a man has when he brags about his new car. It can be flattering but also deeply uncomfortable and dehumanizing. People who are not comfortable with this type of attention and treatment will probably avoid 10H contacts.

── .✦ On the positive side 10H SYNASTRY overlays can be your biggest hypeman. They genuinely want you to succeed in life. They will drive you to that job interview, they will help you study for your exam, they will encourage you when you decide to open up that business you were dreaming of your whole life. This synastry overlay has a sweet aspect to it that a lot of people overlook.

── .✦ I'm in my controversial era but I find the funniest duos are those that have MERCURY SQUARE MERCURY in synastry. It's often indicator of miscommunication and misunderstandings in relationships, and I don't deny that, this definitely is a dark side of this contact. But I think it can have somehow positive side in platonic relationships and friendships. I find that people with this aspect in synastry bounce of each other better that those with conjunctions or oppositions. That harsh clash of energy in a fight will leave you both in tears, but between best friends it's that type of energy that will have you talk to each other like sarcastic assholes and you both know that the other doesn't mean it and it's just the effects of how comfortable you are with each other. It reminds me of those "the way you talk to your friends vs the way you talk to your best friends" memes . But I might be biased cause I'm generally fascinated with squares in synastry.

── I find that SQUARES IN SYNASTRY have tendency to create feelings of unfamiliarity which can cause deep fascination and in more extreme cases obsession. I always say that oppositions are like a chess or a ping pong game. You know your rival, you both know the rules, you're standing face to face, it's all back and forth. Challenging but familiar. Squares on the other hand have no rules, they will hit you from the side when you least expect it. It's something new, something different, something unfamiliar that will shake you to your core and force you out of your comfort zone. That's why I personally think having some squares peppered in between conjunctions and trines in synastry won't have you feeling stuck and bored.

── .✦ If you’re not a plutonian yourself and you find yourself in a heavy PLUTONIAN RELATIONSHIP it might evoke feelings of jealousy and possessiveness in you that you’ve never experienced before, to the point you start asking yourself “what’s happening? I don’t usually act like this”. It’s probably pluto aspecting the inner planets. From what I’ve noticed the most prominent aspects that cause this are tight squares and oppositions between pluto and moon/venus .

── .✦ Every time I check synastry for someone who told me they “had instant chemistry” and “there were sparks flying” the moment they met this person, like a clockwork the MOON-MARS aspects show up. I've seen VENUS-URANUS or VENUS - ASCENDANT being mentioned but I think those are the "instant attraction" not "instant chemistry" aspects since they can be pretty one sided. It's someone seeing you and going "whoa, you're hot and aesthetically pleasing I want that" and you might not feel the same way about them. Moon-Mars is felt by both equally. First thing I noticed is the heavy eye contact and tension. These two will stare at each other like they wanna fight or fuck and you're not sure which way they'll swing.

── .✦ When someone puts their MARS IN YOUR 12H , much of their effort to connect with you and get to know you becomes obstructed in some way, particularly during the early stages of the relationship. You are confused because their energy can't reach you directly. You're not sure if they want you or you just made that up in your head. A lot of times, it’s a result of the surrounding circumstances rather than a conscious choice by the house person to ignore the Mars person. It's not like the house person is rejecting the Mars person; it's much more like "It's not like I don't want you; I just don't know what you want from me." The Mars person can also end up hurt because all of their efforts feel unnoticed and ignored. It's as if they both navigate through a fog; making a connection is challenging. 12H SYNASTRY will leave you questioning your sanity: "There was something there. I did not make that up in my mind, or did I?"

── .✦ MERCURY-ASCENDANT conjunction in synastry is such a great aspect. This is the "I know what you mean" aspect. The ascendant person can really easily understand and verbalize the thoughts and feelings that the Mercury person might find difficult to articulate. I love seeing it in a synastry chart; the communication sometimes feels telepathic, especially when Mercury conjuncts the ascendant from the 12H.

── .✦ My favorite synastry aspect is positive MOON-VENUS contacts, they are like a sweetener in relationships. The "I have a soft spot for this person" aspect. It brings a lot of forgiving and understanding energy to the relationship. In particular, the Venus person being the Moon's person's safe space and giving them a lot of reassurance and acceptance when they express their emotions. The Venus person will understand, so the moon person won't feel uncomfortable expressing themselves. This aspect always adds a feeling of genuine sympathy between two people.

[kanejbr3kker]

Does anyone else just sit and think about the fact that Six of Crows is literally the perfect book?

Like, we have a morally grey character who's actually morally grey and has a real reason to push people away other than "once I killed someone in self defense, so I'm a terrible person and we can't be together." And every other character has a super fleshed out backstory as well, including real world problems that don't usually get talked about in fantasy books.

There's just as heavy an emphasis on platonic love as romantic love, instead of "I can fix him", it's "he can fix himself", there's a gay couple that's actually happy and not suffering every five pages, and all of the gay characters have personality traits outside of the fact that they're gay.

And speaking of the romance, it's so not rushed or sexualized. No one even kisses in the first book, but it's still so obvious how much they love each other. Each couple has such a different dynamic, and the way their pasts mirror each other? Perfection. (I also firmly believe that Kanej is the best couple in all of YA prove me wrong)

And then the diversity??? 3/7 of the lead characters are POCs, 4/7 are queer, 3 have disabilities, 2 have addictions, 2 have PTSD, 2 are religious, one was raised in a cult, and it's not one of those books that has diverse characters just for the sake of being diverse!

The plot is so unique, especially among fantasy books, and despite the fact that there's so many moving parts, there is not a single plot hole. And the CK auction scene will forever be one of the best end of series climaxes I have ever read.

So basically I don't get why other authors even try anymore cause I'm sorry but no matter how great their books are, it's not going to be Six of Crows.