#otp: do not go far from me

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

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Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

[bonnie-sheila-bennett]

[alirienn]

do elaborate on ness & kurona…..

the '''red''' sidekick (ik ness is purple, but it like, inches towards red, it's a reddish purple)

both play supporting roles and don't try to score for themselves

no eyebrows lol this one's a joke

very devoted to their respective partner (kaiser / isagi) at the expense of making their own goals (and a lot of charas' ego revolves around that n stuff)

starting to be a bit delusional here but i do think its possible their egos awaken at the same time, maybe not Bc of each other but it certainly could mirror (or they do see a reflection of themself in the other since their current role is to be support, they realise u need individualism to be an egoist or something like that

and then u get an interesting contrast where even tho they have similar roles, for a lack of better words, ness is unhinged and kurona is just trying to help

i think ness would hate seeing kurona is like him, even tho he's the same (bc they're the same)

i can also see ness taking his anger out on the person most important to isagi in this arc, the other half of his planet hotline, bc i believe in him getting worse (positive) (not the word im looking for but kaiser is... fair?? to an extent, like he'll acknowledge that his opponent is skilled, but ness? he won't agree no matter how hard u squeeze his headー tl;dr i can see him doing underhanded... things)

i consider any ship with my fav

i like their height difference, even tho we dunno what their heights are we can use my Isagi Yoichi Height Ruler™️ aka kurona's shorter than isagi, so ofc he's gonna be shorter than ness

i like the idea of ness bullying him, bc i like seeing my fav get bullied and also ness is like that, but at the same time i dont think kurona would take that sitting down so i also want to see him bite back, i want them to figuratively bite each other and fist fight

tl;dr i think they (can) mirror each other, if only they'd talk to each other 😔

this got so long i dont even know what i wrote , there might be other stuff i forgor about , it is what it is but i just think they could have an interesting dynamic mostly and i like any ship out of these four like i mentioned in my tags

also warning there's SO many tags on this one oh my god

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am not a Valyrian Sex God.❞

part 03 | pucker up, buttercup

chapter summary:

[ The line of friendship dances in uncertain waters when you and Aemond play the fake dating game a little too well. Helaena reveals much more than meets the eye to Aegon, and vice versa. Oh, and Alys. Hi Alys! ]

[ 5,399 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— mostly fluff, a wee bit angsty, a little smutty - profanity, i swear a lot sorry too shhshs - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— thank you so much for the love this little fic is getting so far!! it truly warms my heart that you people enjoy my twisty, crackpot humour and my version of a modern au for these characters!! as much as i am grateful for george for making these characters and these stories, i have to say what propelled me to write is the beautiful community i found. truly, from the bottom of my heart. ❥ fandom is built on community. i would not have had the courage to start writing fanfiction again if not for ya'll. so thank you so much. for the consumers and the creators. you, us, are the beating heart of fandom. please take care of each other. + comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

"Please tell me I haven't inhaled so much drugs in my system that I am hallucinating our— and I say this with a lot love, okay you know what? No. Our Nasty Little Bitch of A Grudge Holder we call, lovingly, a brother, is not dating the hottest friend you have? Hel? The hottest friend you told me if I ever came anywhere near, you'd rip me a new asshole? How is Aemond's asshole still intact?? Or does our brother just have a gaping fun-house slide down there? Hello? Hellooo, pay attention to meee. This is so rude, why didn't I call Daeron?"

"Because Daeron knows nothing and I know everything?" Hel snorts, finishing up re-naming Aemond's contact from CURRENT DUMB BRO to NASTY LITTLE BITCH OF A GRUDGE HOLDER, before turning to Aegon on her laptop.

Like she predicted, Aegon is already pouting, leaning back on what Helaena remembers is their grandfather's rum-coloured leather office chair. In his office. In Oldtown.

After a quick stint in Ibiza, it seems Helaena's brother had found himself back in the country, and worse— back in their grandfather's office. Without him in it.

"Grandpa's going to kill you." Helaena snorts. "How'd you even get inside his house?"

"This is not the first time I have been faced with a locked door, baby sister."

"You broke a window didn't you?"

"I really, really had to piss."

She rolls her eyes. Hard. "You are a boy. You can literally just pee anywhere."

Aegon flutters a gasp and a hand over his chest. "Excuse me? I may have a penis, but that does not mean I have to be uncouth. For shame, Helaena. Also disgusting. But that's not why I called." He steeples his fingers as he leans forward, pressing his elbows against the nice mahogany desk. "What the fuck is happening over there? I'll be there by tomorrow and I'd like to know what the fuck is happening before I start—" he wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, " — shaking things up."

A dark look crosses Helaena's usually amiable pretty face that has Aegon leaning back. "If you do anything— and I mean anything — to ruin what I have going on, Mother may help you for I certainly won't. The Stranger will look like an old friend, Egg, don't you fucking dare."

"What the fuck," Aegon exhales, wide-eyed and horrified. "Have you been watching M. Night Shyamalan movies again?"

"No," she lies. "I'm doing this for my OTP."

 "Oh my god, you're the one who roped them together?" Aegon strangles a sigh. "Lae-lae, we've talked about this. No matter how much you think they're cute, Aemond—"

"— Aemond and Alys broke up."

"Then they'll be together again before the weekend's out." Aegon rolls his eyes. "It's Aemond."

"Not like this." Hel shakes her head. "I got her to agree, Egg. And they're like... Gods, the pictures don't do them justice. They're magnetic. They make plans at the apartment, Aemond is there all the time— my OTP is happening."

"You are playing god between two people you care about."

"What else am I supposed to do?! They're obviously so hot for each other, and now that Alys is out of the picture, and she's there, right in front of him, Egg, you should see how it is between them. The energy. It's crackling. They have inside jokes, they're so comfortable with each other, and I will have the most beautiful nephew and niece—"

"—Helaena Targaryen," Aegon admonishes with finality. Hel quiets. Often times, the siblings forget Aegon is quintessentially the oldest sibling. They had never been close to their father's actual firstborn— the age gap is wide and there's just... too much complicated family fissures in between that it feels awkward, even when they're relationship is okay, to interact or consider Rhaenyra anything past a cousin you see every other holiday because you have to, much less now that their father's dead — so Aegon is their big brother.

And though they see it in bits, in flung comet pieces that you see preciously once every few hundred years— the vibe of big brother grasps the edges and reminds the younger siblings.

Sure, he's a dick. Sure, he's a whore. Sure, he's their mother's least and most favourite headache— but Aegon is their big brother.

"You cannot play puppeteer like this. This can blow up in their faces. And they care for each other. Their friends. If this blows up in their faces, it is going to hurt."

"I know that," Helaena says quietly, pout pinched but face mostly cleared. "You don't think I don't know?"

"I think you've already outweighed your chances and your choosing a possibility."

Helaena looks truly scolded at that point, and it juts a guilt down Aegon's stomach. But Aegon likes you. Maybe not like in the way that his brother likes you— in that intense, possessive way he gets with people and things he care about because there are so few of them — but he likes you. And he loves Aemond on a bad day, and likes him on a good one.

And Aegon knows, as a superior power about crashing and burning, that this is going to hurt both of you in ways that he truly doesn't think Helaena understands.

Because he isn't blind (as his brother) (bad joke?) (probably) to what he sees in Aemond's gaze when it looks at you. Sure it's possessive, sure it's the same way he looks at most people he keeps close to his heart.

But he was the one who saw how Aemond looked at you before Alys came into the picture. Before it morphed into nothing but platonic; morphed close to how he looks at Helaena. In that soft, I'm So Glad This Person Exists I Would Kill Literally Everyone For Them.

Aegon always thought he looked at you like he wanted to devour you. Etch you into his skin until your shape is in red marks across white plane. He looked at you like I Would Kill Myself If You Asked.

It was the possibility of devotion dipped in insanity. Aemond had so few things, much less people, who so vocally, physically, and emotionally cared for him without addendums.

The only real reason he never did anything before was because you were Helaena's best friend. Helaena loved you. And he couldn't destroy that alongside the fact that you might leave his side.

And then Alys happened and that focal point moved.

Aegon knew his brother. Not as intensely, and maybe that's the reason he could see it. To see clearly past the intensity and recognise its edges. Aegon knew his brother in his marrow.

"When this crashes and burns—"

"If!" Helaena quips stubbornly. "If it crashes and burns. Come home. You'll see, Egg. Aemond just needs to see."

"And what if she doesn't reciprocate, Lae-lae? She's not hard to love, and this is Aemond." Even Helaena knows his feelings, once taken root in whatever form, can blossom.

Helaena smiles softly. "Come home. You'll see. I can see it. I've seen it. The possibility of them, and it's so pretty, Egg."

It's really not all that pretty, fake dating.

Maybe it could be, but Aemond Targaryen is such an ass.

"This is not like The Devil Wears Prada fashion montage," you grumble, pinching off the big, 60s, yellow sunglasses off your nose to glare pointedly at the man sat on lounge chair. "All the zippers and tugging— this is not as pretty! And I look ridiculous! I don't wear dresses like these, Aemy!"

"You don't look ridiculous, you look like my girlfriend." He makes his emphasis with an inch raised eyebrow and pouty lips twitching not to laugh. "That's the point, is it not?"

You make a drawl huff. It's not just that his words were right— that's what the past hour has been, roaming around all these big named fashion brands where the staff just knows Aemond Targaryen, if not just by him sauntering in with all the swagger of an asshole you'd walk the other side of the street to ignore, then by the flash of his black card (or three, 'cause what the fuck is money to Targaryens holy shit) — but the way he's sitting as he appraises every look he's chosen for you.

He's lax, as could be in his usually perfect posture, with his hips in the middle, and one leg braced down whilst the other is raised to his other thigh. A confident man's sitting position, with an arm over the length of the sofa, balancing a champagne a trying-to-suppress-her-giddiness staff gave him.

At your disapproved glare— down on your nose at him because you're standing over him, lording over him, as he's sitting down — and he's smirking up at you. As if the power dynamics don't shift by whoever is looming over the other.

Aemond doesn't need to stand to make you feel all fluttery with a smirk and a strong gaze against your body. His eyes gaze from the bottom of your heeled toes, slow, slow, slow, until it reached the top of your head.

Surely you've only imagined his gaze lingering on certain parts of you that now felt hot and tingly.

Surely.

"Plus," he continues with a hum. A sip of champagne. "Isn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but—"

"Didn't you tell me that I should prepare the kind of outfits that Aemond Targaryen's girlfriend would wear—"

 "Yes, but I—"

He leans forward, taking pleasure in arguing with you, as he settles his elbows on his knees, pressing both of his feet flat on the tile. He's looking up, still, but his eyes are intense and the corner of his mouth is twitching from a grin he's trying to fight.

"And even when I told you that didn't matter, that whatever you wore would be fine, you insisted?"

"Because I thought it'd be fun!" you growl and he falls in faint, amused laughter. His eye is sparkling and there's a joy to him that makes you giddy. You truly have missed Aemond as you know him. "Because I wanted a fun dress-up montage, but nothing about this is fun! Why are you choosing so many goddamned zippers, and they're all so fucking tight?"

You plop beside him, stealing his champagne. Staff look away, trying not to ogle too much between you two. As you take sips of his drink, his hand, still over the sofa's arm, begin drawing idle circles on your exposed shoulders. It warms you and calms you down, melting further in the seat beside him.

"I liked the dresses," he finally murmurs. "The ones before this. The flowy fabric ones."

"Those are summer dresses," you say though don't know why.

"Hm," he hums. "You look pretty in them."

You look up at him and he's looking at you, a small smile on his face. The proximity is too near to be proper but not near enough if you're fake dating. You study his silver lashes and the scarred flesh.

"Thanks."

"We'll get them. Is that alright with you?"

You snort softly. "You're paying, Aemy. You can do whatever you want. Can't believe this is how your dates with Alys usually went."

Hatching plans meant unloading information about his former relationship with her. Going through their relationship so you could understand it better, better proportioned the good and the bad, and secretly, make him see the red flags that should jump out in clear, plastic red.

"Not at first." He's looking away now, but his finger is still drawing circles. There's a wistful tone to his voice, like seeing through a dream and a memory. "But when it got... bad, it seemed like the only time we weren't fighting was when we were in public. Almost subconsciously, whenever things got tensed, I'd offer to take us out. Do anything outside of our bubble. Money isn't an issue, and before Alys said she felt like a... cheap whore than a girlfriend, buying things for her, spending time looking through things to wear, to match almost, was safe."

"Gift Giving," you mutter with a nod. He turns.

"What was that?"

"A love language." He cocks his head. You sigh. "I mean it's stupid and not really theoretically accurate, but for fun, there's five types of love languages. People do this test thing and sort of box up the kind of love language you want to receive and what you give— but truly, in my opinion, a true kind of love demands all five for it to work."

He hums, intrigued. "And what are the five?"

"Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, Gift Giving. But, you know, all of those should be given by a partner, in increments they can do for you. There shouldn't be a boxed fixture of what your relationship could be."

You shrug, standing up and stretching. You don't see him looking at you in the way that he has been for the past few days, and he doesn't know the tingles and feelings you keep between a smile and a sigh.

"Love looks different for everyone but it should have the same concept."

"And what concept is that?"

You turn to him, smiling. "That if you truly love someone, you can try anything. Love doesn't demand things that you do for the simple reason that you love the person enough."

"Love can be complicated," he says, and he's not arguing, not really. He isn't begging for you to understand. He is simply saying.

"Love can," you agree. "As most things are complicated. But it doesn't have to hurt."

It's a boundary line, the way he blinks, remembering why you're here together, why he gets to touch you in intimate ways, why he gets to pay for clothes, why you spend this time with him. A jolt. A shock.

You don't press and he doesn't retreat. The line exists not just to remind, but to stabilise any projections. Any dangerous tones.

You simply smile, nodding at the time. "Dinner date, babycakes. We can't be late for reservations."

"We can be late for a few minutes," he says, remembering echoes of how Alys sometimes got late. It isn't really her fault; there are days when she's too busy at the law firm, too busy with a meeting or two, or still finishing up her makeup because she doesn't like going to dinner in her work clothes.

"Sure, but we're here together and I know how much you hate being late." You snort.

"I don't hate it."

"Sure, but you got that eye twitch you do when you're annoyed," you tease, tapping your own eye before you wink at him and skip away.

For the past few days since the bar incident, by your suggestion, you and Aemond had pour out the intricacies of how Aemond and Alys' relationship worked whilst hiding your true intention of making him see its faults and corners, and at the same time, continue on with the charade of dating him.

It's been a packed week or so, going to your shifts at the bar, meeting with Cregan once and a while (boy had been busy, and he found the entire thing with Aemond incredibly hilarious).

You answered no question mark in regards on who the hand was, only sent a winky face or a kiss blowing emoji. You continue to post minute representations of your no-longer-single status in brief intervals, making sure that you never name him. You never publicly give him a recognisable body.

But for those that knew, knew.

It really wasn't that hard. There were only so much pale, toned hands, so much body builds you can hide with your hand covering his general face that you can hide without people making smart guesses. There wasn't a lot of pale, toned people around you after all.

But in your refusal to name him, the question continues, and so does Alys silent observation of every post. The only story she had liked had been the very first one.

You often wonder what she thinks, before your mind is devoured once again with everything else.

To be fair, as often as you had both been seeing each other lately— and it has been the most often you have been seeing of him — there were still things outside of Aemond and Helaena plans. And Aemond still had UNI to focus on.

"You know, I often forget you're still in university," you say now, comfortably warm in Aemond's car. All fresh leather seat and crisp new car smell despite knowing that Aemond's had this unit now for at least a year. He maybe rich, but he knew what he liked and took care of them.

He shoots you a quizzical look before looking back at the road. The city is bathed in a gorgeous stream of oranges and pinks, tie-dying glass buildings and bustle of city roads. When you look at him, you smile softly at how pretty the light hits him.

"Why is that? Do I look that young?"

"Your vibe is so old man on a nine to three, cigar breaks by four, and whiskey sours by seven pm."

He makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat. You laugh. "I would like to think it's my altruistic classicism. A timeless endeavour."

"Sure, old man," you tease then sigh. "Reality is, I'm so much older than you. I'm hanging out with a child. On my free day. Is this what it means to reach low status?"

"I am not a child." His reply is sharp, cutting, almost offended.

"You're in college."

"And of legal age? You're only four years older."

"Oh, right."

"What?"

You smirk at his dark look. "You like 'em way older."

His face, much like his gaze, heats up. You're imaging it when the ride turns red, the car slows to a stop, and he is looking at your lips. Surely it was, because you got transfixed with the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A slow, tantalising movement.

It feels like an eternity stretched within three seconds. The light turns green and both of you turn away.

Well, there's been that. A few times. But it doesn't mean anything. Aemond is in that transition of trying to rid himself of bad habits, of being freshly single once again, and you know he and Alys get in on frequently. This had been a conversation a few days back, on a couch, smell of grease and pizza around the room while Murder She Wrote played in the background.

"Wait, wait, wait." You sat up, folding your legs underneath your butt, and giving Aemond your full attention with a little 'o' in your mouth.

"Wait!" Helaena calls playfully from her sway to the bathroom. "Imma pee!"

"Take care, my beloved!" you call back, before turning to Aemond with a big, Cheshire grin.

"Can we not dwell on it?" He's flustered but is trying not to show it, looking back to the TV as if he understood why there's a body on the plane.

But wine has been had, spilled and shared, and it's enough for you to grab that fluster and the topic, and smirked.

"No, no, we will talk about it. We shall! We must! Do you mean to tell me that by the end of it, most of the time, you two were just boning? Is Aemy, one of my favourite people in the world, a Valyrian Sex God?? Oh my god??"

"I am not a Valyrian Sex God."

"Okay, girly pop, please." You raised a hand in a 'talk to the hand' motion and he was smiling at you, entranced and frustrated. "Women talk, Aemy!"

There was a flush and Helaena came back. Wine did things to Helaena, and she was stumbling and giggling as she flopped behind you, turning around and encasing you in a koala hug.

"Women talk, baby bro." Helaena nodded sagely. "Even I try not to listen, they talk, alas."

"And Alys has said those hips—"  You pointed a j'accuse finger at his hips, then his mouth. "—and that tongue has done things that can make the Maiden blush."

Helaena groaned behind you're back, a slew of 'ew's escaping her mouth. And you were still being playful, teasing, but Aemond was looking at you, though scarlet, with a deepened expression.

And at that moment, both of you were thinking the same thing.

His chin brushing your thighs, your sighs like music to his ears, and his tongue making you scream.

Warmth pooled, twin expressions share a gaze. Hunger, desire, shame.

The connection was destroyed when Helaena abruptly jolted and fell down the carpet. Because she was holding onto you, you got pulled with her.

"Are you okay??" Aemond asked.

Hel gasped. "I thought I saw Bobby. I think I squished Bobby."

You shook your head. "You didn't. Bobby is spry. Bobby knows to move away."

Aemond's confused face peered down at both of you. "Who's Bobby?"

"The local spider that lives here."

"Of course." And he smiled.

You smiled back.

Helaena giggled beside you but when you ask her, she only shook her head.

And the silence that lulls in the car is like both of you reaching the very same memory and having to sit through the stifle of that drunken interaction about his sex life. He coughs, you let out a breathy giggle.

"I should admit something," he says, parking the car in front of the restaurant. Dusk is settling, sunset in bright red and orange turning to a cool blue and pretty lavender— and when you turn to him after getting out of the car, coddling your jacket close to your body, he looks nervy. Apologetic, almost.

"What? What'd you do?"

He bites his bottom lip. "I know something about this restaurant."

"I would assume. You chose it." Your eyes narrow, giving the black-out floor to ceiling windows a look. The Painted Table is lit up in a scrawled font on top of it.

You step inside, not bothering to turn to his call of your name, and is submerged by the restaurant's vibe. It's a darkened place with meaningful lighting but a casual air, a bar on the side, and an upbeat jazzy music dancing in the air — it looks good. The place smelled delicious.

Nothing about it sparked familiarity to you, but the anticipation from that look of guilt on his face brought you to a high-strung, so when he calls your name again, just behind you, you turn.

"Is this where you had your first date with Alys?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, but—"

"Aemond?"

The voice is familiar, and you don't stop enough to think before you're turning to the low, clear voice that's just a hint of husky, and Alys' green eyes go wide at your appearance.

She's dressed nice, dressed to go out in a black dress dipping low and fabric tangled around her body to show off her curves. Her inky hair was swept to one side and her mouth was bloodred.

Alys Rivers, owner of Aemond's firsts. The woman he seemingly can't let go off.

You smile. It feels fake. "Oh. Hi Alys."

Her shock staves off into a genuine smile that makes you guilty. "Hi, my love. I see you two are together. Always attached at the hip. Dinner?"

Before you nod— or maybe strangle Aemond — he comes forward, taking your hand in the process and lacing it. He's looking at her as if he's setting a challenge when Alys' eyes fall on your intertwined hands.

"Yes," he says. "We are."

"Well... that's good. This place is great. I—" Someone calls her name, she turns back. You shoot Aemond a withering glare you hope conveys how much you're going to beat his ass after this. She turns back, smiling still. There's a pinch between her eyes but it's gone by the third blink. "Well, I have to go. I'll see you both soon, okay?" She turns to you, stepping forward, not minding the Targaryen beside you. "Especially you. We haven't hung out in a while."

"That's true, I've missed you, you crazy witch." And she laughs and you smile, because you genuinely consider Alys to be one of your friends. Not maybe as deeply as Helaena's, or as close, but Alys was an amazing person and you enjoy her company.

Plus, right now the one you're angry about it solely the man holding your hand.

Alys turns to Aemond, and he stiffens. Between them is a complicated look. So many things unsaid, before her smirk softens. "It's nice to see you too, Aemond."

And she turns away, walking back to her table, to her date, when you tug him with you to the bar. As you order a dry martini, he speaks. Calm and soft.

"You're mad at me."

"You knew she was going to be here." You turn to him, arching an eyebrow, hating the way your chest pangs. "You stalked her and brought us here because you wanted to use me."

He shifts, face crumples at the word 'use' and calls your name in a plead. "It's not like that."

You snort, taking a sip of your drink when it arrives. "Don't lie."

"Okay. Yes, I did. I... I made an impulsive decision because I wanted to see how she could go on a date as if we were nothing." Bitterness cripples his words, the smirk on his lips is ironic and darkened in hurt. Your heart hurts for him, but you can't give him a pass just like that. He hurt you too.

"You could've told me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You would be okay with this?"

Your own smile is ironic and darkened by hurt. "You're already using me, Aemy. That was the deal I agreed, for Hel. It would at least lick the wound to have been in the know, and not, you know, got shot in the face with it."

At the first part of your tirade, he looked like he wanted to argue with the using part, but the realisation weighs him because it is true. To him, he is using you. And it's a cheap shot on your part because you were also doing this for him, out of your own free will.

You sigh when he turns away, guilt dipping low.

"You're such a dumbass."

He hums in agreement.

You're aware of a gaze from the tables, somewhere in the ocean of jazz music and chatter, Alys is looking, and you kinda wanna make this good for him. You were already here after all.

Your hand reaches his jaw, sliding across his neck until you reach his nape and fingers tangle with the baby hairs there. His hair had been wrapped into a bun. Sleek and fluffy.

He turns to you, to your touch, in shock. "What are you—"

"Try not to look so surprised," you whisper, stepping close to him until your noses are bumping. "We're supposed to be dating."

And then you slant your mouth against his.

TAGGED: @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr @astroswift @queenofshinigamis @helaenaluvr @kaetastic @jxdegodfrey @laniii-on-your-left @watercolorskyy @snowprincesa1 @gemini-mama

[moethewriter]

could you do number 27 with finnick from the otp prompt list? i love yours fics!

Of course I can anon! Super excited for this one, I had the best time writing it! Lot's of angst and fluff! TITLE: The Light In The Dark WORD COUNT: 1.5k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x Reader WARNING: None! TAGS: Lot's of angst, and fluff! (As always please let me know if you think anything needs to be added) lot's of introspection and reflection from the reader! A/N: I was so so so excited to write this one! And I think it's such an amazing prompt! Thank you so much for requesting it and as always I take constructive criticism! -

District 13 was not a place you particularly enjoyed. It was safe, and secure and far better than being stranded in an arena forced to kill other people. But you weren’t as content as you had hoped you would be. When you were rescued along with everyone the rebellion scooped up, you had kept telling yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to keep faith that whatever the next step was, was going to end all of it. 

Finnick had been rescued alongside you, and he offered a comforting ear. It was so strange being close to him again. It had been a year since you two had broken up, and though it had seemed like yesterday, you were no longer the same people you once were. So much had changed, you had changed. 

Though you knew once you both had been reaped that you were going to ally yourself with him. There really was no one else you would rather have at your side. Despite the separation, he had you trust and you knew he was far more capable than a lot of people gave him credit for. 

There had been tension between the group, that you knew, no one got along well unless it was with Mags. You knew the other’s could sense a different type of tension between you and Finnick, one filled with unresolved feelings bubbling below the surface. It had only gotten worse after you heard his voice through the jabberjays.

Johanna had tried to talk to you afterwards, even sent Katniss your way but you wouldn’t budge. You didn’t need to have a friendship circle and talk about how you longed for Finnick and how he still had your heart. No one needed to know that but you, though you sensed Johanna had always known, she had known you better than you knew yourself most days. 

There had been no major fallout with Finnick, no giant blow up that ended in destruction and despair. It had been so amicable … you had both been so busy, the life of a Victor always was. Not to mention the separation by District had been a struggle. You had been the one to bring it up, despite the pain it caused you. Finnick had agreed with you the moment you finished speaking. You hugged, and he left and then you stood there alone. You were both heartbroken over it, that much you knew. 

You had cried for weeks after it, though you felt you had no right to do that. No one was able to console you, despite Johanna trying her very best too. You knew she wasn’t the best with comforting people, she had grown colder after what had happened to her family, but you appreciated the effort she had put in. Seeing Finnick on TV doing interviews, going to parties and generally being in the Capitol had upset you the most. It was hard to look at him, you knew he was hurting so much more than anyone could tell. You wanted to reach out, but you knew it would have been a bad idea. So you stayed silent and watched him from afar, and kept your thoughts about him to yourself.

Though you hoped he thought of you too.

And in a blink of an eye, months had passed. You had both been mentors for the 74th hunger games, though to no avail as your tributes had passed in the arena. You didn’t speak to him much, and he did his best to avoid you. It was strange but you knew he was coping in a far different way then you were, so you couldn’t blame him,

The universe was funny though, bringing you both together again under far different circumstances. He had come to your door days after you had been reaped for The Quarter Quell to form an alliance with you, and you were both informed together about the rebellion by Haymitch Abernathy. You were hesitant but agreed to help, as long as Finnick was there too. There wasn’t anyone else you’d want as an ally in those games. Some small part of you was thankful that he had been there.

“Penny for your thoughts.” A familiar voice broke through the jumbled mess of memories you had been reliving. “Not much in there right now.” You chuckled, turning to meet Finnick’s gaze, he seemed relaxed, and adjusting far better than most people. “Just wondering about what the next step is, thinking about all that needs to be done.” The lie came easily to you, but you knew he could see right through it. He had always been able to see past you.

“That’s not the Y/N I know.” Finnick smiled, leaning against the wall. He looked like an angel in white against the steele gray. “The one I know is simply far too deep in thought about too many things that they’re overwhelming themselves with it. Am I wrong?” He raised a knowing eyebrow. 

“You know me far too well, Finnick Odair.” You snorted, crossing your arms in defeat “I was thinking about the past.” You said, quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t catch what you said at all.

“About us?” He questioned, a strange look crossing his face.

You couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking at that moment, but you knew there was no point in lying. You didn’t want to lie to him anymore.

“You could say that.” You nodded.

“I hope it’s all good memories.” He said, meeting your eyes once more. “I know I still think of those on my dark days.” He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You were one of the best things that ever happened to me.” You told him, earnestly. “I loved you more than life itself.”

“So you don’t  regret it at all?” Finnick questioned, and you weren’t quite sure if he wanted your answer by the way his voice quivered.

“No. Not one bit.” You told him. “I don’t regret having you because you made the sun shine brighter and you made my life worth living again. You put a smile on my face anytime I wasn’t feeling myself. You were the only one who loved me when I thought I couldn’t be loved. You changed me for the better in so many ways. You were, and always have been a star amongst the darkest of skies, Finnick. That little light that kept going even though the world tried to beat it down. You have always been one of a kind. I could never regret you. I would never regret a single thing because if I didn’t have you forever at least I had you at all.” Your voice was thick with emotion, finally saying all of this to him.

You had bottled it up for so long, kept it so tight to your chest that you felt like you were going to explode into a million tiny little pieces. You knew you would always love him, but a second chance at loving him had seemed impossible.

“I don’t regret breaking things off either.” You told him. “It was the best thing we could do for both of us at the time. You and I both know that.”

“I know.” Finnick nodded, a sad smile crossing his face. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t cry for weeks after it happened though. I missed you severely during those first few months. I’m sorry I never reached out, I wanted to but I didn’t know how.” 

You could see him fidgeting with his thumbs, something he only did when he was nervous, it was a quirk you thought had been adorable when you first noticed it. He had an anxious energy to him that could be hard to spot if you didn’t know him.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, sniffling a little. “That wasn’t your job anymore to be there for me.”

“You were never a job, I loved … love you and I always wanted to be there for you even when we were over.” Finnick said. “You’re the love of my life, you always have been, Y/N.”

“I’m still the love of your life?” You asked, wiping the stray tear from your eye.

Nothing could have prepared you for this conversation, but you were glad that you could air everything out. There was no one else for you but Finnick. You loved him, and you still wanted to be with him. He was the first person you thought about in the morning, and the last person you thought about before you slept. He was still the love of your life too. 

He was always with you, even when he wasn’t.

“Yeah.” He said finally. “I don’t think there’s anyone else for me.”

You made a tentative step towards him, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He was tense, you could feel that, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around your waist. He was warm, he’d always been built like a furnace in contrast to your cold body temperature but you two still fit together perfectly, like two halves of a whole.

It’s like you were always meant to be in his arms.

“I still love you too.” You told him, letting yourself get lost in his arms.

“When this is all over …” He whispered into your ear. “I’m going to take you on the best date in the world, got it?” 

You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Got it.” You said, hugging him tighter.

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

thoughts on episode 2 (SPOILERS)

Oh don’t  tell me we get Sylki this episode 

OH MY GOD THEYRE WEARING TUXEDOS

MARRIED COUPLE LOKIUS

oh god no not Brad 

HA LOKI SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF HIM

Mobius you’re such a dummie

B15 MY BELOVED

OHOHO GET FUCKED BRAD

Mobius is gay panicking

BRAD WHAT KIND OF RUN IS THAT

OHOHO MAGIC

WHERE DID YA COME FROM WHERE DID YA GO WHERE DID YA COME FROM COTTON EYE LO

MOBIUS IS GAY PANICKINGGGGGG

*sings along to the theme song*

Ohhh b15 you’re lookin fine

There’s a jail in the TVA??? I forgot about that

bring it to my son

OUROBOROS WHERE ARE YOU

SON

Aww he talks to himself that’s cute

So smart

He’s gonna get so fed up with people bringing shit to him when he wrote a whole book about it

Sweet Casey

Married couple Lokius building their IKEA bed

CASEY READ THE GUIDEBOOK! WE STAN A GREAT BOI

I’m going to fight Brad

Brad is so right about Lokis character but damn Mobius going to defend him is kinda gay

Why do I feel like Brad is talking directly to me when he’s talking to-

DONT TALK ABOUT FRIGGA I WILL MURDER YOU BRAD

The sass on lokis tone I’m going to cry

Mobius reign in your boyfriend

Loki is scaring me actually

That sounded kinda sexual Loki my man

YOURE RIGHT BRAD

THERAPY

MOBIUS’S PET?

Yeah Mobius who were you

Oh jeez

Mobius is about to flip out

HE FLIPPED

Loki caring for his husband <3

Following each other <3

KISS NOW

THE PIE SCENE

Awe Loki with his little legs crossed he’s so adorable around Mobius

Yeah you lost it baby

Comfort your husband Loki

WASNT TACTICAL??? BABE YOU ATTACKED NYC

Talk about your feelings Mobius

Why would you thank him for kidnapping you Mobius?

Felt that about bad and good lemme tell ya

Would you quit it about Sylvie

OUROBOROS!!!!

Don’t get hurt baby I’ll cry

Uh oh

UH OH

BRAD????

Is he dead?

Aww man he’s alive

Round two of what babe

NEED ANOTHER SESSION???

HARDBALL TACTICS?!!!??!

WHAT ARE THESE WORDS YOURE SAYING

Big machine

He’ll torture you babe

Remembering things for their husband this is cute

Uh oh Loki what are you doing

LOKI STOP IT

LOKI 

stop asking about Sylvie for the love of god

ENJOY YOURSELF?!

Mobius you’re so sweet

YEAH BRAD DONT BRING UP A VILLAIN’S MOTHER

Kill him hon maybe we won’t have to deal with his dumb ass

Terrible awful things 

He’s lost his shit I love it 

Loki please this is going too far

Okay nice we made Brad suffer and Loki is being everything Mobius could want in a boyfriend

Mobius was in on it?!

OB WHAT DO YOU MEAN WERE GONNA DIE

*gasp* OUROBOROS AND CASEY MY NEW OTP

HES FANBOYING

AWWWW BABIES 

oh no world is dead

*sings McDonald’s jingle*

Where’s my wife

Awww she’s so proactive I love her so much

NO NO NO NOT SYLKI PLEASE NOT SYLKI

One Unhappy meal please

Talk less Loki 

Can Sylvie drive

CORRECT OMG MY WIFE

THIS IS MY BELOVED 

Leave her alone Loki please

Advertisement 

OH MY GOD MOBIUS IS ON SOME SYLKI HATE

“It’s cinema thank you very much”

Murder

QUICK CHANGE WITH SYLVIE

THEYRE KILLING RVERYTHING

IHOHO MURDER

COMPROMISED OF CIURSE BABY

OH NO

call your boyfriend Casey

Don’t hold hands

NO

uh oh

Bye bye Sylvie :)

Oh she’s back

What are we looking at

Oh no…

Those are people!

Uh oh Sylvie’s angry

I might as well just make a harem of marvel women I want to wife me up 

Don’t pull that Sylki bullshit on me

Mobius is sad Loki go comfort him

At least Sylvie had her life

Does she have a friend?

What’s going on between those two?!

I’m so confused

Post credits???

Why not?

[conundrumoftime]

Fandom grandma tales: how I survived canon ruining two of the ships I liked.

(Written after a discussion with some of my TROP fan pals about how canon can break your heart re: shipping, and how fandom manages. There are spoilers here for the entire run of Babylon 5, and for one story JMS wrote after it. yes, that story. sorry.)

Babylon 5 was a sci-fi space opera show that ran from 1993 to 1998. It is sci-fi of the era of 22-episode seasons, of huge ensemble casts with characters who get their own B- and C-plots, with an effects and casting budget that doesn’t always match its ambition, and - something it was quite pioneering in, at the time - grand pre-planned story arcs. 

It’s the first fandom that I was involved with in internet spaces as it was running, or at least when its final season was (there’s Discourse and drama from earlier years that I missed). Its showrunner, J. Michael Straczynski - ‘JMS’ - was very active in (non-fanfic) fan community spaces, and you always knew exactly what he was thinking about things because he was part of the discussion around them. There was also fanfic, which he didn’t stop but didn’t go near on the grounds of legal liability for story ideas. 

Most of the fanfic in the early days as the show was airing was focused around two big ships, of which one was canon endgame (Delenn/Sheridan) and one was canon all-ends-in-despair (Marcus/Ivanova). I, as a teenager discovering a developing online fandom for the first time with all the overwhelm and excitement that causes (ask me anything about what reading fic was like before the days of tags/ratings/warnings!) got into Marcus/Ivanova and also into one of the minor ships, Delenn/Lennier.

Delenn/Lennier was never, ever going to happen in canon. This is obvious; it clashes with Delenn/Sheridan which was JMS’s baby darling OTP, the show’s big love story. Delenn is married for the later part of the show. Lennier is her diplomatic aide, is absolutely devoted to her, and they have a very intense mentor/student relationship, which it seems is kind of standard in their culture (when Delenn’s own mentor died she went briefly insane with grief and started a genocidal war over it) but is still Very Intense. He is canonically in love with her, but that’s as far as the explicit canon statements go.

However. HowEVER. Canon also gives us, for that relationship, some wonderful ship fuel. Lennier knows about every bad thing Delenn has done, including all the stuff she doesn’t/can’t tell her husband. He’s her link to her previous world and culture and stands by her even when they kick her out. She says at one point, “without him, I would stumble and fall and never get up again.” 

And then… we had Season 5, the final season.

Season 5, for various complicated production reasons, was operating a little outside of pre-planned story arcs and in this season the Delenn/Lennier stuff ramped up about three gears in one go. It was still very obviously never, ever going to be canon, and was almost certainly not intended by the creator (who wrote most of the episodes himself) to look like there was even anything there. At this point Delenn is married; any relationship with her aide would not only be going against the show’s OTP, but going against it in the sense where she’s cheating on her husband, and there is Just No Way JMS would have gone there. And yet! Season 5 gave us:

A scene where Lennier says he can’t stay, it’s too painful to be around her now she’s married, and she’s devastated and has the following conversation with her husband about it:

S: I got your message about Lennier. Is there anything I can do?

D [snapping]: Almost certainly not.

S: Is it because of me?

D: In part, I think so.

S: Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, as we say back on Earth, three’s a crowd.

D: On Minbar, three is sacred.

S [slightly uncomfortable laugh]: Well, I don’t think I’m ready to handle that one, Delenn.

Delenn then calling Lennier back to the station to do some secret mission thing for her, which involves her sneaking out of her bed while her husband sleeps to meet Lennier in a darkened alley behind a bar, where she tenderly strokes his face and they have a whole conversation about whether her husband understands her or not.

A scene where Lennier comes back from his secret mission to meet both Delenn and Sheridan, Delenn goes to greet him with a hug, and Lennier does this very pointed step back and nod in the direction of her husband, and she pulls back and just sort of pats him on the arms instead. 

I MEAN.

But, the issue here is not what fans did about it but what canon did about it. Canon did the canon equivalent of dragging that ship outside and shooting it in the head. 

In the final few episodes of the entire series, Lennier tries to kill Sheridan, runs away in shame, and then someone finds his diary in which he’d been writing for ages about what a bad decision he thought Delenn had made and how her whole marriage was an awful idea. Even to this day, it’s fun/awful watching people go through a first-time watch when they get to season 5 and hit that. ‘Character assassination in the form of a diary’ was a whole thing for a while. It’s been 20+ years and the actor who played Lennier is stilll mad about it (not because of shippy stuff, but because he - correctly! - thinks Lennier absolutely would not have done that). 

What *fandom* did, on the other hand, was Fixed The Problem.

Delenn/Lennier was not at all a big ship when the series was airing, and for a few years after. Then the fandom dynamics started to change. With less pressure on what canon was going to do, it felt like fandom had more space to play around with things it didn’t do. Fanfic got less interested in trying to fit within the overall story being told and started spinning off in all its own directions. And *this* ship started getting bigger and bigger. People did really interesting things with it, canon divergence went in all directions, everyone wrote a fix-it story of some variety, some authors did a great series of connected stories based on an idea that Minbari have three genders, the quality of the writing has been brilliant. And I think without that absolute whiplash feeling of what happened in canon, there would never have been this feeling of “well I’m not having THAT” which led to all this.

We did not need canon! Canon had done its thing. And canon had broken our hearts enough ways with many of the other stories it told (entirely on purpose) and we weren’t just going to sit back and let it ruin us forever.

By comparison, the other ship I was into was Marcus/Ivanova. This is entirely doomed. Susan Ivanova’s love life is just perpetually doomed. The first partner of hers we meet is an ex who’s interested in getting back together, but then it turns out he’s just using her to infiltrate the station for the fascist terrorist group he’s secretly joined. Then she falls for an archrival of hers, Talia, who works for Psi Corps, the organisation she loathes most of all things - but it’s okay because it turns out Talia is starting to question them too! Maybe these crazy kids can make it work! They have one night together and then OOPS turns out Talia was being secretly controlled by a sleeper personality implanted in her by Psi Corps the whole time. Ivanova’s love life is doomed. 

So for two seasons, she has this sort-of-flirty, sort-of-bickery, sort-of-friendship going with Marcus, who is on the surface of it very much “why not fall in love at first sight like a true romantic, YOLO!” but it turns out is actually deeply messed up himself and full of survivor’s guilt and pain and, you get the clear impression, would have died of shock if she’d actually called his bluff on the OTT flirting and said “yeah, let’s go for it”. And then he sacrifices himself to save her life. It is a very tragic ending, it is absolutely the way he would have wanted to go, she wakes up both furious and absolutely distraught, says that the last thing she heard was him saying “I love you”, says she wishes she’d at least slept with him once, and says that in a way all love is unrequited. PAIN. 

So, lots of fix-it fanfic, lots of ‘Marcus comes back to life’, lots of canon divergence AUs where he doesn’t die and they live happily ever after and both get over their huge levels of unresolved pain. Pretty standard for that kind of pairing. And as a pairing it doesn’t get in the way of any big canon pairings, it doesn’t imply anything icky like mentor/student power imbalances or adultery. And JMS clearly quite liked it. So that’s better, right?

NO. It was WORSE.

JMS wrote an Marcus/Ivanova story himself, published in one of the sci-fi magazines, to try to give them a happy ending. This happy ending involves Marcus, many many years in the future, waking up from the cryogenic suspension he’s in (it’s sci-fi, keep up, keep up). Ivanova is long dead, but he isn’t about to let this get in the way, so what he does is to *create a new Ivanova* by getting some kind of DNA + computerised memory/personality bank thing, finding a doctor who will clone her, putting himself back into animated sleep until the clone reaches the age Ivanova was when she died, then - THEN, I’M STILL GOING - takes her to a distant planet where, with her memories wiped and their spaceship having deliberately been crashed BY HIM so there’s no way back, they live out their lives in peace.

WHAT.

That pairing still does okay in fandom but it’s not really taken on a post-show world of headcanons and riffing on other people’s ideas and tropes in the way that Delenn/Lennier has (and we all just pretend that story never existed). 

So! This has been my experiences in the field of What We Do When The Show Has Thoughts On That Non-Endgame Ship We’re Into. Fandom manages. Fandom will see you through. And in the words of Susan Ivanova:

Babylon Five was the last of the Babylon stations; there would never be another. It changed the future, and it changed us. It taught us that we have to create the future, or others will do it for us. It showed us that we have to care for one another, for if we don’t, who will? And that true strength sometimes comes from the most unlikely places. Mostly though, I think it gave us hope that there can always be new beginnings - even for people like us.

[writing-in-sin]

KAISHIN OPINION: THE SHOW WILL GO ON!

Okay, so I honestly thought that I'd lose followers for continuing to ship KaiShin which would be understandable and I wouldn't blame anyone for doing so but I've been getting notifications that I've gained a few more followers? Both on tumblr and twitter. I'm grateful, I truly am, and I thank you for wanting to stick around and go along with me on this crazy ride

I'm still a little baffled though, ngl 😅 baffled but grateful though, make no mistake

Either way, I just wanna say thanks and also for any future posts about KaiShin, either headcanons or fics, I will NOT make them cousins unless said otherwise

If i do make them cousins as to possible canon, I'll be sure to give warnings and make notes

So yeah, in my fanworks, KaiShin are NOT COUSINS nor is Toichi alive

Also, while appreciated, no need for condolences. I won't speak for other KaiShin shippers, but KaiShin has been one of my OTPs since 2004/2005 and after 20 years of shipping them, this will NOT stop me.

Not by frickin long shot.

Shimegami-chan's fic from fanfiction.net was one of my 1st KaiShin fics I've read. And then there's yukuro's Fall of the Moon, a fic also from fanfiction.net that has been one of my faves since frickin 2006 (which I still remember the name of the fic title without actually checking my bookmarks which says a lot to how much I've loved this fic)

I can say that I'll continue on shipping them out of spite or pettiness and maybe there'll be times when I'll do just that. But honestly? I hope it'll always be out of love for KaiShin

And i hope that i can be a fan that'll always love KaiShin more than I hate aspects of what's happened in canon. I truly do hope for that

So yeah, that's all I wanted to say

_______

As always, thank you so much for your time and for reading this far. If you'd like to specifically see more KaiShin or DCMK, you can find me on my this side account here on Twitter @ moonlit_death

[annerbhp]

So who remembers the Four Seasons Landscaping press conference debacle of November 7th, 2020? You know, the one held across the street from the sex shop. And the endless memes after of “imagine your OTP: who owns the landscaping company and who owns the sex shop”?

Well, yeah, I wrote this thing for it a long while back. And yes, of course I made Harry work at the sex shop and Ginny at the landscaping company. Decided I should just schedule it to post on the next November 7th. Enjoy!

Come Again (Harry/Ginny, meet-cute, Harry works at a sex shop, bad flirting, Ginny’s into it anyway, non-magic world, Teen, no content warnings. Other than, you know, sex shop inventory!)

Harry glances up from his magazine at the sound of the shop door opening. He cursorily looks over the customer—young woman, mid-twenties, red hair, short, athletic build—before returning his attention to the magazine. He’s noticed most customers don’t particularly like the feeling of being watched. Some people flee immediately upon catching him watching them. Especially women.

Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her slip down the aisle furthest from the cashier counter, the one full of costumes and larger objects far too difficult for anyone to steal.

“Harry?”

He looks over at Tara near the breakroom at the back where she’s pulling on her coat. “Are you off?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Are you sure it’s okay if I take Tuesday morning off?” She’s biting at her lower lip, as thinking his offer was somehow a trap. He wonders what kind of shit she had to put up with at her last job. Or it could just be him. Maybe she’s still trying to get used to him as their manager or something.

“Yes,” he says, forcing his voice patient. “Go get your tooth looked at. I’ll cover the shift, no problem.”

“Thank you,” she says in a rush. She glances over, catching sight of the ginger. “Want me to cover this one before I go?”

“I’ve got it,” he says, and it occurs to him that maybe she’s more nervous about leaving him to do the shift on his own than she is that he’s going to get mad at her for taking the time off.

He’d be offended by that if he hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely in over his head. But he’s starting to get the hang of it now.

Tara waves and leaves out the back.

“So you’re the owner then? You don’t look like a Luna.”

He turns to find the customer standing in front of him. He glances at the big sign out front declaring this store as Luna’s sex toys and more store.

“What? Oh,” he says. “No. I’m just filling in for her for a few months. She’s out on maternity leave. Twins.”

“Ah, so you’re just the understudy,” she says.

“Something like that.”

Pull yourself together, Potter.

“Then you’re…” She waves a finger around in a circle, encompassing the whole store. “In the business?”

He laughs. “No.” He realizes a moment too late how bad that sounded, and rushes on. “She was going to have to shut the shop down or cut her time home, but I’m between careers at the moment, so I figured I could cover for her.” He has no idea why he is spilling his life story out at her, and he considers that maybe Tara had seen what he hadn’t when she’d been so reluctant to leave him on his own. “It’s been a bit of a learning curve, I admit. Though mostly it seems to be about putting customers in categories and treating them accordingly.”

Her eyes narrow, as if sensing an insult towards the kind of people who might come to a shop like this. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“No,” he says, desperately trying to backpedal. “It’s just… Look. It’s like setting expectations? There’s people who come for joke gifts, the people who pretend they are here for joke gifts because they are too embarrassed to want to buy something, the people who know exactly what they want and get right to it, and the people who are here because of rebounds. Each kind of person would prefer to be treated differently: ignored, helped, given stern looks. So it’s just about figuring out which kind of customer they are, so I can make this easiest for them.”

The customer is now frowning at him. “You know that still sounds kind of creepy, even if it makes sense.”

“Studying people is kind of my thing.”

She only looks more alarmed.

“Not in a creepy stalker way! Or in a ‘I want to draw your picture’ way. I was a profiler. You know, criminals?”

“Ah, so now the customers are criminals.”

He would think he just can’t win with this maniacal customer, but she was smiling now, clearly teasing him. “Only if you try to walk off with Gary shoved down your shirt,” he gamely replies.

She turns to follow his gesture, letting out a low laugh at the sight of an enormous oversized novelty cock with a face on the tip. It’s not a ‘I’m nervous and about to break down into a fit of giggles’ laugh either, so Harry is pretty sure this is a customer who won’t mind being offered help.

“So is there anything in particular I can help you find?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

Said in any other tone, that might sound like a come on, but it was more challenging than coy. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“Am I here for a joke gift? Profile me.”

He looks her over, eyes lingering on the details. A new sweater (he could see the strip where the sticker had been removed very recently). Her hair looked freshly cut, the way she touched it said it was not the length she was used to, maybe having cut it off recently. There was the slightest indentation on her ring finger, a faint tan line.

“You’ve recently broken off a long-term relationship, either started when you were both very young, with someone who likes vanilla sex that you found boring, or with someone who was offended by the idea of you using any toys because it felt like cheating and made you get rid of them.”

She stares back at him, eyes wide.

He said it all without thinking, really, just speaking as it came to him, these thoughts about who she was that he might come up with about a case.

“Sorry,” he says, certain he’s just cost Luna a customer. “I’m sure I’m way off.”

“No,” she says, “you’re annoyingly on-point.”

He winces, realizing that’s probably even worse.

Definitely time to try to make a tactful retreat, if at all possible. But before he can back away, she’s speaking again.

“I used to have a Shibari before he made me toss it. Any thoughts on what might be like that? Only better. And bigger. Longer battery life.”

“Uh,” he says, floundering for a moment. Then he walks over to a shelf, pointing at a slim lavender-colored wand vibrator. “I can tell you the mini halo is really popular. But Luna always says it depends on what you’re looking for, not what other people want.”

Her eyebrow lifts, and it occurs to him that he has basically just asked for detail about her sex life. Yup. It’s possible he’s out of his element. He ends up texting Luna, for some reason not wanting to lead this particular customer astray. Not just because she seems pretty great. She deserves to get what she wants after all! Everyone does!

Getting tired of the back and forth, the customer eventually just grabs his phone and texts Luna directly, debating the finer points of the Soul Sucker. The woman’s smile—stupidly lovely, really—No, not appropriate, Harry!—is wider and wider as she gets into a really long exchange with Luna. Ending with a gasp of adoration when Luna apparently texts a picture of her sons.

The text exchange eventually dies down, the customer giving Harry a bald, assessing look.

“What?” he asks, refusing to shift back and forth on his feet, reminding himself of his long career as a criminal investigator—which would mean more if he hadn’t burned out and left with no real plans for anything else he’s going to do instead. Other than manage a sex toy store, apparently.

“She wants to know how you’re doing,” the woman asks. Her eyes narrow as she studies him a bit longer, and, shit, she should consider a career as an interrogator. She nods her head, like coming to a decision and then starts typing away again, this time narrating as she does.  “Approachable, only slightly creepy, blushes at a minimum, non-judgmental, but needs an education.”

He lets out a startled laugh, not offended in the least. Actually a better rating than he’d expect. “Trust me, every day in this shop is an education.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “I can only imagine.” She hands his phone back and sweeps up the Soul Sucker and the mini halo too.

Harry helpfully points out the displays of various lubes, letting her head over there by herself as he steps back behind the counter.

A guy comes in then, picking up a pre-order which is thankfully much more straight forward, a package already put together by Tara before she left.

By the time he’s done ringing him up, the woman has made her final selections, putting them down on the counter. He scans each one, slipping them into a bag without looking at them. Not his business!

“And with the five percent break up discount, that comes to….”

“Discount?” she asks. “I don’t need your pity.”

“What?” he asks, feeling like he’s messed up yet another thing. “No, seriously. It’s a thing.” He flips the card with five different set barcodes on it, handing it over to her.

You’re better off without them! – 5% Never too late to figure out what you like! – 5% Congrats on embracing your sexual identity! – 5% You’re a few bucks short, but still deserve joy – 5%

She looks at him in surprise.

He shrugs. “Luna.”

She seems to relax then. “Which one am I getting?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

She lets out a huff. “Guess not.” She hands over a credit card and he really does his best not to look at her name or anything, but it is sort of a part of credit safety? Or something?

Ginny Weasley. Is her name. It sounds vaguely familiar, though he can’t quite place it.

She signs the receipt, and he passes over the bag. “Have a nice day,” he says, almost automatically.

“Oh, I’d better,” she says, lifting the bag.

He really tries not to blush. He really does. Professional, Potter. Real professional.

Only then she’s giving him a wink and walking towards the door. “Let me know if you ever need help with landscaping,” she says, “so I can return the favor.” 

Harry pauses at the strange words, frowning, resisting the urge to look down at his body.

She’s definitely laughing at him now. “The landscaping company next door? Weasley’s Landscaping? It’s where I work. The family business.”

“Oh,” Harry says with a sudden rush of understanding. She works right next door. Where he will likely see her. Again. Quite often. “Right. I definitely will.” 

“Great. See you around.”

He can’t help grinning. “Come again!” he calls out after her.

He can hear her laughter as the door shuts behind her.

It takes Harry a while to realize he’s humming as he starts taking stock of the strap-ons inventory.

Just another lovely day in Luna’s shop.

[onehopefuldreamer]

Challenging a Queen - a love letter

Look, at first this post was going to be about Look into me (my first love when it comes to this game's soundtrack and still one of the songs I adore the most).

Then I wanted to wax poetic about You and I and You and I reprise (three different versions of the reprise depending on what you do with the throne and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn's glorious voice, yes, please! Plus Persephone and Grace is my personal OTP).

After that I moved on to The Throne because I think it's both absolutely awesome and absolutely bonkers you get two themes to mix and match there instead of only one (1st theme based on your first choice and the 2nd on your answer to Orpheus' question). It's still a huge, HUGE personal favourite.

(I will still write love letters to these three songs eventually.)

But then I read Austin Wintory's commentary on the Pantheon version of the soundtrack he posted on YouTube and it caught my attention that he called Challenging a Queen the most complex song in the game. Previous to reading that I had thought it was the same as a lot of the other songs - three main themes that you just get to mix and match but aside from that nothing much changes. Oh, how wrong I was!

Reading that comment made me curious about trying different combinations to see what would happen and once I started doing that I was completely blown away. Because it turns out that this song is anything BUT simple! The choices are even more interlinked here than in most other songs and the possible combinations that lead to different outcomes are so, SO many!

Based on my experimentation (8+ hours of gameplay that's only replaying this one song)  I have discovered the following:

1. The first choice you make directly influences the second. So if you go from Green to Red for example you get a completely different outcome than if you had gone from Red to Green.

2. The first choice also influences the third/middle one. BXGXX is not the same as RXGXX or GXGXX (X stands for any colour). In the case of middle Red, I think, there's the most possibilities because there the second choice also comes into play. For example the banter between Grace and Persephone is different if you go with RBRXX (which is the same as RRRRR) or RGRXX.

3. Then the third and fourth choices also influence each other and lead to different combinations. Say, XXBRX is decidedly not the same as XXRBX.

4. Last but most certainly not least that pesky first choice continues to have an effect until the very end. The combination between it and your fifth or, sometimes, fourth and fifth choice/s is what leads to all sorts of different and unique endings you can get.

That's already a super complex song structure that I'm still not sure I have figured out completely, to be honest. I continue to experiment with different combinations and plan to try to see if I can compile a guide to all the possibilities here. I'm very much not statistically or mathematically inclined so this has been a bit of a struggle but I'm also having so much fun trying to pick apart this song that I don't really mind.

I've never experienced anything like this in any game before and honestly playing around with this song has been a revelation. The amount of screaming I have done in front of my laptop every time I come upon something new is insane. I've come to a point where I have bits and pieces of Challenging a Queen rattling around my head at all times and I LOVE it! Because, as weird as it sounds, I have not become bored with this song even after so many hours of listening to it. I happen to love all the different permutations and listening to Laura Bailey and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn try to outperform each other is far, FAR from a hardship. In fact it's an absolute joy.

I'll leave you with what's probably my most favourite discovery about this song: there are 17 different endings you can discover. 17!!! That's insane! Or at least that's as many as I have personally discovered and I am still very much in awe. If you're curious about checking them out on your own, here goes:

1-4 - RRRRR, BBBBB, GGGGG with a Charming Grace and GGBGG or GGRGG with a Clever or Kickass Grace. These are what I call the regular or classic endings. You're pretty much guaranteed to discover these.

5-8 - BXXBG, RXXBG, GXXBG with Clever or Kickass Grace and one extra XXXBG ending for Charming Grace. The first choice does not matter for Charming Grace, the ending is always the same no matter what.

9-11 - BXXGR, RXXGR and GXXGR

12-14 - BXXBR, RXXBR and GXXBR

15-17 - BXXRB, RXXRB and GXXRB

What I find impressive (aside from the huge number of endings) is that the endings from 5 and onward are all genuinely combined endings. They're not just alternative versions of the RR, GG or BB endings, they're a combination of approaches and/or musical styles and I cannot even begin to express how much I adore that.

I'm not going to lie, doing the experimentation for the GR, BR and RB endings in particular hurt my feelings a whole lot because I'm a Persephone stan and hate to see her trounced by Grace so thoroughly when I know she's actively grieving Calliope. But what really broke my heart (again as a Persephone stan) is those BG endings. Those have made me cry actual tears (the only other ending that's had this effect was GG with Clever or Kickass Grace). They're also the only endings I've been able to discover that have the camera panning down instead of sideways and come with their own backdrop. Discovering my first version of them had me squealing like mad and feeling like an archaeologist who'd discovered priceless ancient treasures. They're probably my personal favourites, all of them. Both because they're so unique and because I love how compassionate Grace is in them. As much as I do think Grace is badass when she wins, I love her being soft and understanding towards Persephone a whole lot more.

I'll stop here because this is already a wall of text for which I'd apologise but this is not even all my thoughts and feelings on this song. I just have so many! Now off to listen to it again and work on my guide.

[emilykaldwen]

Morning

@tremendouswolfsaladranch sent me a prompt for Aegon and Abby lazy married morning. I HAVE FINALLY DELIVERED.

Title: Morning Rating: Explicit (just some satisfying morning sex with an appetizer of eating your sexy wife out as she deserves) Pairing: Aegon x wife!OC (Abrogail Strong) Kinks: we got breeding kink! Word Count: 945

This takes place in the Maiden Verse! Unbeta'd cause I just woke up and we're here for just some morning sex.

Happy Sexy Sunday!

It’s barely light out, the morning light watery as the dark clouds roll in with another promise of rainy weather. The fire has been stoked, blazing warmer and brighter in the large grate, which explains why she hadn’t noticed that the nightshirt she wore, one of Aegon’s, was pushed up half over her breasts so the smooth expanse of her belly was exposed. Her husband’s silver head hovers over her lower stomach and she whimpers when his warm mouth presses gentle, sucking kisses against her skin. Her muscles spasm, a shiver tearing through her and her thighs fall open even more. His chuckle is warm, damp breath sending goosebumps blossoming along her skin with the heated blush.

“Behave,” he warns her, knuckles dragging through where she needs him most, the sound obscene with how aroused she is. He must have been coaxing her awake for Abby to feel this wet already. A yelp escapes her, and a moan follows when Aegon begins to nip his way lower, sharp teeth catching along the delicate skin and nosing into the thatch of red at the apex of her thighs.

“What happens if I don’t?” she sighs, one hand reaching down to sleepily card her fingers through his hair, the other reaching up to fondle her own breast. Aegon’s responding purr is deeper than what he should be allowed to make, those moments of beast bond thrumming through his frame as he fits his shoulders between her thighs. 

“As your lord husband, I’ll have to discipline you. Abrogail, I’m sure I’ve made that clear before.” She catches the look in his lilac eyes when he rests his chin upon her cunt, his face fuzzy with stubble that excites her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re asking for it.”

She moans and shakes her head, biting at her lower lip as she pinches and toys with her right nipple, pretending it’s his thick fingers, his nail scraping along the sensitive bud. “Promise I’m not,” she assures. “I’ve been so very good.”

“Have you-” and Abby cries out, hips arching as Aegon’s tongue darts out to circle the sensitive bud of nerves just as two fingers slip inside, stretching her. Whatever else Aegon said was lost as the buzzing fills her, the sparkle of need and want thrumming through her veins. Fingers tighten in Aegon’s hair, and she feels and hears his moan vibrating through her as her fits his mouth and fucks her slowly, languid and lazy, as if they have all the time in the world.

She had promised him a lie in, and it seemed he’d taken it upon himself to make sure they had it. Fingers curl inside of her just as she curls her own into his hair, and he rubs at the spot that makes her cry and shake, that makes her toes curl against him and feel like her world is shattering around her. The rush of slick he pulls from her is a mess on the bed and over his face and Aegon’s sounds as he shoves his tongue into her to lick up the mess sends her shaking, mouth wet and body hot and writhing against the bed. He pushes her thighs further apart and blearily, Abby looks up at him, licking her lips as he rises.

“Im-impatient,” she manages out and her words are cut off at the feel of his cock pressing inside her. There’s no teasing, no dragging through her, dipping in and out until he has her begging. Aegon’s impatient, slipping inside of her with little resistance and she gasps at the feel of him, the stretch because even after all this time, he takes her by surprise, she’s never prepared for him. 

Her favorite, though, is when he crawls up her body, hips rolling into her, to blanket her. She whimpers, “I missed you,” and licks his mouth, licks the essence of her from the fair blonde stubble along his chin, giggles as he growls and claims her mouth as he claims the rest of her. Abby drifts in and out of understanding, she thinks she peaks again, arms wrapped around him as he buries his face into her neck, telling her his secrets, telling her he loves her, telling her how he’s going to fill her up, get her full, get a babe to catch this time. How he’ll never stop fucking her, even as her belly grows big, because the thought of it makes him want her even more.

She peaks a third time before he spills hot inside her, bodies fitted like they were made for each other, the sound of his name and the sound of hers swallowed in their kiss. Her husband is ridiculous, and self-important, he is selfish and not always attentive, but his love for her? His love, she never doubts, his care for her, she does not doubt. 

As Aegon’s weight rests on her, her legs wrapped around his hips, keeping her filled, keeping his seed inside so it’ll take, so it will finally take, Abby nuzzles into him and he chuckles softly against her neck.

“Good morning, husband,” she whispers against his damp cheek, sleepy and happy and warm and safe.

“Good morning, wife,” he returns, his voice shy, his cheeks flushed, and his lilac eyes bright and warm when she looks at him.

“You make me happy.” Her chest is warm, and his smile is so bright it might crack his face, like the way the sun cracked open and the dragons came.

Hopefully it’ll take this time. Hopefully their child will have a smile as bright as his. Her bright star.

[midnightlovestories]

So here's the thing : The Addams Family is a very difficult fandom to write for (speaking as someone who arguably have some experience of writing for this fandom) - seriously, it is really really difficult to be creative here and here's why - they are perfect family unit, loving and supportive and whats not. Good. Great. This is why we love them, right?

Gomez and Morticia? Couple goals. Madly in love and absolutely devoted to each other. As parents - A+++ parenting. Their children are supported and encouraged to explore their independence and individuality. Brilliant. Perfect.

So where do you go with it story wise, what new content can you create that wasn't already done and recycled? Nowhere. There's no story.

There's a reason why majority of fan fiction in the TAF fandom are one shot smuts or (very few) significantly AU chapter stories (this goes for my own writing as well) because those characters are too perfect and too cartoonish to work with outside of parameters of what was already explored in the 60s tv show and 90s movies.

So what do you do? You create artificial drama - artificial, even cliché conflict which in the Addams Family works primarily between two characters Wednesday and Morticia. It's artificial and ooc but it's practically the only way to create something tangible within this universe without going wildly AU.

Charles Adams created cartoons, and those characters are just that - cartoonish. There's no depth and no real character progression to speak of, nothing to really sink your teeth in. As a writer, you practically work from scratch - 60s Morticia and 90s Morticia are practically completely different, beside the fact that they are both devoted to their family, loving wives etc.) but essentially, Anjelica Huston created her own Morticia. So realistically, where can Catherine Z Jones, in her own portrayal of Morticia, go from there? Or Jenna in her Wednesday? What can the writers do with those characters that would please the fans but without copying from what was done before because what's the point of recycling the material again and again? What story can they create within this universe that would be new, not recycled, not copied from what was already done within the Addams Family but would be close to the original idea? Honestly, I have no idea. Which is why I'm far from criticising netflix's Wednesday.

Is the new show rocking my boat? No. I have no interest in the school life of a teenage Wednesday and her friends. Zero cares given. But I can still appreciate what they’ve done to create, arguably, a completely new Addams Family content that seems to resonate with a lot of young people, Wenclair fans included - it is really not bad. Not bad at all. Not everyone will like it and that's completely fine, because not all content is created specifically for us and you're not going to enjoy every incarnation of the Addams Family no matter how devoted you are to the fandom.

Now, Gomez and Morticia are my OTP. Do I want to see the adventures of teenage Gomez and Morticia in Nevermore Academy? Fuck no, because I'm an adult and TV show about teenagers, even if it's Gomez and Morticia, doesn't tickle me at all.

Ideally? I would love Gomez and Morticia focused live action movie that would cater to older demographic. I want it dark and I want it sexy and not at all a family movie. What are the chances of that happening? Probably zero.

But anyway, this is my take on this.

[withahappyrefrain]

“I love you, but that’s a terrible idea” from the January OTP prompts for Jake and Venus pretty please :) 

"I love you, but that's a terrible idea," Venus stated, taking her eyes off the screen to face her husband.

"So is that a no?" Jake asked, trying to emulate a puppy dog with his green eyes. If their relationship was still fresh, it would have worked.

"You're really asking that in regards to our baby having a cowboy themed nursery?" Venus deadpanned.

"It's cute! They can have little cowboy boots and a stuffed horse, as well as some-"

"We are not getting them Longhorn themed stuff Jake. I was lenient with the dog, but I draw the line at indoctrinating our children," she placed her hands on her stomach. While she was far from showing, it was already an instinct.

"I want it to be known that I did not indulge that much when it came to getting Okra Longhorn themed things. They have one jersey and one toy," Jake said, putting his hands up in defense.

"And what, you think that deserves a reward or something?" Venus rolled her eyes as she paused the Bachelor episode she and Jake had been watching.

"I think we should at least get baby Seresin a matching jersey. Think of how cute the pictures would be. We could also get them a horsie blanket, a brown cow ottoman-"

"Did you say brown cow ottoman? Wait, have you been looking at stuff already?"

Jake moved so he was sitting next to her on the couch. Grabbing his hand with one hand and placing the other on her stomach.

"I'm not an amateur V, I have a Pinterest board," Jake said with the complete sincerity that she both loved and was confused by.

"I'm only six weeks along, why the rush?" She asked, resting her head on Jake's shoulder. The smell of Cedarwood calmed her, reminding her that he was here. She snaked an arm around his shoulders, her fingers quickly finding his scalp to massage.

Jake sighed, fighting back the urge to roll it off. She would know and he knew better. Plus she would stop her world famous massages.

Always a step ahead, she quickly added, "And don't tell me it's nothing because I have that pregnancy intuition now."

Jake's brows knitted together, "Pregnancy intuition?"

"Yeah, I'm like ninety percent sure it's a thing."

Jake rolled his eyes, though a small smile remained on his face, "Is that what you're going to say when you want to be right?"

She leaned in, a devious smirk on her face, "Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

The comment got a smile out of Jake, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders as he laughed. A domino effect, as it got a laugh out of Venus as well, her smirk melting away into a sweet smile.

Jake shifted, laying his head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist.

"This upcoming class is going to be tough according to Cyclone which means I'll be spending more time at work and I... I don't want to miss anything."

Instead of responding immediately, she simply pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her hand found his, bringing it to her stomach.

"You're not going to miss anything. I mean, probably me throwing up-"

"But then who's going to hold your hair?" Jake asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

He truly didn't want to miss anything.

Call it pregnancy hormones or being in love for years, but it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"I have ponytail holders. But I promise, you will be the first to know when baby Seresin is making me throw up. And you'll be there to set up our nursery, which will not be cowboy themed but I'm willing to entertain the idea of a baby cow ottoman to rest my feet on."

It brought a smile to Jake's face, though it didn't completely put his mind at ease. This would be his first true test as a Top Gun instructor and it couldn't have come at a worse time.

"Besides, if Cyclone keeps you from me, I'll call him personally," Venus explained as she reached for the remote, resuming the rose ceremony.

"How....how do you have his number?" Jake asked, thoughts of missing baby time being replaced by the potential of his wife committing some kind of felony.

"I have my sources," was all she said before getting the bowl of popcorn.

It took Jake a few moments before it hit him.

"Bob?"

"Wanted to thank me for introducing him to his wife."

[mothercetrion]

I got bored (again) and did this OTP ask meme with Johnshi. enjoy!

1) Who offers their jacket when the other is cold? Johnny. it's a classic romantic maneuver! "you cold, babe? allow me to remedy that," and he slips off his jacket and puts it around Kenshi's shoulders. Kenshi never asks, but he accepts it with a smile (and a little bit of a blush).

2) Who giggles uncontrollably when the other playfully picks them up? Johnny. if Kenshi is in a more playful mood, he'll be giggling at everything he does. picking him up in any way will leave him breathless with laughter. (that, and Johnny is secretly very ticklish. Kenshi knows this and will take full advantage of it.)

3) Who compliments the other in front of everyone? Johnny. however, he's more subtle about it because Kenshi isn't the most fond of a lot of attention like that. it'll be more along the lines of a hand on his shoulder and a "good job, Kenshi!" sometimes, he'll slip and call him "Ken doll" in front of everyone, and Kenshi is briefly mortified. he's grateful all the same.

4) Who is more likely to tell the other a pun and what is the other’s reaction to the pun? Kenshi wishes that Johnny's puns weren't funny. when they first met, he found them annoying, but as time went on, he realized that they were actually pretty funny (in moderation).

5) When one of them has a bad day, what does the other do to help cheer them up? Johnny's sole goal when Kenshi has a bad day is to distract. Kenshi's mind is bad to linger, and Johnny will keep him occupied in some way to keep his mind off of things. Johnny will tell stories of some kind, or he'll get Kenshi out of the house, usually to get food or to go do something fun. sometimes though, Kenshi just wants to stay home, and Johnny respects that, and they'll lay together until Kenshi is feeling more like himself. when Johnny's having a rough day, Kenshi's first plan is to get him to talk about what's going on. Kenshi is a great listener, but Johnny isn't as good at talking about his problems as he is at joking about them, so that doesn't always work. Kenshi's second plan is to also distract but in the form of watching movies that Johnny loves. they brighten his spirits, plus he gets to tell Kenshi about all the useless movie trivia he's accumulated over the years.

6) If they got to pick what one another wears for a day, what would one another wear? as much as Johnny loves seeing Kenshi in a suit, he would probably choose something a lot more casual for him. when he was Yakuza, he wore suits, and his current armor is nice but still armor. he should get to wear something that's a lot more flexible and comfortable, and Johnny would pick something like that for him! probably jeans and a T-shirt (a red one, after all—it looks great on him!). Kenshi would probably also pick something a bit more casual considering that Johnny's daily wear is a button-up shirt and slacks. he doesn't want him to wear an outfit based on what looks the best, but based on how comfortable it is. he probably chooses a T-shirt as well but possibly some athletic sweatpants or jeans.

7) Who introduces their partner to their family first? How does it go? it takes a while for them to get to this step, but Kenshi meets Johnny's family first (using this booklet from MK SNES for reference). Kenshi is openly nervous; though he isn't anymore, he was once a criminal, and he isn't sure how Johnny's police mother will react to that. she is apprehensive, obviously, but Johnny insists that Kenshi isn't like that anymore and is as good as it gets. their first meeting is incredibly awkward, but any after that are a lot better. Johnny's older sister actually really likes Kenshi from minute one, much to their surprise. his mother and sister tell Kenshi a lot of embarrassing stories about Johnny from his childhood, and while he's glad that they're bonding, can they do it in a different way…? it takes far longer for Johnny to meet the rest of Kenshi's family; they're wary about people due to their Yakuza history, but Kenshi assures them that Johnny isn't like that. it doesn't help that he was the one who had Sento before Kenshi did, but again, Kenshi assures them that it's in the past. they're shocked that it's Johnny at all. they've seen several of his movies! why is he dating their son?! he grows on them quickly, and he invites them to his house for dinner pretty often.

8) In a coffee shop AU, who would be the coffee shop employee and who would be the customer? Johnny is the customer, and he's a very annoying one at that. he has high expectations for most things, he brings a lot of attention wherever he goes, and Kenshi wants to punch him when he knows he's there. but then again, he's pretty nice to all of the staff, and he always puts a giant wad of money in the tip jar, so…he's not all bad. it helps that he's cute.

9) When they sit side by side, do they touch one another? For example, does one person have their arm around the other, do they sit holding hands, or linked arms, etc.? if they're sitting together, Kenshi is touching Johnny in some way, period. it's usually a hand on his forearm or his thigh. he likes knowing that he's right there with him. it's reassuring. touching him is a given.

10) What is a small thing that one another does to make their partner happy? Johnny is the kind of person to give gifts because "it made me think of you." Kenshi isn't materialistic, but he loves the idea of Johnny going about his day and getting something for Kenshi because it reminds Johnny of him. it's such a kind sentiment, and he is always excited when Johnny gives him something like that. if Kenshi makes himself a cup of tea, Kenshi always makes Johnny one, even if Johnny isn't around. Johnny can be in another room entirely, and Kenshi will walk in with a cup of tea for him. "I thought you would like some," he always says. Johnny is surprised every. single. time, and he's always touched that Kenshi would think of him without fail.

11) What would they do to celebrate their one-year anniversary? Johnny arranges a big trip for them to go on. just them—no work, no filming, nothing but their own company. Johnny actually turns off his phone for most of their trip (minus the occasional photo—he can't help himself!) and spends their entire getaway dedicated to giving Kenshi his full attention and an amazing vacation. they get to eat a lot of amazing food and see amazing sights, but the most important thing is that they're spending it together. they agree to go on more trips together after this one.

12) When did they know that loved each other, and when did they first tell each other that they loved one another? it took a while for them to admit their feelings at all. their initial meeting isn't the best, and once it's all said and done, there's this…tension that neither of them can place. they eventually go on a date, and all of that confusion is suddenly cleared up. Johnny has always fallen fast, so he knows before Kenshi does, but he holds back out of worry that it's too soon. it's Kenshi who says the first "I love you" after a moment of vulnerability, and Johnny is quick to reciprocate. but Johnny still makes a big deal out of telling Kenshi that he loves him for the first time, telling him after a romantic night at home. Kenshi wouldn't want it any other way.

13) Who likes to give the other hugs from behind followed by a kiss? Kenshi is extremely physically affectionate when it's just them, so it's him. Johnny has a home "office" (a more professional way of saying a room with thousands of dollars worth of memorabilia…and also a desk with his computer), and when he's busy, he'll stay up there for hours at a time. Kenshi will pop in, ask him about his day, and kiss his forehead before trying to leave. Johnny always stops him and tells him that "he missed," and Kenshi kisses him on the lips with a playful scoff. even when Johnny isn't busy, Kenshi loves greeting him with a hug from behind with a kiss on the side of his neck.

14) Who would make a playlist for the other person? What would be featured on the playlist? Johnny, 1000%. he mostly chooses songs that he thinks Kenshi would like to listen to. he prides himself on learning his taste in things and recommending things that he would enjoy, and he's usually very accurate, much to Kenshi's surprise. he probably also has a playlist of songs that make him think about Kenshi, regardless of whether they align with his tastes. (Kenshi likes that one a lot more, but he won't tell Johnny that.)

15) Who would bring their partner on a romantic date under the stars? Johnny. he takes his car up into the mountains and doesn't tell Kenshi what they're doing, regardless of how much he wants to know. he finds a lookout near the top, where they can see the stars and the lights of the city. it's quiet and peaceful, and Kenshi absolutely loves it. they'll stay out there for hours and look around at everything, especially in the summer.

[zabiume]

ichihime is my otp but i wish kubo did more to show ichigo developing feelings as the manga progressed

that's reasonable, but i can't necessarily claim to understand it, mainly because of how i perceive romance IRL and in fiction as an aroace person.

i'm not even going to pretend to understand romantic love in real life, but in fiction at least, romance has a purpose because everything in fiction is purposeful, no choice is accidental etc etc. mainstream media, in that regard, has usually pushed the idea that romance is the pinnacle of all human relationships, and i guess the reason i liked bleach or found it particularly subversive for the year it was written in was because it notably...didn't do that.

there is romance in bleach, but it is not the highlight or focus, and is only supplementary. adding that to the fact that this is a typically romance-averse genre, i doubt kubo ever intended to display romance in a way we're conventionally used to seeing it—confessions, kisses, hugs, proposals, dates, etc. even with married couples like isshin and masaki/kaien and miyako/byakuya and hisana, we don't really see the actual marriages—just the important "milestones" of the relationship (how they met, the sacrifices they might have made for each other, and even then, these relationships are used to drive the plot forward). i've been reading kubo's answers on klub outside lately, and they're very illuminating in terms of how he approaches romance and/or writing in general. see: the answer where he talks about how he considered including a scene where isshin and masaki (mainly masaki) name ichigo together, but eventually decided against writing it because it would be "too lovey dovey and that's gross" (lol).

the bizarre thing about kubo, though, is that this should technically make him extremely bad at romance in general. and i know people who would and do argue that he is, but i personally enjoyed all the canon romances over the course of the story, and i could feel the passion/tenderness/affection that the couples in the story have for each other, simply because kubo is good at body language and portraying relationships of ALL kinds between the characters. whether it's the love between nakama and nakama, parent and child, student and mentor, you do feel that these characters really feel for each other, so the romances aren't any different (to me).

and this is a pattern with kubo's writing in general! he constantly see-saws between extremely bizarre and bad takes on writing (AKA his boob fixation that shows up repeatedly both in the series and in his answers on klub when asked about female characters) and surprisingly good ones (like him saying writers often complain that female characters are hard to draw/write because they can't understand women's feelings, but women's feelings, like men's feelings, are difficult because feelings are difficult in general. very apt for a series that's all about people dealing with their own complicated feelings and relationships! i know it isn't radical or revolutionary to say women and men both have the same feelings and that writing a Female Character isn't any different from writing a male character, but considering his contemporaries (shonen male mangakas aged 40+), he is practically Enlightened in his response here lmao.

my point is that, reluctant as he is, he doesn't do a bad job with romance as a whole. compared to many ships and marriages in the same genre bracket, i would say ichihime is doing far better. even though it's the notorious girl-has-a-crush-on-the-boy trope, you don't ever feel like orihime gets too punished for it the way a lot of girls do in this genre, just giving and giving and giving but receiving very little in turn. ichigo is generally very attentive to her, they're friends who only get closer over the course of the series, they're...friends (which is funnily a lot more than a lot of other couples get sadly), they have a variety of fluffy/angsty/silly/hurt-comfort-y scenes spread out pretty evenly across all arcs, and ichigo does often return orihime's care for him in his own, magnanimous way.

if we're looking for explicit signs, then i guess we don't really get ichigo spelling out that he has a crush on her. and if that makes ichihime less plausible or likeable to people, that's fine. but to me, ichihime has always been about subtlety, about this tentative, nervous way two people might reach out to each other, hoping the other understands them. ichigo softens up around orihime, and i joke that he's always got one ear on her because of the way he pays attention to even the slightest changes in her mood. i don't want to spend too much time "proving" what ichigo feels or doesn't feel because that's a journey we get to take and interpret as individual readers, but we can't deny that their relationship is very tender because of...ichigo and not orihime. orihime is soft with everyone. ichigo is, usually, 90% of the time, prickly with everyone. so him softening up around her, to me, was one of the many things about their dynamic that "proved" to me they'd be a good romance. just. the way ichigo was around her. also, between plot-important developments (like ichigo and orihime going from struggling to stand on the battlefield together, to fighting, however briefly, as partners; or ichigo learning to lean on the people in his life), and feelings stuff (maybe ichigo reflecting on his romantic feelings for orihime), i would definitely prefer to get the former and interpret the latter. it was important to me to know how exactly ichigo and orihime were going to navigate the fact that ichigo was too overprotective and orihime was too weak, but it wasn't important to me to see them dating or proposing or whatever. it would have clashed rather horribly with the narrative/thematic/genre concerns of the series as a whole, cute as it might have been to see, and i might not have ever been as hard of an ichihime shipper as i am now if the series ended after lust, and not after horn of salvation. the development of their dynamic (and orihime getting the recognition she deserves from him as an equal) was more important to me personally. most of the times, when i'm writing fic, i draw from the actual manga panels of them before they were dating anyway, so i don't think they'd be too different AFTER.

LASTLY, i do want to point out that ichigo catching feelings for orihime later does not at all diminish the weight of those feelings. maybe he had a mild crush in the soul society arc (if that's how you want to interpret it), or maybe he developed one later on during the HM arc/FB arc, but maybe he didn't realize he could have crushes at all until after yhwach was gone and he got to have more than a few weeks of peace at a stretch. this is the same boy who, at 15, thought kissing a classmate was a "big deal" and none of his friends were ever dating either, so it completely makes sense to me that these things weren't on his mind. it doesn't diminish orihime's importance to him, or his feelings for her, it just makes him a typical teenager who is going through...a lot in the already-turbulent stages of growing up. his feelings could just be a thing in the background, simmering, unconscious, not really evident until he grows up and starts thinking about things like who he likes spending time with, who he might want to spend his life with. the important thing is that we get all the build-up laid down (which we did get, considering how long the ichihime subplot is). the resolution is up to us!

that's not to say i'm diminishing your feelings or whatever, but this is just how i see it! i never understand when people say something is romantic "enough" because i think romance is an elusive concept that is defined based on extremely personal criteria for proof. is ichigo's love for orihime "enough"? i don't know! for me, the various moments between ichigo and orihime were enough to solidify their potential romantic relationship in my head. someone else might need to see it to believe it. we're both valid, as long as we're just enjoying ourselves and not being mean to someone else who perceives things differently! :D