#she was so disappointed when her family refused to make that kind of effort

[anaalnathrakhs]

i want to hide in a hole

[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (II)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 1,911

CW: violence

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen ( can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

A/N thank you soo much for all the likes on the last post, I hope you all enjoy this one!

laughter filled the Godswood as Aemond chased after Aemma, circling the weirwood tree.

Their friendship was admired around the keep, the girl adored by all. Somehow keeping her sweet nature following her brother’s ‘prank’, though she had become timid, often hiding behind Aemond, and never letting go of his hand.

Aemond adored this, he wanted her to be utterly dependent on him, and she was. She listened to what Aemond said, often refused to do something if Aemond did want her to or was unable to come.

It was why her mother considered a match between them following the birth of her newest brother, Joffrey. Aemond had already demanded he one day become her sworn sword once he had completed his training, and she doubted he would accept Aemma’s marriage to anyone but himself.

“Aemma!” he ran up to her, picking her up and spinning around before they fell to the ground in a fit of giggles.

He sighed, turning to his side “My father wishes for me to start attending dragon lessons”.

“Then I shall come also” Aemma declared, grabbing his hand, “then once we have learned we shall claim a dragon together!”

“But Aegon and your brothers will be there” Aemond spoke, trying to deter her.

“so, you don’t want me to come?” she pouted

“of course, but… they’ll be there… and they are nothing but cruel” he insisted “ I do not want them to torment both you and me over having no dragon”.

“But we are Targaryens, so what if we do not have a dragon… we are dragons!” she laughed, “please Aemond, I could not bear to part from you”.

“It will only be for a few hours”

“And what am I to do?” she got up “Wait and sew? No, I shall come!” she demanded

All Aemond could do is sigh in defeat. Though he really he wasn’t sad about it, it was not like he wanted to part from her either.

Her brothers hadn’t expected her to show up. Much to their disappointment, she had kept her distance from her brothers and Aegon for the past year. Truth be told they did not expect the prank to become what it was, to make Aemma cling to Aemond more and more. 

At dinners, she sat between their mother and father, eating as fast as possible, and on the odd occasion their grandsire called for a family dinner she would place herself between Aemond and Helaena. not uttering a word to her brothers or Aegon, running away when they were near.

And yet today she showed up, hand in hand with Aemond.

When they had heard Aemond was to start attending lessons in the dragon pit, Aegon had come up with the idea, the prank. And Jace and Luke being the jealous brothers they were more than happy to pull it.

All three of the boys regretted their prank on her and had made efforts to reconcile, all failing, miserably. And this prank would become not just a prank on Aemond, but a prank on her also seeing as her Aemond were an extension of one another, much like a dragon and its rider. what one felt, the other did too. They could almost read each other’s minds, always knowing what the other was thinking or saying.

“Aemond, we have  a surprise for you.” Aegon announced, as Jace finished with Vermax.

“Do you have one for me too?” she asked, shyly.

Aegon’s eyes softened, it was the first time she had spoken to him in gods know how long and though he would not and admit it , Aegon had grown a soft spot for the brown-haired girl. “No Aemma, but I’m sure you and Aemond could share” the last part caused Luke to giggle before running of to fetch whatever the surprise was.

“What is it?” Aemond asked, grabbing Aemma’s hand tighter and pulling her into him as Aegon wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“Something very special” he winked.

“you two are the only ones without a dragon”. 

“indeed” Aemond nodded.

“And we felt bad about it, so… we found you one, Aemond” Aegon announced.

“Found one? Where?” Aemma asked, excited for Aemond, they had always agreed to share a dragon, should one manage to claim one.

“The gods provided” Aegon stated simply, before Jace and Luke came running forward, a rope in hand…. and a pig attached to it.

“Behold…the pink dread!” they announced, as Aemond and Aemma’s face fell.

"Be sure to mount her carefully, the first flights are always rough" they laughed.

Aemond ran off, Aemma was quick to follow.

“The prince Aemond and princess Aemma” a kings guard announced dragging them into queen Alicent  chambers. 

“Aemond, Aemma?” the  queen questioned. “What did you do?”

“they did it again” Helena spoke.

“After how many times you've been warned, must I have you two confined to your chambers?

“They made me do it” Aemond insisted 

“as if you needed the encouragement” Alicent shakes her head “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.”

“they gave him a pig” Aemma shouted, seeing Aemonds frustration 

“A what?” 

“They said they found a dragon for me… But it was a pig.” he looked down “they said we could share it”. 

“You will have a dragon one day., both off you” Alicent reassured. 

“He'll have to close an eye.” Helaena whispered lowly. 

“I know it”.

“They all laughed… they even made a tail and wings for it!”

Only Aegon received punishment from the prank, her brothers were let off her mother and grandsire deeming it childish fun and teasing, much to Aemma’s disappointment .

She returned to the cold shoulder, refusing to even acknowledge their presence, not that she did that much before.

The rift between the two families grew even further, rivalry between the mothers spreading towards the children. This time not for the throne, but for Aemma.

Aemond was always with her, the only time they did have with Aemond alone, was their swordsman lessons. Lessons which Aemond had begun to take his lessons with Ser Cole seriously, taking on the role of being Aemma’s defender and protector.

“Keep your feet light and your hands heavy.” Criston ordered.

Aemma stood above the training yard, watching beside her grandsire and the hand.

“This is the stuff, Lyonel…. Lads that learn together, train together... knock each other down, pick each other up. They will certainly form a lifelong bond, wouldn't you agree?” her grandsire spoke, a proud gleam in his voice.

“That is the hope, Your Grace.” Lynol strong agreed, “should the princess be witnessing this, your grace?” he questioned, looking towards her. She had brought a book to read Viserys, though she doubted she could sway his attention away from his sons and grandsons.

“I wish to watch Aemond, lord strong, he had wished to show me his progress” she announced, looking down proudly at Aemond as he swung his sword at the strawman.

“Ahh, let her stay, it is rare I get to see her without her shadow as is” Viserys laughed.

“of course, your grace”

“I've won my first bout, Ser Criston.” She heard Aegon gloat. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

“You'll have a new opponent then, my Lord of the Straw.” Cole spoke “Let's see if you can touch me… You and your brother” he nodded to Aemond.

“Weapons up, boys… Give your enemies no quarter” he spoke, focusing all his attentions on her uncles, as her brothers stood to the side, before greeting Ser Harwin.

“It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston” Harwin spoke.

“You question my method of instruction, ser?”

“Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils.”

“Very well.” Ser Criston sneered “Jacaerys, come here…You spar with Aegon…Eldest son against eldest son”

Harwin scoffed “It's hardly a fair match.”

“I know you've never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect.” Cole snarked “Blades up… Engage.”

“grandsire” Aemma mumbled “it’s hardly fair”.

“oh, its just boys being boys Aemma” he dismissed, focusing on the yard once more.

She averted her eyes, focusing back on her book. Lynol strong too focused on her, his eyes watching her, assessing her. His gaze was soft, but he looked at he as if he knew something she didn’t.

“Lord Strong?” she spoke “would you like to read with me?” she asked, flinching at the sound of metal clashing.

“of course, princess” he nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“You dare put hands on me?” she hears Aegon scream, capturing her and Lynol attention.

“You forget yourself, Strong.” She hears Cole spit out “That is the Prince.

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty... to the weaker opponent?” Harwin scoffed

“Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander” he snarked back, moving in closer saying something she could not hear. Though it must not of been pleasant judging by the punch Harwin landed on her face.

“Stop!” she screamed, flinching away and burying her face in her hands.

“Stop this!” her grandsire repeated, as guards dragged Harwin away from Coles laughing bloody face.

After that everything changed.

Her mother grew desperate, having ser Harwin sent to Harrenhal. He was close to their family and his departure seemed to deeply upset her mother and Jace. she was not too bothered, her mother’s attention now lied in the new babe, Joffrey, and council meetings. She was looking for more and more support, Harwin outburst, and marriage offers seemed to be the best way to secure them.

“I wish to speak. Be seated.” Her mother spoke up, as the small council meeting was pulled to a close “I have felt the... strife... between our families of late, my queen.” She spoke to Alicent “And for any offense given by mine, I apologize. But we are one house. And long before that, we were friends.” Alicent nodded. “My daughter Aemma will inherit Dragonstone after me, I propose a marriage between Aemma and your son, Aemond, the pair are already attached at the hip, let them be the glue that once binds our two families. Ally ourselves... once and for all, let them rule Dragonstone together”

“A most judicious proposition.” Viserys agreed, smiling.

“Additionally, if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, both Aemond and Aemma will have their choice of them, uh... a symbol of our goodwill.”

Alicent nodded, considering. “Rhaenyra” she sighed, looking down. She wanted time to think.

“Oh, Seven Hells. Um...”

“My dear... a dragon's egg is a handsome gift.” Viserys spoke to Alicent.

“The King and I thank you for your offer and we will consider it duly.” She nodded, dismissingly “You must rest now, husband.”

“Yes.”

“The proposal is a good one, my queen. We're a family. Let us put aside these childish quarrels. Join hands and be stronger for it.” Viserys spoke, as they made the way to his chambers.

“yes, Aemond and Aemma shall be pleased” she nodded, “but she is desperate” she sneered “She feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my son to her...” she hesitated, “only daughter”

“Alicent” he sighed, “we agree, on the betrothal?”

“yes” she sighed, keep her beloved daughter in her grasps and she shall have Rhaenyra eating out the palm of her hand.

next part

Taglist (bold wouldn't let me tag)

my lady strong: @aemondssuit @idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyy18 @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @dreamingofyourmoons @aleemendoza2425-blog

HOTD: @targaryenmoony

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

[wingedblooms]

A different sort of strength

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (acowar)

-

I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?”

Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.” (Feysand bonus)

Many have assumed Elain is as all she appears: lovely and gentle and sweet. Feyre believes her loving nature is a different sort of strength, and it is. Love is powerful. In Sarah’s stories, love alters fate time and again in every world. But to Rhysand’s point, this perception of Elain—as lovely and gentle and sweet—is incomplete.

When Amren said there’s no going back to human in acofas, I think Sarah was preparing us for her evolution as a character. That’s why she has hinted Elain isn’t all she appears; a different side of her will emerge. Her family intervention is coming and it will push her to grow and embrace all the layers people can’t (or refuse) to see.

That doesn’t mean she will become something unrecognizable. In an interview, Sarah confirmed that Elain is a quiet dreamer, so her evolution will remain true to the different sort of strength she possesses. For example, she may learn to operate as a spy and courtier and ambassador in Mor’s place on the continent. While she can act like an otherworldly soldier-assassin when needed, as Amren once was, Elain doesn’t need to use violence to change fate.

…intelligence is in the knowledge business. Sometimes it might be useless. Sometimes enough to blackmail someone. And sometimes, just sometimes, it influences battles, sways governments, and changes the fate of the world.

-

In the intelligence world, a spy is strictly defined as someone used to steal secrets for an intelligence organization. Also called an agent or asset, a spy is not a professional intelligence officer, and doesn’t usually receive formal training (though may be taught basic tradecraft).

Instead, a spy either volunteers or is recruited to help steal information, motivated by ideology, patriotism, money, or by a host of other reasons, from blackmail to love. From an intelligence perspective, their most important quality is having access to valuable information. For this reason, a government minister might make a great spy—but so might the janitor or a cafeteria worker in a government ministry. (spy museum)

A spy’s most important quality is having access to valuable information. We already know Elain has access to valuable information through her powers, and her information repeatedly helps and protects others.

she tells her court leaders about Vassa, an ally who brings fire and brimstone to the war effort, and Koschei, a looming threat;

she locates the Suriel from across the world to help Feyre gain critical knowledge,

she miraculously neutralizes Hybern before he can kill Nesta and Cassian (which we will likely learn was planned and executed through a combination of her powers), and

she shares information about Nesta’s interests and skills so they can be utilized by her court and her mate, leading to the consummation of their bond.

Elain has influenced quite a bit and only needed to wield a knife once—a lethal blow that no one expected—to change fate. Her gifts are well-suited for accumulating secrets. She may even be able to gather secrets about people on sight, like other seers.

Spies also try to blend in with their surroundings to avoid getting caught. And in the Hewn City, Eris and Cassian dismiss Elain based on her appearance. Hewn City is described as rotting darkness and Elain wears a dress that leeches the life from her appearance. She looks plain. Boring. And no one really pays her any attention as a result.

In the very next chapter, Nesta is shocked (again) by Elain’s sudden appearance and wonders if she is training with the spymaster or her friends, the spies. I don’t think we’ve seen Nuala and Cerridwen use violence once as spies. They have access to valuable information in their roles as handmaidens and their abilities as wraiths allow them to truly blend into their surroundings. It’s possible Elain has learned to move like a wraith from them and depending on the extent of their powers, she might have also learned how to alter her appearance or even wear different bodies. @offtorivendell and I think this could explain, if it becomes canon, how Elain could’ve appeared as Balthazar to help Nesta and Emerie.

Elain also learned how to prepare food from her spy friends, which is another method to influence or disarm others. We learn Elain is working on an herb garden right around the time she learns how to prepare food. Conveniently, herbs can harm as well as heal. She doesn’t need to wield a sword when she has natural weapons growing in her garden.

As the sweet and gentle gardener, no one would suspect Elain of spying or growing plants that could help her access even more knowledge (or protect herself against potential aggressors). But we know, thanks to Rhysand, that gardeners are used to getting their hands dirty, and we know, thanks to Feyre, that Elain won’t hesitate to wield hers for a pretty result.

[lemonhemlock]

so, after having a little break and seeing the last two episodes in pretty quick succession of each other, i will have to say that overall i thought they were fair to middling, sometimes decent, sometimes with abysmal plot choices, alternating with nuggets of greatness (welcome back, alyssa targaryen).

i don't think they are going to solve my fundamental problem with this adaptation, in that, with my specific narrative preferences, i just find myself uninspired when presented with a heroic framing vs a villain-adjacent one. this dynamic remains too simplistic for me to be super enjoying the writing. i just find myself weighing out these interactions and coming off dissatisfied.

i'm turning into a broken record, but it's disappointing to see how they just always seem to lean towards showing the greens as supremely disconnected, cynical and cold to each other, disassociated from any kind of positive emotion or bond, except for a couple of very brief, very rare moments (eg. aegon/jaehaerys). i am a little surprised at the reviews suggesting that the blacks stagnate in their boring ways, because, to me, the writing for tb has improved massively since last season. if the children were borderline NPCs in season 1, i thought they did a pretty decent job in fleshing them out this time, making effective use of limited screen time.

jace, baela and rhaena get to be frustrated with their family, confused, struggling, but also get scenes of genuine connection, they seem to like each other, they look like an actual team. people who could fight for each other and who have kinship even if they don't have perfect relationships.

that being said, i was appalled at how they completely reversed the corlys-baela dynamic (that man did everything in his power to prevent baela from inheriting) and had baela say with her own mouth that she wasn't suited to be the heir to driftmark. i maintain that baela & rhaena should have developed resentment for being cheated by rhaenyra (and corlys!) out of their inheritance and will probably die on this hill. they tried doing this a little with rhaenys by highlighting this point of conflict with her husband, but to have baela outright refuse driftmark is nuts. a targaryen dragonrider can't hold a keep of her own? on what grounds? is dragonstone not also an island surrounded by salt water and boats and sailors? rhaena has this storyline of feeling useless and sidelined by her family because she doesn't have a dragon, yet being overlooked for driftmark doesn't make her feel any kind of way?

imo that remains a huge weak point in how they're writing the girls, but at the very least i can appreciate that they are trying to forge a sense of connection between these people, because they still have to explain how they didn't betray each other and go on their merry way. human relationships can be complicated and sometimes the ones you love the most hurt you and disappoint you the most, so there maybe even is a believable story here.

a story that could very well also be applied to the greens, but they are just almost invariably made to act so frigid with one another. it would be something else if it were just one or two characters, but all of them? all the time? while the other side get to be friendly and affectionate? even rhaenyra and mysaria get scenes of sincere camaraderie. whereas whatever the greens get, it's always in this somber negative light. the non-canon additions overwhelmingly carry this nefarious vibe: aemond tries to kill aegon (not canon), aegon is too dumb to speak high valyrian (not canon), killing the ratcatchers is suddenly so upsetting it can damage the war effort (not canon),* the smallfolk are eager to rebel in king's landing (not canon), alicent actively opposes and is distressed at aemond becoming regent (not canon), the smallfolk think slaying meleys (who killed a lot of innocent people during her escape) is an ill-omen (what the hell?), even the not-canon alicole can't just be sexy, it has to be frostily tinged somehow with the guilt of child murder. compare that with the non-canon addition of rhaenyra and jace working together to organize the dragonseeds or the messianic speech she gives him about how he has to pass on aegon's prophecy.

*they even have AEMOND, who, by then, has committed kinslaying twice and has one attempted regicide under his belt, comment on how, yes, the ratcatchers should be absolutely taken down because it is bad form.🤦‍♀️

it would be something else entirely if the greens were in a stand-alone story and this was the characterisation given to them. we would be having a completely different conversation about dysfunctional family relationships. but they are presented IN COMPARISON to another side and thus you cannot analyse them in a vacuum and it is impossible to escape this comparative approach or pretend that it doesn't directly invite the viewer to a pre-determined conclusion.

(even cersei & tyrion or tyrion & tywin had moments when they were just chilling and not at each other's throats)

likewise, they make every decision taken by the greens range from bad to catastrophic. name one thing that otto, alicent, criston, aemond or aegon get to do that the writers chose to paint in a positive light. one success. it's alicent wanting peace because she feels sorry for rhaenyra. meanwhile, tb has ONE character that acts out and on whom everything unsavory can be pinned: daemon. everything unappealing about rhaenyra's war effort can be traced back to daemon. everyone else in her camp is just so earnestly engaged in harm-reduction.

i'm not even getting into how AEGON of all people is the least developed dragonrider in the show, he who was supposed to have the best and purest bond with his dragon🤦‍♀️meanwhile we've seen how many shots of caraxes and syrax by now? even MOONDANCER. i'm sorry, guys, but baela rode her ass just THEE ONE TIME. for fuck's sake. even rhaena is going to have more flying time than aegon by the end of this show.

the way i can explain my dissatisfaction better is like. imagine succession (yes, it always comes back to this, doesn't it). only that, alongside the dysfunctional roys and their hot mess of a family and questionable (atrocious) morals, you would simultaneously be presented with, say, the old-money pierces. only THEY get to be a quirky bunch of honest-to-god people just tryna do their gosh darn best in this wacky late stage capitalism. unironically. maybe they have a couple of flaws, maybe they even fight sometimes and say things they regret, maybe they have an old crazy un-woke uncle that they try to keep under wraps (hey! nobody's perfect!). but with little to no commentary on their misdeeds and heroic framing compared to the roys. also completely ignoring that they, too, have a corruptible media empire of their own. it would be much worse as a show, no?

[icarusignite]

Can you make a part 3 to “Like an old melody, my heart resumes”? Part 2 was so angst and I love angst. Daeron literally showed deep down of his is green and that was really canon. Can we see jealous Daeron in part 3? Thank you for your effort to write this beautiful fic.

Like an old melody, my heart resumes | Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: i have risen from the dead to write a part 3 for this. sooo sry for the immense delay 💀😭😭😭 i have tried to deliver some more angst and jelly daeron, but since this is the final part, it does have a happy end. Hope u enjoy <33

Word Count: 5.2k

Pairing: Daeron x Fem! Reader | (angst, hurt/comfort, happy end)

In the Red Keep, preparations for the impending nuptials of the youngest prince, Daeron, were in full swing. The castle was a beehive of activity, with every corner bustling with servants, artisans, and nobles, all working tirelessly to ensure that the wedding would be a spectacle of grandeur and opulence.

The castle's kitchen staff worked around the clock, concocting mouthwatering feasts that would delight the most discerning palates. Roasts, game meats, and freshly caught fish were all being prepared with the utmost care and attention to detail. The scent of roasting meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the corridors, creating an irresistible allure for anyone who passed by. Meanwhile, seamstresses and tailors toiled away to create the most breathtaking wedding attire for the royal couple. 

Yet, amidst the bustling activity, a strange tension hung in the air. It was no secret that the Prince and his betrothed had been spending their days avoiding each other. The once inseparable duo had inexplicably distanced themselves from one another. The nobles, who had overheard the heated argument between the two of you just days prior, couldn't help but gossip and speculate about the cause of your sudden estrangement.

Rumours spread like wildfire throughout the castle, with many whispering that your engagement might be on the brink of collapse. The nobles were eagerly waiting for any sign that the young couple's love had soured, as it presented a golden opportunity to push forth their own sons and daughters as potential candidates for marriage with the Targaryen family. It was a chance to secure their own family's prestige and power.

You, consumed by uncertainty and internal turmoil, found solace in Helaena. She was a gentle and kind-hearted soul, but despite her best efforts to console you, and assure you of her brother's love, your restless mind seemed insurmountable. After all, Helaena wasn't there when he called you a bastard, when he called your mother a whore. You could never forgive him, but it still made you ache in a way that felt like someone was scraping a rusted fork across the walls of your heart, repeatedly slow. Still, you allowed Helaena to fill your head with her sweet words, spending hours with her strolling through the gardens. 

Your unease was unrelenting. As the wedding day drew nearer, you contemplated the possibility of confronting King Viserys himself and refusing the marriage altogether. Yet, the sight of the aging king's unwavering joy and anticipation for the upcoming celebration filled you with guilt. Every time he saw you, he spoke animatedly of his excitement and blessings for the wedding and the prospect of disappointing him and the entire realm felt like an unbearable weight on your shoulders. It felt as though someone had tied iron weights to your feet and cast you into a seemingly bottomless ocean. 

To add insult to injury, you were well aware of what the other nobles said behind your back. The rumours of you and your siblings being bastards started circulating with renewed ferocity, and with everyone hoping for your engagement to fail, a part of you wanted to prove them right and end it right then. It was clear that your so-called betrothed couldn't care less for you as he had not even come to see you once. Even during meal times, one of you always managed to come up with some excuse to avoid attending, and you hadn't seen him since the day he had irreparably broken your heart. 

"What's gotten into you, brother? You look as if you've been denied your favourite wine."

It was Aegon, standing against his younger brother's doorframe, his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face. Daeron sat at his writing desk, a dark cloud over his countenance. His frown grew at his brother's words. 

"Not everyone is a drunkard like you brother!"

Aegon lifted his hand to his chest in mock offence, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His grin grew wider and he quirked an eyebrow, wanting to tease Daeron even more now. 

"Well, you certainly are in a foul mood. Have a little lover's spat with your beloved betrothed?"

Daeron's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't speak her cursed name," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice laced with venom.

"Ha! Cursed is she now? What, was she not fun to bed?"

Daeron's blood curdled at hearing Aegon speaking that way about you but the resentment he harboured against you outweighed that and that is why he let the next words slip past his lips. 

"As if I'd want to bed the likes of her."

Aegon rolled his eyes, "You are going to be married to her. You can't not bed your own wife."

"She'll call off the wedding. She'd be stupid not to."

Aegon's amusement evaporated as he studied his brother's face, searching for any trace of jest in his words. However, Daeron's expression remained deadly serious, and the raw emotion in his voice was unmistakable. Aegon took a step closer, his playful demeanour replaced by some semblance of concern. 

"Do you want her to call it off?"

Daeron shrugged, "It will be for the best."

"Then call it off."

"What?"

"If you don't want to marry her, call it off," Aegon pointed out matter-of-factly. 

Daeron almost laughed. Aegon was a fool but sometimes he let slip the occasional kernel of wisdom. 

"If you really didn't want to marry her, you'd call it off yourself," Aegon repeated. "My brother is a lot of things, but he is no coward."

Daeron did laugh this time. Aegon was wrong. He was a coward. He was the biggest coward. Of course, he wanted to marry you, and he would never break off your betrothal but he was a coward. He wanted you to be the one to end it so he could blame you for yet another thing.

"I mean, you might as well call it off so the rest of the fine lords vying for her attention can finally have a chance."

"Pardon?"

"Don't be daft. Surely you must have noticed, the sudden influx of nobles milling about the Red Keep. The unfortunate state of your relationship is no secret and there are plenty of lords who would give an arm and a leg to be our half-sister's son-in-law."

"No..." Daeron blinked, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his chest. "She wouldn't-"

"You react to her as if she's a plague. Do not delude yourself into thinking that she cannot find a man better suited to her," Aegon winked at him. "Who are you to deny her if she can find a man who brings her greater pleasure."

"Don't be foul!"

"I only speak the truth brother. Either accept it or change it."

Daeron let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair, his eyes gazing out the window at the moonlit courtyard below. "You don't understand," he began, his voice more resigned than angry. "You don't know about the false accusations she made...and the things I said to her in retaliation. There is no fixing this."

"False accusations? What, did she catch you with some kitchen maid and accuse you of being unfaithful? Tell your dear future wife-to-be that it is simply the nature of men," Aegon drawled sarcastically.

"I would never do that!" Daeron protested sharply. 

"Oh, don't act like you're better than me. Surely you must have had plenty of bedmates in Oldtown. Do not lie to your own brother."

"I am not like you," Daeron gritted out through clenched teeth. "I have never...done that sort of thing."

"Liar."

"I am not lying. I have never thought of anyone-"

Daeron paused in the middle of his sentence, not wanting to continue his train of thought. 

I have never thought of anyone other than her.

You had been the only thing on his mind. All his life, from the moment he was old enough to know what it meant to want someone, to yearn for someone, it had always been you. All those years in Oldtown, it was the memory of you that sustained him, even when it seemed as though you had forgotten all about him. Now that memory had soured, when he remembered the way you had accused Lord Ormund, a man who had been his father in every way his real father had failed him, which was to say in every way possible. 

The next morning, both Aegon and Aemond decided to take their youngest brother on a leisurely stroll through the castle gardens. The idea had been solely Aegon's, and he took the lead, orchestrating the pace and direction of their stroll. Aemond followed, his silence like an imposing shadow. Daeron, still lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, complied without much enthusiasm. It came as some surprise, to see his oldest brother so invested in his matters but he supposed he should be grateful. In times of emotional turmoil, Helaena was his chosen person of comfort but since you seemed to be permanently glued to her side lately, he had no choice but to give her place to Aegon. 

As they rounded a corner, the sound of soft laughter reached their ears. Aegon grinned and continued forward, unperturbed. The laughter grew clearer as they approached, and soon, they emerged into a sun-dappled clearing. There, seated beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, was the last person Daeron expected to see. You sat with your back to him, looking radiant in the warm sunlight as it cast an ethereal glow across your visage. So enamoured was he by you, that it took him a few more moments to notice that you had company. Helaena and another poshly dressed gentleman sat around you. The man was engaged in animated conversation, his hands flying through the air as he spoke. You and Helaena leaned in, eyes alight with amusement as you listened to his tales, your laughter like tinkling bells.

Aegon paused, his eyes scanning the scene. He glanced at his younger brothers, who were somewhat taken aback by the sight before them. He made a subtle signal for them to continue moving, ensuring Daeron would have a clear view of you and the charming stranger. Aemond shot him a questioning glare but he only winked in response. 

Daeron watched, his heart clenching as he observed your joy in the company of another man. It was a scene that struck at the core of his misery, causing his own unhappiness to deepen. Then, almost as if taunting him, the stranger leaned forward ever so slightly, his charming demeanour and engaging conversation drawing your attention. 

Daeron clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The pain, however, went unnoticed, overshadowed by the searing heat that coursed through him. His heart pounded in his chest, and his jaw was set in a rigid line, as he watched the scene unfold with a mixture of despair and frustration.

He was convinced that the gentleman would lean in to steal a kiss from you, a thought that tormented him beyond measure. It was as if his world had turned to chaos, and he was helplessly witnessing the unravelling of everything he held dear. Blood welled up from the tiny crescents on his palms, but he was oblivious to the physical pain.

However, the stranger's actions took a different turn. Instead of a kiss, he reached forward to brush a stray leaf that had become entangled in your tresses. As his fingers gently traced the contours of your hair, Daeron's heart sank. You looked up at the stranger with a touch of abashment, as he held the leaf aloft, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

It was enough to make your betrothed's blood boil with jealousy. He felt a burning rage that threatened to consume him, and it took all his self-control not to rush forward and confront the stranger, to shake him by the collar and slice through him with his sword. 

Aemond scowled at Aegon, understanding to some degree, the mischievous game he was playing as they both watched their youngest brother try and school his expression. He looked like a tightly wound spring, and when Aemond moved to lead them away from the scene, Aegon grabbed his arm and aggressively shook his head. They had to stay. He had to stay and watch you. 

The stranger's fingers brushed your hand, and at that moment, all sense of rationality fled from Daeron's mind. His vision blurred, and his heart pounded even louder in his ears. He was so consumed by his own emotions that he didn't notice your immediate reaction.

In that instant, you withdrew your hand from the stranger's touch. A small frown creased your lips, and a glint of discomfort flashed in your eyes. You had only come out to the gardens at Helaena's request, not seeking the unwelcome advances of an amorous suitor. While you may not have been on the best of terms with your betrothed, you were still a woman spoken for, and you found the stranger's egregious flirting quite annoying. You glanced at Helaena who smiled at you placatingly, gesturing at you to remain seated. When you lowered your gaze to the floor, she flashed Aegon a quick scowl, knowing that all three of her brothers stood there watching. Then her eyes widened in alarm at the approaching figure of her youngest brother, his face a twisted mask of fury. His steps were heavy and resolute, and if looks could kill, the poor gentleman would be long dead.

Daeron came to a stop in front of him, his piercing gaze locking onto the stranger's eyes. His chest heaved with each deep breath he took, trying to control the fury that simmered within him. For a moment, he stood in silence, his gaze shifting between you and the stranger, his emotions churning like a tempest.

Then, with a sudden, almost aggressive movement, Daeron reached out and grabbed your hand. His grip was firm, almost painful, as he yanked you up from your seat. The abruptness of his actions took you by surprise, and you looked at him with wide eyes, your expression a mix of shock and confusion.

Daeron, his voice laced with anger and frustration, hissed, "We need to talk. Now."

Without waiting for a response, he pulled you away from the group and deeper into the gardens, his strides long and forceful, as if he were trying to put as much distance as possible between the two of you and the others.

Back in the clearing, Aegon grinned and slapped the gentleman on the shoulder amicably. 

"You have my sincerest gratitude for your assistance, Ser Atticus," he winked. 

The gentleman, Ser Atticus, smiled and bowed his head at the oldest prince.

"You set this up?" Aemond scoffed. "I should have known, after all, you're not exactly one to enjoy morning strolls in the garden."

"I was only trying to help our dear brother confront his feelings. He will thank me later."

"You better hope this works," Helaena grumbled. "If my niece has been hurt due to your recklessness, you will regret it dearly."

Aegon clutched his heart, "Oh dear sister, you wound me. She is my niece too. I would never wish to hurt her. She will thank me too. This way both young fools will be able to discuss their true feelings."

Meanwhile, Daeron led you away to a secluded corner of the garden, where the lush foliage provided a curtain of privacy. You pulled away your hand from his bruising grip, glaring at him venomously. 

"Well then?" you raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Spit it out, you clearly look like you have a lot to say. Do grace us with your words, my prince."

You drawled the words, my prince, mockingly, sneering at him to speak. 

"What in the Seven Hells were you thinking? Allowing that man to behave so familiarly with you in public. Are you trying to humiliate yourself, you-"

Daeron did not get a chance to finish before he was slammed against the hard trunk of the massive tree behind him. He stopped short, his breath escaping his lips in a surprised exhale. Then his breath caught once again at your proximity. Your hands fisted his collar, and your eyes blazed with unrestrained fury as you glared daggers at him. Despite your smaller stature, you somehow managed to look down your nose at him. 

"Go on then," you seethed, your white-knuckled grip tightening in the fabric of his tunic, looking just moments away from strangling him. "Finish that sentence. What was it you were going to call me? A whore? A bastard? What new word has your drunkard cunt of a brother taught you to use? Let us see your expanded vocabulary now!"

Daeron watched your anger and frustration manifest in your sparkling eyes, and the way your mouth twisted into a deadly grimace. Amid the chaos, a singular, traitorous thought rose in his mind, amidst the anger and confusion that had gripped him.

"Say it so that I may have the pleasure of ripping your tongue from between your teeth with my own hands."

He couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight cast shadows against your face, the way your fiery eyes held a flicker of vulnerability, and the angry tears that clung to your lashes. In that moment, a strange and conflicting desire welled up within him. He wanted to reach out, to brush away the tears and caress your cheek, to taste the anger on your lips, to taste the blood that you would undoubtedly draw. 

However, Daeron did none of those things because Daeron was a fool and when he opened his foolish mouth, the words that came out were far from what he truly wanted to convey. 

"If you're that desperate for another man's attention, perhaps you should consider calling off our wedding altogether."

Your eyes widened in shock and disbelief, your anger momentarily replaced by a deep hurt. Then you laughed, a burst of brief maniacal laughter that had your betrothed looking at you with a strange expression on his face. You were a fool too after all. You were an utter fool if you thought that after your last argument, there was nothing else Daeron could say to hurt you. You thought you had heard the worst of it, but there was always more. There were always new ways to hurt and Daeron, it seemed, was an expert at finding just the right spaces between your ribs to plunge his dagger into. 

"Do it yourself, you coward!" you finally snarled, "or are you too afraid that you'll disappoint your father? Do not worry, you can't disappoint someone who never held any expectations for you."

Now it was Daeron's turn to flinch, your words hitting too close to that soft vulnerable place where his lungs contacted shakily against his ribcage. You scoffed at his speechlessness and slowly let go of his tunic, smoothing it down with trembling fingers, a false smile pasted on your face.

"Careful now, wouldn't want to be seen associating with a bastard, now would you," you smiled broadly. "Be sure to tell the king that you have changed your mind."

You smiled because if you didn't, you would cry and you would be damned if you let him see you cry again. You hit first so it wouldn't hurt when he did it. If you turned it into a joke, then it wouldn't sting when he turned you into one. 

Daeron remained rooted in place, watching you walk away from him for the second time that week. It was becoming a habit of his. He felt equal parts guilty and furious, and he didn't quite know how to deal with it.  

"Daeron, my boy, it's good to see you. How does it feel to be back at home in the Red Keep?"  Lord Ormund's voice was warm and comforting as he reached out to ruffle Daeron's hair affectionately.

Daeron stood awkwardly in Lord Ormund's doorway, stepping inside hesitantly. At his lack of response, the lord's eyes filled with empathy as he guided his nephew to a pair of comfortable chairs near the window. He gestured for Daeron to sit, then called for the maids to bring some refreshments. 

"Well, my boy," Lord Ormund began, "you know that you can always come to me when you need to talk. I'm here to listen and help in any way I can."

"Thank you. I needed someone to talk to."

As the maids brought in a tray of refreshments and poured tea for both of them, Lord Ormund smiled, "Now, Daeron, let's take your mind off your worries for a while. How about a game of chess? It might help clear your thoughts."

Daeron nodded, appreciating his uncle's efforts to distract him from his troubles, "That sounds like a good idea. I could use a distraction right now."

As the game of chess progressed, Daeron tried to muster the courage to inquire about the missing letters that you had claimed were purposely hidden from him during his time in Oldtown. He knew he had to tread carefully, as he didn't want to offend Lord Ormund by accusing him based on mere rumours. Daeron respected Lord Ormund deeply and held the belief that he wouldn't intentionally harm him. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel the need to confirm the matter for himself.

Taking a deep breath, Daeron broached the subject, his words carefully chosen. 

"Lord Ormund, I've been pondering something," he began. "I was wondering if there might have been any chance that some letters were misplaced or overlooked, during my stay in Oldtown."

Lord Ormund paused for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features, though it was subtle. He carefully considered Daeron's question and replied, "Well, my boy, it is possible that sometimes letters get misplaced, especially with the volume of correspondence we receive. Is there a particular letter that you are inquiring about?"

"No, not in particular. I was simply wondering. I have a few acquaintances here in King's Landing who claim they were unable to reach me so I thought I'd inquire about the matter."

"Of course. As I said, these things happen from time to time. Communication is lost from time to time. However, you are here now, so you may reassure them in person."

Daeron appreciated his uncle's reassurance but couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. He decided to probe a bit further, maintaining his gentle tone. "I understand, my lord. I don't mean to doubt your integrity, but I've heard certain rumours, and I wanted to clear the air. I trust you completely."

Lord Ormund shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a subtle sign that Daeron didn't miss. He looked down at the chessboard for a moment before meeting Daeron's gaze. "I appreciate your trust, my boy, but there's nothing more to the missing letters. It was a simple case of some misplaced correspondence. Perhaps a page boy or two must be reprimanded when I return, but let's not dwell on it any longer."

Reluctantly, Daeron accepted Lord Ormund's insistence on moving past the subject, and they returned their focus to the chess game. However, the unresolved issue continued to weigh on Daeron's mind, leaving him with a sense of unease that he couldn't easily dispel. He wanted to banish the traitorous thoughts permanently from his head. What kind of person doubted the very person who had cared for him all these years? It felt wrong to doubt Lord Ormund's words, and yet, he couldn't get your tearful pleas to trust you out of his mind. 

That evening, Daeron couldn't shake his nagging doubts about the missing letters. Despite his earlier conversation with Lord Ormund, he found himself returning to his chambers once more, resolved to ask about the matter one final time, trusting that he would accept his uncle's word and let it rest.

As he approached Lord Ormund's door, he paused just outside, hesitant to interrupt what appeared to be a private conversation. He couldn't help but overhear the hushed, urgent tones of Lord Ormund and his grandfather, Otto Hightower.

"The boy is getting suspicious," Lord Ormund whispered, his voice tinged with concern. "You better make sure he finds out nothing. I will not have that boy hate me, not when I have raised him and loved him as my own."

"It's not my fault that you weren't able to do a better job at keeping him apart from that woman's daughter. You knew the stakes of their union, Ormund," Otto's response was low and urgent

Lord Ormund's response was laced with emotion, as he vehemently declared, "I didn't even care about keeping them apart. I only cared for my boy's happiness. I did it on your command, in the hopes that he would remain more focused on his duties and education."

In absolute horror, Daeron retreated backward, a sickening sort of guilt washing over him like a tidal wave. The weight of his actions, the hurtful and awful things he had said to you in the heat of anger and denial, began to suffocate him. It filled his lungs and dug its fingers in his throat, drowning him, dragging him under. 

He couldn't help but replay the words and accusations he had thrown at you in his mind. The memory of your hurt expression, the anger in your eyes, and the tears he had caused you to shed were a torment to his conscience. He knew that he had pushed you away, possibly irrevocably and that your relationship now lay in tatters.

Daeron couldn't bear the thought of you hating him, but he understood that he had given you ample reason to feel that way. He paced the hallway, the guilt and regret gnawing at him relentlessly. He needed to find you, to make amends, to tell you how deeply sorry he was, and that he would spend the rest of his days trying to make it right, even if he didn't deserve your forgiveness.

His feet led him through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, and he finally found himself standing before your chamber door. He knew you would be furious with him, and he had no idea if you would even open the door, but he couldn't bear the thought of not trying to make amends.

With trembling hands, he knocked on the door, a tentative sound that echoed in the quiet hallway. To his surprise, the door creaked open, revealing your forlorn form standing on the other side. You were still in your day dress, despite the late hour, and your eyes were rimmed with red as if you had been crying.

You scowled at the sight of him, moving to slam the door shut in his face, but he acted quickly, slipping inside before you could complete the motion. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized the enormity of what he had to do.

"Listen," he said your name softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I... I need to talk to you." He could see you tense as if preparing for another argument, and he quickly added, "I want to apologize. I'm so, so sorry for what I said earlier. I should have believed you. I should have trusted you. I don't know what came over me, but I said terrible things, and I regret it more than you can imagine. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I'm truly, deeply sorry. I need you to know how much you mean to me."

"Get out," your voice was quiet. 

"No...no please just hear me out. I can't leave like this. I am a fool. I am a fool for not trusting you. For taking all the worst things and using them to hurt you, but I didn't mean any of it. I swear it. I-"

You interrupted him, voice edged with anger, "You hurt me, Daeron. You hurt me deeply. I don't know if I can ever forgive you for the things you said."

Daeron's heart sank at your words, but he couldn't blame you for your anger and hesitation. He nodded, swallowing hard as he replied, "I understand. I understand if you can't forgive me, but I can't bear the thought of losing you because of my foolishness."

It was getting harder and harder for you to keep your own tears at bay. 

"Please, leave."

Daeron dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching out to clasp yours. His eyes were filled with raw, unfiltered regret. 

"I was wrong. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I love you. I'll spend my life trying to make it up to you...if you'll let me. Please, allow me to be yours, to be better for you." 

You were taken aback by the intensity of his remorse and sincerity. You felt conflicted, torn between the hurt you felt and the love you still harboured for him.

"Daeron, please... I need time," you pleaded, voice quavering as you struggled with your own emotions.

Daeron's grip on your hands tightened, his eyes pleading for your understanding, "I'll give you all the time you need. I'll wait forever if that's what it takes. Just give me a chance to show you that I'm the person who deserves you. I love you, and I'll prove it every day, I swear. it"

Your heart softened at the sight of his vulnerable state, his heart laid bare before you. Your resolve wavered. 

"Daeron, please," you began, voice faltering. 

But before you could say more, Daeron's voice cracked and fresh tears flowed down his cheeks, his desperation reaching a peak.

"I can't lose you. Please, let me make it right. Please, please, please. There is no one in this world I'd rather be with so please, let me just show you."

Your heart stirred, and almost unconsciously, you reached out, wiping away a tear from his cheek. He stilled almost immediately at your touch, leaning into your palm as his chest heaved. 

"Get up, Daeron."

When he stood before you once more, you reached out again to brush your fingers against his face tentatively. Daeron, in turn, gently wiped away your tears, his fingers tracing the contours of your face. His touch was tender and filled with adoration, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch. You knew that it was too soon to forgive him completely, that the hurt ran deep and would take time to heal, but you found yourself unable to resist the pull of his emotions.

Your defences were futile in the face of Daeron's adoration. You understood that he had hurt you, that he might do so again in the future, but for now, you loved him, and you allowed yourself to imagine that he loved you too.

Daeron leaned closer, and you felt his lips against your skin as he pressed soft kisses against the tears that stained your cheeks. His touch was apologetic and affectionate, and you felt your heart soften further, allowing yourself to be pulled into his chest.

He held you tight as if he were afraid you might slip away. Your arms encircled him, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the erratic beat of his heart. 

You felt Daeron's breath against your ear, and the words he whispered were soft and sincere, "I love you. I'll do whatever it takes to make this right. I will never give you another reason to complain, so please, just stay with me. Just stay, and don't go."

What else could you possibly do? He had asked you to stay, and so, you would stay forever. 

Tags: @lady-targaryens-world @uniquecroissant @bitchyunknownuser

[knickynoo]

do you have any random alex keaton headcanons? i think you’ve done a couple already but i’m not to sure.

love your blog btw <3

Thank you!

I think I've done a couple of headcanon posts focusing on Alex and Ellen as a couple, but idk that I've done one exclusively for Alex. Hmm.

• In "A, My Name is Alex," we learn that Alex was frequently under extreme pressure from his teachers to always have the right answer at the ready, be an example of a perfect student, accept the social isolation as the price to pay for being "special" and so on. We'll, I headcanon that at some point in his childhood, Alex attempted to go on strike. He had a pep talk with himself before school, telling himself he would refuse to answer any questions no matter how many times the teacher called on him.

He didn't even make it to lunchtime. The teacher's perplexed and disappointed expression, combined with his own fear that others would think he didn't know the answer was enough to break him.

• Alex played soccer as a kid (canon) but he wasn't particularly good at it (headcanon). He joined at the urging of Steven and Elyse, who had hoped it would help him make friends, but just ended up being that kid who thought he knew more than the coach and who tripped over his own feet several times a game. The times he managed to score goals were mostly accidental. Steven and Elyse made every effort to show up to each game and cheer him on.

• Even though Alex makes fun of his father's job a lot, he does watch every documentary Steven has a part in making and then sits with him after to discuss his favorite aspects of it.

• The orange juice obsession started as a young child and only strengthened as Alex got older. He'll drink other juice if that's the only option, but he never chooses it over oj. He can also do a blind taste test and tell (with near perfect accuracy) what the brand is. He prefers homemade, though, which Steven occasionally makes in large batches. Steven and Elyse often have to remind Alex to drink water.

• Alex is an amazing cook, and he's not shy about taking charge in the kitchen and whipping up a meal every so often. (this is actually kind of canon, as there's an episode where he makes his famous "Pasta Alex" for his family) He mostly sticks to picking recipes from cookbooks, but he's also got a natural talent for knowing what flavors will work well together and can pull together a good meal without any specific instructions.

• When Alex hasn't made a trip to his local bank in a while, the manager and tellers call the Keatons to make sure he's okay.

• As Mallory ventures into and becomes successful in the fashion world, Alex is one of her biggest cheerleaders. She has a line of sweater vests, and he's thrilled whenever a new one is released. He agrees to be her model in some of the advertisements for them.

• Shortly after Andy is born, Alex starts a college fund for him. He doesn't tell him parents and secretly squirrels away money over the years. Between this and the fund his parents start, Andy can pretty much go to any school he wants by the time he's old enough to start thinking of colleges.

• Despite his attitude about success and his desire for immense wealth, Alex ends up being very generous with his money as he makes his way up the ladder in the business world. He tried very hard to hide his big heart, but he can't deny that he likes helping others in need. He makes frequent, anonymous donations to many charities and also does volunteer work with Ellen.

• Oh yeah, I have to include the mention of my headcanon that Alex and Ellen end up finding each other again and getting married. Duh.

• Alex is autistic, and it's something he eventually comes to realize a little later on in life, once the condition starts to become more widely understood and recognized (especially in adults.) It's actually Ellen who connects the dots, and it's that moment of realization where a lot of things fall into place. It explains his difficulty with emotions and relationships, his need for sameness and why things fall apart for him when things change, the black and white thinking, and the way he struggles to see things from other people's perspectives, his strong obsessions, and his very obviously savant-like talents. (His ability to do extremely complex math as a toddler, identifying coins by their sounds, easily memorizing entire passages from books and board game rule books, etc)

Alex thinks it's an absurd suggestion at first, and she drops the topic for fear of upsetting him, but it stays lodged in the back of his mind. He becomes so completely absorbed in proving that he does not fit the criteria or the little list on the paper Ellen had shown him that he can't focus on anything else. Which, you know, only goes to prove her point even more. Eventually, he relents and admits she's probably right. Getting to that point of acceptance (and maybe even seeking professional resources) is one of the best things that happens to Alex.

(And as a little bonus headcanon, I think a similar chain of events unfold when Alex goes to talk to Elyse about the whole situation. She listens, and though she's a little overwhelmed, she agrees it does fit. Later on, she goes to Steven with a printout or a book about autism and is like, "He got it from somewhere," to which Steven goes, "???? Elyse, what are you talking about?? Please let me get back to making my elaborate chart detailing the electricity usage of every person in this house. Also, I hope you didn't buy a different brand of napkins again or I'll have a nervous breakdown." And Elyse is like 🤦🏼‍♀️)

Thanks for the ask! This was a lot of fun.

[ashcroft-writes]

Cad Bane Arranged Marriage AU Story Idea

So I'm processing a LOT of story-writing thoughts—last night, as a result, my brain figured it'd be cool to hand me a fairly in-depth Bane plot circa The Clone Wars via one of my dreams. Unfortunately, this setup's not usable in my current writing efforts... but it was actually pretty intriguing for me despite being a dream, so, you know, here you go! If someone wants to take it in some direction, then by all means, feel free.

The trouble began when a small archaeological team was sent by the Republic to a remote jungle on a world in the Outer Rim. Their purpose was to dig up Jedi artifacts from a long-since crumbled and overgrown mountain-temple there... but naturally, this group needed regional contacts and guides so they could do their job. This, they found in a nearby village of Duros.

Now, this particular group of Duros had inhabited the area for hundreds of years, their ancestors settling there so as to protect some of their ancient and fading traditions. This was primarily a farming community that also made fine jewelry and bright textiles characterized by vibrant colors and beautiful geometric patterns. The forest and land provided ample minerals, fibers, and dyes. These Duros practiced arranged marriage, had an involved spiritual life, and were, on the whole, pretty peaceable, prosperous, and happy. They welcomed the archaeologists and ensured they were provided for during their stay.

The best of the guides offered to the team was a gentle, soft spoken, young woman named Liiju whose family was quite well respected. She often wandered the mountain, having grown up running and playing in the jungle trees and streams, finding it a ready teacher to help her navigate her own personal challenges and thoughts. And of those, she had many. While she really loved her family and home, the primary thing she was unfortunately gossiped about around town for was that she'd so far refused every marriage match her parents had tried. So she was getting towards middle age, yet was the only one her age still unmarried, no eggs, etc., and it had left her a bit socially adrift.

Liiju could never really explain why she would refuse all her suitors. Every person she was asked to consider was often very kind to her. It just... didn't feel right... and she would always find a way to gently shut it down.

Her family was getting really concerned, however. They'd even started considering proposals from outsiders at this point. Though if she married outside the village, she’d most likely leave (something they would all grieve,) they wanted their daughter cared for with children of her own as she got older. Liiju had tried her hand at several other possible roles around the village, but none of it seemed to stick; she really only excelled at wandering in nature, and this wasn't exactly a skill in demand.

Still, it was useful for this rare team of archaeologist visitors. And one of them, a human named Maro, took a shine to Liiju right away as they worked. She seemed so curious about the outside world and what he did, intelligent and interested. He told her about his life with the academic community back on Coruscant, she told him of her life here, and a little spark of interest lit in him. He liked how her slender hands fluttered when talking about the movements of the seasons and animals there, how her red eyes were always squinting with a smile when she’d watch the sky. Indeed, when she went back home each night to eat with her family, Maro would find himself a little disappointed she didn't stay. He was even more disappointed when she mentioned off-hand that an outsider was going to be showing up at the village the next day, one that she was supposed to make yet another good-faith effort to get engaged to. Still, he could only offer words of support—these were her people’s traditions, and them and her family had been there for her far before he’d been. His consolation was that she would probably find a way to say no to this new guy too at the end of the day. Excited about it… she was not. Truly, there was a flash of sadness in her when she spoke of a future settled down and married and laying eggs... like she’d lose something she didn’t know how to quite pin down, let alone get back.

The next morning, the archaeologists were in the town square eating breakfast at an outside table, waiting for the weekly merchant ship to arrive—the team often traded with them for supplies the village itself couldn’t create. Maro had been also told this ship would further be carrying Liiju's new potential fiance from the continent's capital city. Indeed, she sat with them on the bench, quietly waiting to observe what her future might hold from a distance so it couldn’t catch scent of her before she wanted it to. And on schedule, it appeared on the dawn's horizon. Slowly, as the light spread, the transport settled down at the village's entrance. Liiju’s mother and father were first in line in their finery to patter up and greet the ship.

But who would step out into the humid morning behind the merchants?

None other than Cad Bane my friends, dressed nice and neat.

The archaeologists sat and stared as their breakfast slowly dropped from their hands. Their furtive glances to each other said: "Uh. Hey. Is that who we KRIFFING think it is...?"

Liiju just sighed, oblivious to this, muttering, "My folks are considering older men too now I see."

And Maro merely sat there and vibrated, eyes wide and grimacing.

Still, Bane was being very chill. Oddly chill. Though he conducted himself stiffly, he did all the right motions with the villagers, speaking quietly, direct with answers, delivering the right honorary words and gestures at the right times—easily maneuvering his way past initial concerns about outsider disrespect. The parents invited him quickly and with open arms back to their home, because this guy absolutely had the dowry money, and wasn’t he a nice gentleman, and in their glances to each other, they said: please, please let our child consent to even meeting this one. We are at the end of our rope here.

The archaeologists just turned to Liiju and said they all needed to return to the jungle. Now. Confused, she went. But their voices were all so strained and quick and quiet. It was only when they were safely to the ruins and out of earshot from all else that they finally began to speak openly—and it was mostly to shout panic at one another. They were too remote for their long-distance communicators to work, so they couldn’t call out to the Republic and announce they had eyes on one of the most wanted men in the galaxy drinking a welcoming tea in a pleasant little hut. They couldn’t fight; they'd get obliterated. They couldn't even reveal themselves; being Republic, wouldn't Bane easily just decide to bump them off so they couldn't squeal about where he was showing up these days? What if he was there for the artifacts as well; couldn't he capture and torture them to learn about his objective?

There was really only one thing they were certain about: they couldn’t let this young woman go home yet to that. Who knew what in the galaxy his plans for her were?

To which Liiju was like, uh. So. What's the big deal? He was just some outsider with money. Those came around all the time.

Of course, when they explained who he was, she started to freak out exactly the same. Her people were well removed from the war, but apparently this was of course a violent mercenary showing up and pretending to be just a lonesome businessman. He was in her house. With her parents. Her whole family! Would they be held hostage over something?

Speaking of which, her parents were blowing up her transmitter like, "Dear, it’s getting late, you better get home and join us for dinner and talk to this nice man! No, we don’t have time to talk about it, he’s right here and you’re being rude! Why won't you give this a chance? He’s richer than anyone who's been by the village in ages, and he’s got the nicest droid helping us with the dishes even???"

Maro, quiet and deep in his feelings, was getting a bit frantic at this point. Finally, he walked up, took her hand, and offered to court her instead so her parents could feel like there were other options.

“Thanks?” After two solid minutes of the entire site going silent, this was all Liiju could think of to say. Maro seemed a kind man. She liked his stories of places out there. But… but marrying him?! They didn’t know each other either! And entirely overwhelmed, shaking, scared, and backed into a lot of corners, she was more intent on just running off into the trees than accepting a proposal from anyone just then.

But she couldn't. Those she loved, and she herself, were in danger.

The archaeologists agreed to send someone on foot to the nearest outpost so they could call for backup. But Bane needed to be stalled until help arrived. And Liiju, still stunned and holding Maro’s hand without an answer, volunteered to return like her parents wanted. Why not? If she didn’t, their guest would surely grow suspicious. And it was supposedly her he’d traveled all this long way to see.

It would give her an excuse too to go back into the forest a brief while, to think, to consider Maro’s fierce look and urgent promise.

To possibly grieve her old life.

Maro did not give her that peace entirely: he volunteered to accompany her back to the village perimeter at least so he would be just a call away if she needed help. Liiju wasn't sure what he could do, but she appreciated the gesture, and so, they walked back in silence, him growing awkward and earnest, her trembling and hunched inward.

She went home. She quietly came in through the back door. Her parents and little brothers stood right away and fussed around the table and made a huge deal of announcing her, their beautiful Liiju, home and ready for dinner, hooray! And then there was the lean, looming stranger at the far end of the table. His eyes seemed to gleam like hypnotic stars, his expression respectfully neutral.

And in that piercing gaze, Liiju saw that he knew that she knew who he was and why she had stalled arriving, even if her parents didn’t, like he could tear right through her skin and see all her secrets.

Of course, she was still shaking and finding it hard to speak, so maybe he could smell her fear. This realization made her just shake harder, thinking maybe he would resort to threats to get his way if their ignorance was part of his original plan.

But what he did was merely invite her to sit down one on one before dinner to hear him out. He claimed then that if she didn't like his offer, he would leave.

Liiju’s family looked to her a little startled, questioning. But listless, she nodded. It could get her loved ones out of the room and at a safer distance. Though confused, her parents began misreading her nervousness—and so pleased that she was actually making an effort to get to know this match, they shrugged to each other and vamoosed out of their house immediately (save for, obviously, the chaperone droid stationed in the corner.)

Slowly, Liiju settled just across from this invader, taking her seat in the same chair she'd eaten meals at every day since before she could walk.

Bane set down his teacup.

And then, the nice relaxed face he’d been doing that whole time just sort of dropped. It was as if a mellow expression was something he had to actively maintain, and his real default was something far more keen, unblinking, and dangerous—a predator born.

Without preamble, he informed her that he would be honest with her, as it would save them both time.

Liiju considered. This man was apparently so dangerous that he had nothing to fear from her, no matter what she knew, but Maro had warned her that he would likely tell all sorts of lies…

No. He… seemed honest, strangely. His words were too sparse and blunt, his hunch too impatient, for elaborate stories.

Yet his first question was this: was there anyone in her village that she had her eye on already? Was she actually open to this talk of matches?

Startled, Liiju stammered she didn’t have any secret suitors of course, nothing so dishonorable, unsure why he was digging at that: but of course, he could tell straightaway that she was lying. And when he pressed again, reminding her not to waste his time, she finally admitted that, well, technically someone did offer to approach her parents for permission to court her that day. Why? Well... just because he was here. Under his gleaming, unblinking interrogation, she suddenly felt like she'd have to say every fact that she'd ever known.

She wasn’t good at lying.

"Ah," was all he said though. "You considering that?"

Liiju thought about the archaeologist, handsome and friendly. She thought about being so scared she couldn't feel her toes and fingers. "Yes," she admitted.

To that, he kind of just scoffed. He asked if she was really considering it, or if it was just fear—if she’d give that other man the time of day if she wasn’t being pressured into this situation.

Liiju considered that too, not knowing why he cared. Still, words shaking, really thinking of what was true and what wasn't deflated some of her rattling tension. It grounded her. And honestly... the answer was no. Sure, she thought the archaeologist was kind of sweet. But she was thinking of that offer like it was a desperate escape hatch, swept up in the adrenaline. That was the only reason it sounded appealing. She didn't really want it.

Bane seemed satisfied by her answers. Then, he then told her that in the galaxy and especially in Duros society, there were many things one couldn't easily access without the pretense of a family. It affected him frequently enough that he realized he would benefit from being accompanied by a spouse to some places, and most of his own kind that he might hire for the role weren’t trustworthy enough or would cost him too much cash for repeat performances. So, he’d decided to find someone willing to just actually create the legal documents and save him the trouble of forgeries to boot.

Here, in these remote places, people didn't know him. There were ample Duros. There was a system of arranged marriages and dowries still in effect. He didn’t have the time to court and woo, nor the inclination, but he did have the money and a liking for efficiency, and so, here they were together.

Well, obviously, that wasn't the most charming proposal in the world. And it was suddenly dawning for Liiju that she could refuse, that he seemed to prize the idea of someone who wouldn't betray him, so she'd need to be willing. Perhaps her life was in no danger after all.

But then he said something that gave her pause: he said he chose to meet her specifically, out of all the Duros in all the cities and villages on this world.

"Why?" she wondered, heart hammering.

Well. She was the only one who'd apparently refused fifteen straight offers. Clearly she was looking for the chance to make a life of her own choosing and not have a husband. After all, that was really what he had to give in exchange: if she took him up on a contract, she could get people off her back, legally say she was married, and then use her status to go anywhere and do anything she wanted as long as he could pick her up now and again for jobs where she’d be useful. Alternatively, she could choose to travel with him a while. Learn new skills. Take lovers when it suited her. Kriff, if she wanted a kid, well, he could give her one, but raising it would be on her (he didn't say if he’d give her an egg via the usual means, or if he’d rustle one up somewhere legally questionable, and she didn't have the nerve to ask. It wasn’t even clear if he was attracted to her physically.)

So, he said. Most wouldn't be interested in that. But what did she think?

Liiju sat there, staring, barely able to swallow. She had no kriffing idea. This wasn't what she expected at all. He wasn't what she expected.

And something inside was suddenly really picking this insane offer over—and it stunned her, but no one had ever sat down, looked her directly in the eye, and simply offered her control of her destiny. Obviously, he got something out of it, but her sacrifices would be unusually easy… and his honesty and clarity seemed so much more prominent than his supposed cruelty as he spoke.

Could she even believe these Republic people fully? Did they really know him, her fellow Duros, or were they blinded by war?

...Or jealousy?

For strangely, he truly seemed to mean every word he shared, and she genuinely sensed that if she did refuse, he would leave her to the same fate she was wrestling with when she woke up that day.

Perhaps even an older man was a little handsome, in the way of a one who’d lived his life with laser purpose and no regret.

Bane slid a teacup across the table to her and cocked his brow, letting her think…

…Also, by the by, he noted, if she would accept, perhaps they could also talk about the Jedi artifacts in these parts that her parents told him about. A nice surprise, that was. And if she’d like to guide him to any, he could give her a split of any profit so she could start her life off comfortably. After all, there was a lot of profit in those old temples...

...I woke up before she said anything more.

But I think I knew what she was going to choose.

[rosesparkles-4]

A "humans are space orcs au" idea I had for Hogwarts legacy (would be a Sebastian Sallow x reader)

Basically there's one human (reader/mc) who was abducted by an intergalactic gang (the ashwinders) and eventually they're rescued by an alien crew made up of Sebastian, Ominis, Poppy, Natty, Garreth, and Amit. Bonding ensues! Also humans are terrifying to the rest of the galaxy, comes with the trope. Eventually they take MC to Hogwarts (school that specializes in teaching species from all over the galaxy), where instead of the professors being able to help them get home, the headmaster won't authorize the journey to earth. Far too risky (he doesn't want to waste the money involved on a human). So instead, he compromises and lets them attend Hogwarts, now eventually they'll get their flying license and go home themself.

Sebastian:

He's technically the captain of the ship, it's for a school assignment involving exploring the rest of the galaxy

Ominis actually does more of the captain duties tbh, but Sebastian is the best at flying so he gets the title. (Ominis can fly thanks to tech accomodations similar to his canon universe wand that detects what's around him, he can connect to the ship and steer it like that.) Sebastian also has better grades, so that helps.

His species is very lizard like, cold-blooded and some of the scales on his body change color with his emotions (replacing his freckles from canon). Mc jokes he's a chameleon, Sebastian doesn't get it.

He falls in love. HARD. At first, he was ready to tear MC apart to defend his crew, but when they quickly learn humans aren't heartless killers? He lets his shields down. Then when MC officially joins the school and gets assigned to his ship? He's done for. They already started bonding on the journey to the school, but now that he's spending more time with the reader it's evolved into something more.

Unfortunately, this makes him dread their eventual return to earth, where their memories will be wiped upon arrival and he'll never see MC again. While there are protections in place for abducted humans, most governments force a memory wipe to keep it under wraps. The tension between earth and the rest of the galaxy is already unstable.

Until then though, he's chosen to spend as much time as he can with MC while secretly searching the galaxy for a cure for his dying sister

Ominis:

The one who actually runs the ship tbh

Had a heart attack when Poppy brought a rescued human on board

He's only ever heard of humans being terrible awful beasts, and he avoids MC for a while.

Until he catches them crying bc homesickness be a bitch, and when he goes to comfort them he holds their hand. Oh. They're soft.

Surprise surprise, the gaunt family is royalty on planet full of snake-like aliens. He hates them here for reasons I will delv into in a later post.

Still just as mischievous as Sebastian, they both play pranks on everyone

Is actually the most angry at Black's refusal to send MC home right away. He'd miss them of course, but he knows how much MC longs for earth.

Amit:

Had to break it to Poppy that humans are not beasts, and are in fact people. She was disappointed.

Is almost fluent in English, loves that the MC can teach him more.

Actually gave them a translator to understand the rest of the ship, but it's uncomfortable so they're making an effort to learn the SUL (standard universal language) while they all try to learn English.

Was the biggest advocate for them when Sebastian initially ordered MC to be locked up. Dragged him to the cell to witness her depressed when it got bad enough and forced him to realize that MC was just a person who was lost, and he was not helping. (Sebastian still feels guilty for his behavior long after, he felt like a monster)

Please tell Amit everything about earth. He's working on a book to hopefully sway the public opinion and open up more peaceful communications with Earth.

Still deciding what kind of alien he'd be, I am open to suggestions!

Poppy:

Beasts specialist, was initially tearing apart and Ashwinder camp when she rescues MC

Next to Amit, she's the quickest to warm up to MC, talking about Earth's wildlife was an easy conversation starter once they could understand each other.

Poppy is also undecided, I am open to suggestions about her alien species too.

Once MC gets equipped with a blaster they go after ashwinders together with Natty, it's a great bonding experience.

She knows what it's like to be an outsider, so MC often turns to Poppy when she needs to vent about feeling alone.

Natty:

As soon as she has her first conversation with MC she drops her guard. Instant besties, she can tell MC is a good person. Clearly all the rumors about humans must be fake.

Alien species is based on gazelles! She can run super fast (duh), but her antlers actually have levitation abilities (similar to her wandless casting in canon)

Helps MC catch up on school work, she's been the new kid before and knows what it's like

Her father was murdered by Ashwinders in this AU, it's why she's so eager to take them down even before meeting MC.

Garreth:

His will be quick I'm getting tired lol

He's a scientist! Closest thing the ship has to a doctor. While he experiments in his free time, he's learned no to do it when patching up friends (his aunt would kill him)

Please let him study humans. Please. He wants to know about your anatomy and what you can take.

Him and Amit fight often, but it's a playful rivalry.

Also helps you study along with Natty, Amit, and Sebastian. You lucked out with this crew lol they're all nerds in their own way.

Is a cat like alien species

[mouthoftheocean]

Jean Harlow: Do you have a garden? If so, what kind of plants do you have?

Humphrey Bogart: Do you travel a lot? Where have you been?

Myrna Loy: Do you like going to parties?

Spencer Tracy: What time do you wake up?

Jean: My garden is shared, and predates me (no, not that way.) The largest trees are over 40 years old; an Agonis Flexuosa and Pōhutukawa dominate the north and south sides of the house, respectively, both are in excess of 15 meters tall. In the backyard, an equally freakishly large variegated Pittosporum continues to challenge them for supremacy. A flowering eucalyptus grows on our nature strip, and together with the Agonis, and a teetering Virgilia, make seasonal threats against our overhead powerline. Closer to the ground, I have made attempts to introduce more Australian plants despite the reputation of our local soil being complete trash (spoiler: it is, our suburban block was quite literally built on a historic landfill.) The survivors, to date, include Callistemon, several varieties of Correa and Leptospermum (honorable mention to the coastal teatree* to which I have a not insignificant emotional attachment that will no doubt end in bitter disappointment), Kangaroo Paw (they’re alive but screaming for help), Banksia (alive but refusing to thrive), Eucalyptus ‘Baby Blue’ (he’s adopted), Thryptomene, Hardenbergia, and Acacia. Plants that have been here for longer than I’ve been alive include Fuschias, Pelargoniums, and an ocean self-seeding Cinerarias. My father planted a Diosma in the early 90’s that he has dotingly hedged ever since, it’s now as tall as I am, but I remember jumping over it with my sister when it, and we, were much, much smaller. Back then, we also had an enormous cherry plum tree growing on our eastern boundary – shading our driveway, and the neighbours’. Summer would arrive, the fruit would fall, and with every passing car a chorus of popping plums would foreshadow the looming familial task of scraping half-fermented plum slurry off the concrete. On the upside, our local blackbirds were very happy, and so were the Hydrangeas growing in the shade of the plum tree. And because you didn’t ask for an essay, I’ll make a list of the rest: Roses (17 at last count); Buddleja; Elderflower, Convulvulus ‘Silver Bush’; Salvia; Borage; Violets; Statice, Jasmine; Rosemary; Sunflowers; Gladioli; Petunia; Viola; Jade, Zygo Cactus, Catmint, Seaside Daisy, a dream of red Poppies (waiting to discover if the seeds are still viable), Grape Hyacinth, Foxglove, Snowdrops, and Bluebells (despite my best efforts at wholesale murder.) Humphrey: Not a lot. Internationally, I’ve been to Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and England - first in 2005 (there was a brief weekend in Paris, as well), and then again in 2015. In 2010 I visited New Mexico. It was my first time traveling alone, abroad, to meet and stay with people I’d met on the internet. Accordingly, I have a vivid recollection of my sister giving me instruction on how to brutally incapacitate someone as I was packing to leave for the city to catch my plane. While my friend will tell you she still has the bruise, I can at least attest that she wasn’t trying to take me to a second location when I gave it to her… affectionately – but you know this story already. Locally, I’ve been to South Australia, New South Wales, and the Northern Territory… but in the grand scheme, I’ve seen very little of Australia. Living where I do, in a little damp corner of Victoria, the rest of the country intimidates me like the promise of third-degree burns. Myrna: Categorically get away from me if people are coming that I don’t know. I can enjoy myself, or I can make small talk with strangers… I can’t do both. Smaller scale, close friends/family is fine… but anything too peopled and I’m liable to be person-not-appearing-at-this-soiree. Spencer: Any random-ass time between 1 and 4am, and ostensibly for no reason.

*the coastal tea tree's final form. Mine is still only 8 inches tall.

[kim-ruzek]

Any headcanons about your fave characters and ships you want to share? 🙂🙂

Why is it ALWAYS the way that whenever I get asked this, I seem to immediately forget all my headcanons? I love talking about my headcanons and I always want to have the opportunity to share them, but each and every time my mind panics and forgets them.

I've thought this over for a couple days and been casually writing up my answer but I don't think I'm going to remember much else that I've already written, or that I don't want to share because I hate feeling like people are Judging me (those headcanons are for Cíara's ears only apparently lol).

I've spent an awful amount of time thinking about Kim, so all of these will be around her. And some of these are ones that are shared/developed with Cíara.

Because I've always got a soft spot for lingess' friendship: Erin and Kim are still friends, and still keep in touch. If they ever see each other in person, it has to be Kim visiting her in New York, which she has, albeit not very much due to both of their works. Kim hasn't managed to go to see her since at least 2019, though. I have more headcanons about this but I'll keep it just as this.

I've talked about this one before and to my ire canon keeps trying to make this seem less and less likely for me to pretend is canon lol - Sylvie and Kim are close friends. They try to have a girls night and they originally bonded over having failed engagements. As an extension of this, which is one that came from Cíara, girls' night usually consists of Sylvie, Kim and Severide.

Zoe, Kim's niece, was born when Kim was 17. As per canon, Kim was kind of a nightmare as a teen, so I headcanon that Zoe's birth is what grounded her more, because Zoe deserved an aunt.

These ones changes occasionally depending how I feel and what works best for my fic usually, but Kim graduated at 17, not 18 and/or for a year or so, she primarily actually lived with her sister and her husband because she didn't want to be at home. Her BIL was never much a fan of this.

Kim knew she wanted to be a cop from when she was at least in her teens, but she then got some doubts when she was waiting to be of the age requirement - and she had always loved flying and being a flight attendant, she really fell in love with it. She had applied for the academy but while she was waiting to get in, she had doubts about whether or not she'll actually do it. Then one day at work, there was trouble and she helped in taking down the troublemaker and the rush she got convinced her being a cop was her calling.

Some of her pilot friends were sort of disappointed at this because they were trying to convince her to become a pilot/go back to uni and do something in aviation.

Her flight attendant friends never really understood why she wanted to be a cop, and especially after the (first) shooting, they drifted apart because they just weren't the same people.

Kim and her mom no longer talk, and while their relationship had always been rocky, Kim stopped putting in the effort after the engagement fell apart because even though Adam didn't meet her, Kim couldn't get over that her mom only being in town one night made the situation that much worse. Her mother's opinions on the failed engagement, then especially when she made intelligence sealed that.

Kim hates being beholden to her family's money so she, since getting into adulthood, has steadfastly refused to accept any and all money from them.

She had cousins in another state who while didn't have as much money as Kim's side did, had loving parents and Kim growing up was always very envious.

Kim hates talking about her past, even with Adam. As a result, especially now she's more open with him, they'll be little, relatively minor, bits of information that she forgets she never told Adam and some of these will be things she has told Kev and she'll bring these information up around Adam only to learn, no he didn't know that. Kev finds it amusing.

Kim paints.

Kim dreads the day Mack will one day ask about Kim's own parents, especially her father who, after her parents' divorce, none of Kim's family speak to.

Trudy and Kim has bonded together over trashy romance novels and will routinely recommend each other ones. This started after the first engagement fell through.

Kim still keeps somewhat in touch with Meredith and Michelle.

Adam's sister doesn't like Kim, and never has. His mom feels similarly but less confrontational.

Kim feels similar towards them, although she is always a little sad because growing up, she dreamt that one day she'll get the family she wanted in the form of her in-laws.

I think that's all I have for now, but I hope you enjoyed reading them. I have a lot more when they came from!

Thank you for asking! :)

[shesthespinstersimmer]

Catching up with #weird & wonderful

lo & princess + sugar - hope their activities don't complicate things. she says it's closure, but does she mean it? sugar really called her on it. princess claims they're grown, but she's not acting like she's learned any lessons.

I've been wanting to ask how "tlalli" is pronounced. is it like the "tl" at the end of axolotl and quetzalcoatl which kind of sounds like there's a "u" between them or like the "tl" in the middle of tenochtitlán which sounds more like the "t" and "l" are fused together? I was thinking it was the latter pronunciation because it's also followed by a vowel sound, but I figured it be better to ask to be certain.

ortega - I thought this before but they seemed so bitter about something and it couldn't have just been that myra refused their help or called them out on their fraternizing. but come to find out! okaaaaaay? I can't see anything but things getting messy. also, that last shot, was that just a shot or was someone watching…? I guess we'll see…

tito & lydia - I still think they fell into it too quickly, but I have to respect tito for recognizing an opportunity to advance his position when it comes and I have to respect lydia for having the will to move on with life even when she still feels shackled. since her not having a whole lot of me-time between sauce and tito is still a concern for me, it makes me happy to see that tito is helping her focus on what she wants and giving her opportunities to voice those things. also, "yes, my love" and "yes, mi esposa/my wife" AHHHHH!

isamar - "he prefers to breed children. all over the worlds." she's so real for that! I was approaching a coughing fit!

carmen - I love the way he just laid it out. I don't think it called for any kind of delicacy, like, being plain-spoken about it is part of the positive outlook.

es & lupe - Yay! love their reunion. I feel like you can tell lupe comes from a family that's open about what's going on with them, but that it was something they had to work on across generations and now that deliberate effort is bearing fruit across those generations as well. es and lupe's communication is very straightforward, but not in a been their done that kind of way. it's more like they don't want to waste time hemming and hawing knowing fully well how quickly things in life can change.

judith + arlo - really delivering on that long-time friend vibe

it was such a treat to get caught up. there are so many threads in the story, but your pacing is such that I can see the fabric being woven carefully and I don't think there's a stray thread to be found. it's always disappointing when I come across a story with a good premise and engaging cast, but it's hard to follow or make the connections. pleased to be able to say I don't have that issue here.

You're on a roll today, friend! Let's get into it!

lo & princess + sugar - Princess likes to act like she doesn't have feelings; that's why she asked Sugar to hold her accountable. Problem is, Lo likes to play that game too, which is precisely why they shouldn't be together. I think Princess is in over her head.

Tlalli: You second guess was right - the "tl" sounds more like the "t" and "l" are fused together? (So glad you asked - I'd considered writing in phonetically, but I wasn't sure 😊)

As for Det. Ortega? You'll be learning a bit more about her and Myra soon, but I will say this - the detective needs to slow her roll. She knows all about Fernanda and has known for a long time. But she's confusing sex that came out of loneliness and Myra's misguided attempt to keep someone she thought was innocent safe.

Tito & Lydia - I remember you thinking they fell into things too quickly, but I'm still conflicted. They loved each other for years, so I suppose to them it's more of a continuation than jumping into a relationship too fast. For them, they're just coming home. 😭😭But I do agree - it's always best to take time to yourself to heal before you start something else. I think they both feel like they've already lost so much time...

Also, "yes, my love" and "yes, mi esposa/my wife" AHHHHH! 🖤💖🖤

Isamar - "he prefers to breed children. all over the worlds." she's so real for that! I was approaching a coughing fit! 😂(I feel her pain)

Carmen - Carmen will always keep it real, that's for sure lmao

Es & Lupe - Interestingly enough, Lupe learned the most about communication from her tia Conne; as her mother Fernanda is incredibly closed off.

Happily, Es and Lupe's are intensely open with each other - I think it's part of their love language; feeling that sharing their thoughts and feelings bring them closer together.

This part: " it's more like they don't want to waste time hemming and hawing knowing fully well how quickly things in life can change." Very well put!

Judith + Arlo - I'm sooo glad they have each other 🖤

Again, thank you so much for taking the time to read my stories - as a writer, it's hard to know how your stuff will be received. I like to fan out and explore how events affect all my characters - and how I don't lose anyone in the process. So it makes me to happy to see someone enjoying the journey! 🖤🤘🏾

[seradyn]

Serpentine

Halloween Monster Binge Pt. 3

As the young daughter of an ancient Tenebraen Oracle, the pressure of being the heir to divine powers forces you to take drastic measures. In your effort to escape your calling, you stumble upon a monster unlike any other.

Naga!Ardyn

Word Count: 3179

TW: snek

———————————————————————-

The night was dark and damp, tendrils of soggy dirt clinging to your shoes as it transformed into mud. Leaves and loose branches ripped into your arms as you ran through some nameless forest, your destination just as vague. You’d picked a direction at random, unwilling to be picky in your haste. It didn’t really matter; you settled for just getting as far away from the palace as possible. To get away from the life you were doomed to at birth.

You were the young daughter to the Tenebraen royal family, heir to the duties of Oracle, which your mother currently carried out. It was an honor, everyone told you, being gifted by the gods. Such power that others envied, blessed with the healing touch of one divine.

But it didn’t feel like a gift, when you saw how it withered your mother away, turning her into skin and bone as she gave everything she had for your people. She’d barely passed thirty, and her skin prickled with faint wrinkles, her hair turned a ghostly pale grey. Death would come for her prematurely, as was destined by her duties. You respected her, knew it took great power to accept such a fate so willingly…but you didn’t want that life for yourself.

To make matters worse, you’d recently been betrothed to the prince of a distant kingdom, to mend the relationship between the two parties. Naturally, you were disappointed in this course of action, the chance at romance snatched from your fingers before you even had a mind to search for it. And the prince, your supposed husband, hadn’t the best attitude on the rare occasions you got to meet with him. He looked at you like you were another one of his servants, controlling your every action, berating you for the smallest mistake, lest a hand be swiftly brought against you.

You shuddered at the memory, bounding over a fallen log as your legs propelled you forward. The air was sharp, cutting into your mouth and throat as you panted. Vines and roots reached out to you, pulling on your clothes, your hair. The cuts were beginning to sting, the bruises ached with dull throbs. You had no idea how long you’d been running, but you were losing steam fast. Everything hurt. Everything screamed for respite.

Your body began to fail itself, muscles tightening with cramps and refusing to contract. You slowed to a walk, and when even that proved too much, bent over to brace yourself on your knees. You gasped in gulps of humid air, your face on fire and covered in sweat. Your legs were numb, striking against the unfair burden of running for miles on uneven terrain.

You knew you needed to keep going, though. The guards had surely found your empty room by now, the regretful note you’d left on your pillow. They would be out looking for you, combing through the brush for any minuscule clue as to your whereabouts. Staying close to the palace was foolish at best, suicidal at worst.

You could only imagine how they would punish you, leaving the Oracle without an heir…they very well may see it as an act of treason.

Yet your legs remained rigid, uncaring to the whims of your determination, much less your logic. It would’ve been impossible to continue in such a state. You weren’t out of shape so to speak, but you certainly weren’t the kind to take recreational jogs through the woods. With how bad you had it, you were more likely to alert your pursers with your imprecise stumbling than make any meaningful ground.

You needed a place to recover, a place to hide.

Realizing that was your only other option, you weakly raised your head, scanning the gentle incline of the hill you’d run to. It was hard to see anything, the rain attacking your eyes and the minimal light taking the last of your sight. Bleary shapes and encroaching shadows surrounded you, peering in at the pitiful creature in their domain with apathy. The forest was deafened with a mocking silence, letting your ragged breaths ring like an echoing bell.

As you looked over the black masses, a part of the mountain stuck out to you. A patch that seemed much darker, gaping out into the night with an open maw. You squinted at it, trying to discern the reason for such a conspicuous void. Then it clicked.

A cave.

You let out a long breath, a sigh of relief. With a grunt of effort, you forced your legs into motion, feet flopping limply at the ends. Your body whined in protest, but survival instincts had you pushing through the soreness. You just had to make it to the cave, burrow deep into its concealing darkness…then you could rest, you promised yourself.

Exhaustion stretched the distance to a nearly unbearable length, tempting you to give into drowsiness, let yourself crumple onto the damp earth. With a force of will, you came to stand before the opening, carved into jagged rock with fangs made of stalactites. Rather unsettling, though you couldn’t afford to be choosy.

Without hesitation, you stumbled inside, sighing in bliss when the pelt of rain no longer struck your back. The freezing water had numbed you, trying with all its might to send you into hypothermia. Your hair stuck to your face, your clothes were soaked, and your fingers tingled with encroaching frostbite.

But at least you could rest for a moment in here.

You slowly continued down the stone corridor, getting away from the entrance and venturing deeper inside. If you thought it was hard to see before, now it was practically impossible, what little moonlight you’d taken for granted suddenly blocked by a canopy of sediment. It absorbed the chill of the autumn storm, causing a rash of chicken skin to spread across your arms, trying desperately to hold in the small amount of heat you had. Tiny needles of ice punctured your flesh, daggers of chill cutting through you like butter.

You had to remind yourself several times that this was your best course of action. You would take freezing in a cave over being sold to an abusive husband.

It was still a grueling process to get sufficiently deep into the cavern, your body ready to collapse with the promise of rest. You pushed through it, only willing to stop when the light had nearly disappeared behind you, and a void stretched out before you. Hopefully, whoever was searching for you wouldn’t think to come so far inside, and you could relax for a moment before moving on.

You reached your hands out, groping blindly for something to lean against. You winced when your palm grazed a wall, the unpolished stone biting into your hand. It was good enough though, and you finally let your legs dissolve in a heap, the floor becoming your makeshift bed. You reclined on the freezing wall, hissing as your spine met cold rock. You hated the feeling of wet fabric squishing into you, but you would have to put up with it. You allowed your head to droop, closing your eyes to entertain the idea of sleep. You breathed long and deep, in through your nose and out your mouth, concentrating on the drag of your lungs in labor.

Time passed at a snail's pace, the various aches and pains that littered your body milking each second that dragged by. This was undoubtedly the most unpleasant experience you’d ever had, time only making you more aware of that. Albeit, there wasn’t much competition, being pampered royalty your whole life. Though the sound of distant rain was soothing, lulling you into a state of dreamy inattentiveness.

That was probably why it took you so long to notice something was off. A scraping sound echoed to you, from off to your right, from deeper in the cave. It didn’t immediately alarm you, but it was certainly curious, an unfamiliar noise. You furrowed your brows, trying to hone in on it and discern what it was. Like papers being shuffled, or sand running down a dune.

You were so distracted, you almost didn’t notice the sound growing louder, coming towards the entrance fast.

Coming towards you.

Your eyes flew open with a start, hearing it draw closer and closer. Panicked, you tried to scramble up and run, but your legs had grown stiff, refusing to allow you escape. You flopped back onto the ground gracelessly with a surprised yell, filling your heart with dread as you realized you were stuck. You body had given up on you.

Whatever you’d enraged or alerted, there was no getting away from it.

You cried out in fear as a black mass shot into the light, its long, writhing body settling right in front of you, curling and folding on itself. Two glowing, yellow slit eyes peered down at your pathetic form, attached to the head of a man…whose torso darkened just below his navel, turning into something else.

It wasn’t the sound of paper you heard.

It was the sound of scales slithering across stone.

Your heart thundered in your chest, utterly terrified at the monster that was now staring you down. The light from outside combined with the primordial shine of his inhuman eyes gave you the ability to fully comprehend what was before you. The outline of a man, upper half toned and muscled, severed at the abdomen, where scales began and a great snake emerged. The body twisted and knotted into itself, fluid like spools of yarn without shape or constraint. The glow of his eyes illuminated his face; wispy hair that stuck out wildly, the short peppering of stubble, and his expression, contorted into a satisfied grin.

To say you were afraid was an understatement. The blood drained from your face, and you lost the will to scream for help. Hyperventilation was an easy thing, soon making you pant for a different reason. He completely dwarfed you, at least thirty meters in length, and even his human parts were at least twice your own size. You huddled up against the sides of the cave, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish for ever leaving the safety of your home.

The tension was palpable as you stared at each other, anxiety making your stomach churn. You were unable to look away, gaze captured by the morbid beauty of his golden irises. A forked tongue slipped past his lips, smelling the air, tasting you in it. You shivered at the sight.

“Oh my,” the beast finally spoke, after retracting the slimy muscle. His voice caught you off guard, the rugged, yet refined tone not something you would’ve expected from such a creature. It reminded you too much of the nobleman who would stalk your castle halls, waiting for a chance to court you.

For once, you would’ve preferred such a scenario over your current one.

“What have we here?”

You swallowed thickly. A moment passed in suspenseful silence before you realized he expected an answer from you. Trains of thought raced and derailed, trying to come up with some way to convince him to spare your miserable life.

Like he would even entertain such a thing.

“P-please,” you whispered, but the tremble in your tone still came through clear as day. “I…I did not mean to intrude…Or o-offend.”

He tilted his head to the side, wearing his smirk like a prized piece of jewelry. It was extremely disturbing, how pleased he seemed. He hardly considered your answer before responding.

“Worry not, my dear. You have not offended me.”

Some of the tension in the air eased at that, knowing that you hadn’t provoked him. You slowly let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope that you weren’t doomed, as long as he was willing to remain civil.

“Quite the contrary…” he continued, gently lowering himself from a striking position, his human half looming over you. You couldn’t help but stiffen back up as he inched closer, the likelihood of being grabbed raising as he did so. His unblinking eyes were locked on you, and you found it hard to look away.

“I have not had one so lovely grace my dwelling in some time…”

It took you a moment to really understand what he meant. That line of thinking did not bode well for your continued freedom. You fumbled with a rebuttal, grasping at straws, trying to find something that would get him to reconsider.

“M-my parents are of royal blood,” you stated, suddenly struck with inspiration. “I-if you hurt me, t-they’ll hunt you down!”

He looked at you, unmoving for a second, before his smile grew wider, far too amused by your silly begging. A low hiss hummed through his throat, a contented sound that had your hair standing on end.

“Is that so?” He replied, slowly and deliberately, enunciating each syllable. His gaze rolled over you, sizing you up.

“Then it seems…I’ve found my next mate.”

Your eyes widened, a tiny gasp parting your lips in shock, horrified at the implications.

Without warning, something wormed behind your back, a thick tendril that had to be his tail. It startled you, an involuntary scream ripping out of your mouth. He lifted you up like a limp toy, tossing you into his restless snake-like form, which immediately began to constrict around you. Your arms were pinned to your sides by polished scales, trapping you against him as he wrapped around you, just like his helpless prey. You squirmed in his grasp, yelling in frustration when within seconds you could hardly move, tears brimming in your eyes in anger and despair. His hold pushed on your chest as he squeezed, limiting the amount of air you could get and making you even more afraid.

“Who better than royal blood to mother my eggs?” He mused happily as he began to settle again, feeling that you wouldn’t be able to get out of his grip, your weak struggling a sorry sight to behold.

Indeed, you’d hardly had the strength to stand just moments ago. It had taken everything you had to even get this far, and by now, you were beyond spent. There was nothing you could do, choked by lean muscle as you grit your teeth. Your wounds sang at the pressure, killing what shreds of your resolve that remained. Your wriggling dimmed, too exhausted to care anymore as you hung your head in defeated shame.

When your tantrum ended, you sensed him drawing near, the wet sound of his slithering enough of a tell. You couldn’t look at him, at his disgustingly smug face. He must’ve felt rather proud of himself, you thought sarcastically, overpowering someone so beneath his own strength.

“You won’t get away with this,” you snarled, watching him position his human body in front of you out of your periphery. “Whole battalions will come after you if you touch me.”

You highly doubted it would change his mind about you, but it would’ve been enough if you made him sweat.

Your heart sank as a deep chuckle left him.

Not the effect you were hoping for.

“Oh, I hope they do. I wouldn’t mind a bit of sport, wiping out your adorable little armies.”

A shudder rippled up your back. The tone of his voice…he wasn’t bluffing.

“As for you…I believe you have two options.” A soft hand found your chin, delicately lifting it to force your gazes to meet. You hadn’t even the energy to fight it, so easily becoming compliant against your will. You whimpered, staring into the reptilian, amber eyes of your captor.

“First…you can be a good girl and let me breed you,” he said with the smoothness of someone making a deal. “Personally, I’m partial to this option, since you seem like a fertile young lady.” His look traveled up and down you again, admiring the sight of you at his mercy.

“Or…you could be my next meal.”

Your breath caught in your throat, sweat pooling in your palms as you paled. Your trembling was uncontrollable now, and you knew he could feel it. You wondered if he could hear your pulse too, with how fast and loud it was. Your own ears were ringing with adrenaline, so hot, so terrifying.

“I suggest you choose wisely, my love. Your life may depend upon it.”

What he offered was no decision though, and you both were well aware. The illusion of being able to decide your fate was all it was, and it made you feel all the more hopeless.

Who was to say he wouldn’t just kill you after he’d used you like a brood mother? Surely he wouldn’t just let you go…and where did that leave you? As his glorified sex doll?

You weren’t sure which fate was worse, honestly.

But your odds of survival were zero if he killed you now. If you agreed to his demands and appeared complacent, perhaps you could wait until he slipped up. Unlikely as it was…it was your best chance at getting out of the situation.

Your stomach dropped as you made up your mind, afraid of what would happen to you in the meantime. Terrible things you didn’t want to think about.

“…I-”

A commotion at the front of the cave cut you off, drawing the attention of you both. The creature twisted his body around, facing the stormy opening with a low growl, his back to you. You craned your neck as well, wondering if you’d already been tracked to the monster’s den.

The bellowing of voices bubbled to you, and your heart leapt with relief. Masculine shouts dispersed into the forest, speaking your name with various honorifics attached. You could faintly hear the sound of clanging armor, of boots squelching in mud.

The palace guards, without a doubt.

Perhaps you weren’t doomed after all.

The great viper slithered forward hesitantly, watching the cave mouth as the shouts grew steadily closer. You repressed a tiny smile, pleased he was about to be knocked down a peg or two. He could use a bit of humbling.

He then looked back at you…with such malicious joy your own expression immediately faltered.

“Darling, did you bring me dinner? Oh, you sweet thing. You shouldn’t have.”

He gave you a possessive squeeze, making you grimace, arms digging into your tender sides. Your ribs pressed into supple organs, a coppery scent drifting into your nose. You bit back a whimper, trying to appear strong, but it was obvious how scared you were. He knew it too, you could see it on his face.

“Well my dear, I believe I shall deal with your trespassing friends first, before moving on to the main event. Hmm?”

As if he actually cared what you had to say.

You didn’t even bother answering him. You turned your head downward, hiding your face, staring at a plain section of his woven scales.

He laughed at your misery, slithering out of the cave with you in tow.

———————————————————————-

Mmmm monster Ardyn 🤤

This was one of the first fics I knew I wanted to do when I started my Halloween stuff. Was heavily inspired by some Sephiroth Naga AUs, which are pretty great if you wanna check ‘em out!

I am sad to say this will probably be my last Halloween work, at least for this October. I have Midterms this week and next, so what little time I had to write is now out the window. Kinda sad, I planned on doing so much more, but it’ll have to wait 😩

But regardless, I hope you enjoy! 💕

[erabundus]

@drolliic &&. said... What a curious sight the one before her is. Even at a first glance, she can tell just how much he resembles both herself and Ei. And this craftsmanship... Certainly belongs to one and only person. Oh, how her heart aches knowing the chain of events that followed her demise, how he came into being soon after.

Akin to water drops disturbing the silent surface of a still lake, sorrow tints gentle visage. "I'm sorry you were not truly loved and that it made you cruel."

[ Makoto! ]

it's  a  bit  funny,  really.  in  his  earliest  memories  (  translucent  and  fragile  as  smoke  )  his  mother  always  looked  right  through  him  with  such  ANGUISH  —  as  though  his  mere  existence  was  a  source  of  pain.  at  the  time,  he  had  always  attributed  it  to  his  own  weakness.  that  he  was  such  an overwhelming  disappointment  to  her  even  the  act  of  laying  eyes  on  him  invoked  a  sense  of  disgust.  it  came  as  little  surprise  she  chose  to  grant  her  creation  "mercy"  by  sending  him  away;  he  was  too  unsightly,  too  distasteful  to  even  bother  with  KILLING.  best  to  simply  take  the  easiest  route  and  get  him  out  of  her  sight  as  swiftly  as  possible.  his  blood  was  too  repulsive  to  risk  staining  her  pristine  home. it was that same assumption which awakened one of his life's first OBSESSIONS. to make her see him — not as the fragile, discarded vessel, but someone strong. someone capable. someone she could have called her son, had she not stripped herself of the RIGHT.

the  eyes  that  look  upon  him  now  are  so,  so  similar  to  that  of  the  god  he  calls  his  creator.  yet  ren  knows  (  as  if  by  some  innate  sixth  sense  )  that  she  is  not  his  mother.  there  is  a  kindness  to  her  —  a  flower  petal  softness  that  all  but  embodies  her  antithesis.  even  so,  this  person  is  similar  enough  that  he  wonders  if  her  GRIEF  should  being  him  some  measure  of  catharsis.  all  his  life,  he  has  been  screaming.  in agony. in sorrow. in fear and loneliness and loss. finally,  finally,  someone  has  deigned  to  listen — to VALIDATE those ugly feelings, and all they have done to change him. if he tries not to look too closely, he can almost pretend it's coming from her.

... it isn't supposed to HURT. why does it hurt?

teeth  grit;  breathing  goes  shaky.  his  hands  curl  into  fists  tighter  and  tighter  and  tighter  until  wetness  blooms  beneath  the  wanderer's  nails  and  drips  cinnabar  trails  down  his  knuckles.  ❝  that's  not  true.  ❞  ren  hears  himself  say,  anguish  warping  every  word.   ❝  she  didn't  love  me ...  and  now,  she  never  will.  but in spite of her best efforts,  i  was  LOVED.  ❞  by  humans,  who  took  responsibility  for  him  when  a  god  refused  to.  by  humans,  who  called  him  their  family  when  his  own  mother  rejected  him.  he  was  loved  —  his  betrayal-warped  mind  spent  many  years  trying  to  deny  that  fact,  but  the  wanderer  faces  his  past  with  clarity  the  balladeer  was  bereft  of.  he  was  loved.  he  was  loved.  he  was  so  dearly  loved  and  loved  in  return.

and  yet,   ❝  if  her  indifference  was  all  i  never  knew,  i  would  have  never  grown  cruel.  ❞  a  tiny  laugh  trickles  from  his  lips,  unsteady  and  grating.  it's  so  ironic  —  it  circles  back  around  into  pure  humor!  who  could  have  imagined  the  least  painful  fate  of  all  would  be  that  meaningless  existence  as  a  blank,  hollow  shell.  ❝  when  she  abandoned  me,  i  had  to  learn  everything  about  this  world  from  its  barest  foundations ...  and  it  was  only  through  being  loved  that  i  was  also  taught  what  it  meant  to  truly  hate.  ❞

he  reaches  up,  ignoring  the  red  staining  his  fingers  as  he  pulls  his  kasa  low  over  his  eyes.  only  a  smile  remains;  rueful,  crooked  and  devoid  of  any  joy  untainted  by  pain.  ❝  i'm  sorry  too.  ❞  ren  says  simply.  ❝  but  sorry  doesn't  change  a  thing.  ❞

[justiceformercutio]

Mercutio's End

As I walked down the streets of Verona, I called for him. “Romeo! Romeo, where are you?” There was no response, of course, because this boy would never truly respond to my calls, no matter how subtle or obvious they were. Still I kept calling, it felt as if it were all I could do. 

I walked past rows and rows of homes, looking in every window for him, but each one was filled with a simple silhouette of a man and woman in love. I must’ve walked for an hour before I saw even a glimpse of someone outside. It was my uncle. There was no reason for him to be in the streets this late, especially as the Prince of Verona. I made eye contact with him and he approached me with recognition, although we shared a distance that seemed too long for someone to instantly recognize another.

“Mercutio! I was just looking for you. Have you considered my proposition for you to come and stay with me? I feel it truly important that you consider how you play into the royal family as you are coming of age,” he yelled as he approached me quickly. 

As soon as he finished, I saw Romeo run into a building behind my uncle, seemingly in a hurry. 

“Yes I have! I will have to talk to you later about this matter though, as I am currently searching for Romeo. I believe I am close to finding him, so if you could please excuse me,” I said as I urgently pushed past him. 

Though, as I got closer to the house I thought Romeo had entered, all of the surrounding houses looked very similar. In fact, all of them were exactly identical. Each one had the same walk up to the door in the front that was slightly cracked as if someone rushed in and forgot to close it all the way. In every window was the same boy, my Romeo, and his new love Juliet.

I despise Juliet. It was not that she didn’t seem nice, or that she was a Capulet. Truly, my hatred had nothing to do with her specifically. Juliet was just another barrier between Romeo and I. It was no fault of her own that Romeo must jump from one woman to the next. One royal princess to another, with the exclamation that he has found the true love of his life. I find it absurd that he can do that and be so unaware. 

Romeo must have seen me from the window without my noticing, because now each front door was wide open, each with a single Romeo standing in the doorway. 

“Why are you standing in the night all alone, Mercutio? Why don’t you come inside and have a drink?” he asked, completely oblivious to my obvious distress.

As soon as I took my first step, I was suddenly staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. This was a recurring dream, the only thing changing as the days go on is the girl that I see Romeo with.

My breakfast was nearly done when I heard my uncle come in through the front door. I instantly knew that he was looking for me. He was going to ask if I would consider following him around town today and observe his duties in the city, as they were supposedly my own in the future. Of course he could never understand why someone would not want to be in his position as the prince. He refuses to see that the kind of absolute mind-killing, creativity-drowning work that he considers fun could never appeal to me. I am simply not the right kind of person. 

My family buys into the idea of royalty and god-given right to rule, however I feel it is insane. I know plenty who could rule better than every single person in my family, including myself, and no one seems to understand how that could be possible. I am in control of what I do in my day-to-day life, and I will not be sucked into a tradition that favors monotony. 

I got up and made for the back door in an effort to avoid him, but he saw my back entering the hall and called my name firmly.

“Mercutio. Come here and talk to me for a minute. I think it’s about time for us to make some decisions.”

I moped back into the room with my shoulders low, although I knew nothing would come of this conversation. Frankly, I wanted to go find Romeo. I knew he would simply disappoint me more, but my love for him would drive me to the ends of the world if it meant I could spend an hour with him. 

“What is it, uncle? I have made it very clear how I feel about taking some position of responsibility, much less replacing you,” I snapped. 

“I believe I remember telling you that you don’t have much of a choice. You will serve as prince one day. You were born into the station. Every person born into this position has served our kingdom, and you will not do any different.”

“I find it absurd that you believe that just because of my heritage that I am fit for such a role of responsibility. I did not choose to be in this position, and I will not suffer the consequences of something as ridiculous as fate. I am in control of myself and my life.”

“If you’re going to continue shouldering your responsibility, then you might as well not consider yourself part of the family,” he says tight-lipped.

I instantly shot up out of my chair and marched for the back door. He called after me but I was so blinded with rage that it did not matter what he said, I needed to be gone. Anyways, Benvolio would be expecting me in the square soon and I can’t continue to keep him waiting. 

The walk to the town square does not usually take me long, but today it felt like it must’ve been an hour. I when I first stormed off, I was near a running pace, but I slowed down to make sure I had time to cool off. I didn’t want Benvolio to ask me about anything I didn’t want to speak about.

The truth is, Benvolio has always been very perceptive of other people. More specifically, he can always tell if someone is upset. So much so that someone may not be aware that they themselves are upset, but he notices and will bring whatever is bothering them to the surface. 

When I first told him that I had feelings for Romeo, he said that he actually already knew. That the way I teased him about his love life was a little too much, and that when I did so I displayed a twinge of hurt in my jabs. He’s right. I’ve always tried to make funny quips at Romeo, hoping maybe one day that the one he should be loving and running away with is me. Maybe if I made fun of the way he spoke of dreaming and their true meaning, then he would realize that he is the one I am dreaming of. 

…

  I scanned the square, hoping that in one of the many shops that occupy the area, I would find him. When I did find him, he was actually only a few yards away from me and I had missed him entirely. The dream and altercation with my uncle must have had more of an effect on my outlook than I had believed. 

“Are you hungry? I had to skip breakfast and I would love a good sandwich right about now” He said eagerly. 

“I actually just ate. My uncle decided to pay a visit”

“Oh my lord. Can he not leave you alone? I have never seen someone so persistent on something so impossible in my whole… Nevermind! Why don’t we go get a drink somewhere? It’ll be a good place to get out of this heat and wait for Romeo” 

“I’m not in the mood for a drink right now Benvolio. I have the feeling that getting drunk may actually only amplify what I am feeling right now” 

“Did you have the dream again? Who was the girl this time?”

“Juliet. She finally replaced Rosaline. At least there's a little change of scenery.” “I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.”

[almaqead]

"Perfectly Formed." Introduction to Surah 19, Surah Maryam, "The Mother of the Dawn."

This Surah has 98 verses divided into 6 Rukus/Sections. This Surah was revealed in Mecca almost six to seven years before Prophet Muhammad’s migration to Yathrib (Madina). This was the time when the opposition of Meccans turned from verbal accusations and abuse to physical and socio-economic torture and bans. This is the time when many Muslims migrated to nearby country of Abyssinia.

Today's context is not much different than the one before. The US Government is refusing to dissolve the Republican Party or put an end to the possibility Donald Trump or those like him will be allowed to cause harm to the world on the basis of its false dogmas. Clarification of the correct messages the world needs to hear during this deeply troubling time in human history is why we are reading the Quran in this forum.

Members of the United States Government have begun a new intifada against Jews and Muslims on global scale in order to unseat civilization. Those terror tunnels that have cored Israel and other locations are of American origin. Of this there is no doubt. So long as the Quran remains a dirty secret, persons and governments like Donald Trump, Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Islamic Republics will be able to oppress their people and meddle in world affairs right under their feet. The truth of God obviously must exist in three hundred and sixty degrees.

The human race is depending on persons who believe the angel Jibril, "the reality checker" visited Muhammad of the Quraysh with a series of verses designed to rescue humanity from itself to stand up for the truth of their faith. Abuse of Muslims must be curbed, and the issues where they are meant to live must be resolved.

The international community has been too confused about this because of the efforts made by the United States Government to alienate them. Octover 7, perpretrated by masterminds in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and Donald Trump are the lastest examples. There must not be war in Israel or Iran because of this, there must unity around the core beliefs of the Mosque instead.

Thus begins the Surah; a tale of another revelation by the god Jibril to the human race for the sake of its lasting happiness. The Surah opens with a banner called a Fatihah:

19:1-22:

Kãf-Ha-Ya-’Aĩn- Ṣãd. "A spoonful of food."

˹This is˺ a reminder of your Lord’s mercy to His servant Zachariah,

when he cried out to his Lord privately,

saying, “My Lord! Surely my bones have become brittle, and grey hair has spread across my head, but I have never been disappointed in my prayer to You, my Lord!

And I am concerned about ˹the faith of˺ my relatives after me, since my wife is barren. So grant me, by Your grace, an heir,

who will inherit ˹prophethood˺ from me and the family of Jacob, and make him, O  Lord, pleasing ˹to You˺!”

˹The angels announced,˺ “O Zachariah! Indeed, We give you the good news of ˹the birth of˺ a son, whose name will be John—a name We have not given to anyone before.”

He wondered, “My Lord! How can I have a son when my wife is barren, and I have become extremely old?”

An angel replied, “So will it be! Your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me, just as I created you before, when you were nothing!’”

Zachariah said, “My Lord! Grant me a sign.” He responded, “Your sign is that you will not ��be able to˺ speak to people for three nights, despite being healthy.”

So he came out to his people from the sanctuary, signalling to them to glorify ˹Allah˺ morning and evening.

˹It was later said,˺ “O John! Hold firmly to the Scriptures.” And We granted him wisdom while ˹he was still˺ a child, as well as purity and compassion from Us. And he was God-fearing, and kind to his parents. He was neither arrogant nor disobedient.

Peace be upon him the day he was born, and the day of his death, and the day he will be raised back to life!

And mention in the Book ˹O Prophet, the story of˺ Mary when she withdrew from her family to a place in the east, screening herself off from them. Then We sent to her Our angel, ˹Gabriel,˺ appearing before her as a man, perfectly formed.

She appealed, “I truly seek refuge in the Most Compassionate from you! ˹So leave me alone˺ if you are God-fearing.”

He responded, “I am only a messenger from your Lord, ˹sent˺ to bless you with a pure son.”

She wondered, “How can I have a son when no man has ever touched me, nor am I unchaste?”

He replied, “So will it be! Your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me. And so will We make him a sign for humanity and a mercy from Us.’ It is a matter ˹already˺ decreed.”

So she conceived him and withdrew with him to a remote place."

Commentary:

After Kahf, which I said must result in "equipoise" towards all that happens inside and outside the mind, Allah tells Muhammad through the angel of the reality check, Jibril also called Gabriel, that the fruits of the actions of the Kahf must be made into a way of life. He chooses the story of Mary and the Immaculate Conception to illustrate how equilibrium, social equity and uprisings against the proud and the vile are vital matters of mercy for the world.

His name was called Isha. He was the product of the mating interactions of the heavenly host "perfectly made" and the womb of Mary, who gave the world a great blessing because God asked her and without asking for anything in return.

The world must feel to us as it did to Zechariah, who did not think it could change. We must all think by now, this is it, ruthless, insecure, weird criminals are going to subsume the world and there is no way out. If we look at the meaning of Zechariah, we might find we can are able to purchase a glimmer of hope:

"The verb זכר (zakar) means to remember, to deliberately review, or to cause to remember or review — by means of public oration, urging and pleading, physical memorials, and so on.

Noun זכר (zeker) means remembrance, memory, memorial or invocation. Noun זכרון (zikkaron) or זכרן (zikkaron) denotes a memorial or token — a memorial day, altar-plates, stones, crowns, books, proof of citizenship, even spoils of war. Noun אזכרה ('azkara) refers to a memorial-offering.

Noun זכור (zakur) and noun and adjective זכר (zakar) mean male. This noun denotes the male of humans and animals, and marvelously illustrates the parallel between sexual reproduction and the learning process, which is so overly prevalent in the Bible."

It's hardly Christmas time but we can still remember why God sent Himself to us in the form of Isha. We are on the cusp of trying to crown psychopaths and put them in charge of the Sacred District of Israel and this is not its destiny.

Israel is the gate to heaven, it is where our modern lives took their first footsteps. We are faltering to place our feet in them within this generation. But the Surah says "hold fast to the scripture, be compassionate, do not be arrogant" and life on earth will be one day be raised up.

Every possible effort to end the threats of the Republican Party and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and bring peace to all Israel including everywhere Muslims dwell, but espcially in the Holy Land, where this sacred story began.

[sheepwithspecs]

Echar Agua al Mar: Chapter 4

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated T ||

Ao3 link

For Imelda, trying to prevent Héctor from coming back into her life is like throwing water into the sea: pointless. With her family keen to accept the strange musician, and a challenge she can hardly refuse, she soon finds herself caught up in the continuation of a romance decades in the making. [Updates every Saturday]

Imelda peered furtively around the corner of the hacienda’s back gate, chewing on her lip as she surveyed the garden. The courtyard was abandoned, the only movement a lazy breeze that stirred the thick leaves of the old yellow pine.

“Oscar?” she breathed, her voice never rising above a whisper. “Felipe?” Her younger twin brothers made it their life’s mission to torment her like a couple of demons, but they were the only ones she could trust to have her back in the present moment. Her mother would be of no help at all, and her father would not be home from the quarry until mealtime.

There was a rustling movement from the far corner of the main house; Imelda froze, hoping beyond hope that it would be either one of her siblings. She had left the hacienda without permission, or a chaperone. Normally it would have been cause for a light scolding, but she wanted to defer the lecture for as long as possible. Surely her mother would put two and two together…. 

A man rounded the corner, heading for the back door. He was broad enough to fill any doorway, strong enough to lift a grown man over his head, and tall enough to loom over anyone standing in his general vicinity. His greased hair was streaked with lines of deep gray, the same that dominated his thick beard and mustache. His brown eyes were at once both stern and demanding, a true patriarch over his modest domain.

Imelda’s breath caught in her throat. If he was already here, then… just how late was she?  

“Papá!” She ran to meet him, stopping short of colliding with his barreled chest. When she was younger, the familiar odor of sweat, animals, and earth had not been enough to stop her from embracing him with fervor. Now that she was a young woman, she reached for his arm instead, holding the least grimy part as she smiled up at him. His eyes softened and he wiped his hand on the last clean bit of cotton shirt before gently pinching her cheek.

“Lindita.” She swallowed back a sigh, allowing him to pat her cheek before letting go. Her parents still enjoyed calling her by their little pet names, and while she didn’t openly complain about it, it still made her want to roll her eyes. She was almost seventeen, a woman grown!

“Your mamá has been looking for you,” he said after a moment’s pause, tilting his head just enough for his gaze to become reprimanding. Imelda averted her eyes, cheeks burning with shame. She could take hours of her mother’s lectures without batting an eye, but her father only had to look at her once in that kind, disappointed way for her to feel immeasurable guilt.

“I’m sorry.” He hummed softly in answer, thumb running beneath her chin as he tilted her head up.

“It’s almost suppertime,” he said at last. “Go wash up.”

“Yes, Papá.” She waited until he was out of earshot before letting out the sigh she’d been holding in. She was her father’s favorite, his firstborn and only daughter. He loved the boys, too, but everyone in town knew that she was his special girl.

Still… that didn’t mean he’d ever side with her over Mamá.

The back of the house was thankfully empty. Imelda sped through the corridors in an effort to remain unnoticed, slowing to a walk only when she neared the kitchen. If she was truly so late in returning, there was no reason to add another strike to her laundry list of sins.

Her mother was already in the kitchen, standing with legs spread before the stove where a stewpot stood bubbling. With her head barely clearing the twins’ shoulders, Mamá could hardly be called an imposing figure; still, what she lacked in size she made up for in spirit. She had once been a beautiful woman in her long-ago youth; she had aged happily, if not gracefully, with laugh lines carved into the corners of her lips and creases near her eyes. Silvery strands of hair decorated both temples like Roman laurels. Her eyes twinkled with a merry light that the stresses of motherhood could not diminish, and her plump curves were good for embracing… when she wasn’t making a scene.

“Imelda? Is that you, mija?” Imelda winced, brushing the worst of the dust from her skirts before emerging into the heat of the kitchen.

“Yes, Mamá.” She presented herself sheepishly, strands of loose hair sticking to the back of her neck and hands clasped against her spine. Her mother turned from the stove, narrowing her eyes.

“Where have you been?!” she huffed, tongue clicking in disapproval at what she saw. “Tch! Never mind, never mind. The food is ready and the table has yet to be set.” She pointed her trusty wooden spoon at the dish cabinet. “And call your brothers when you’re through.”

“All right.” Imelda quickly gathered the plates and glasses, setting them out on the long wooden table. Her skin prickled with every glance her mother shot in her direction, but the woman stayed thankfully quiet—at least, for the moment. She sighed to herself, knowing that it would not be a peaceful family dinner. The most she could hope for was her father eventually grunting that he’d heard enough, sparing them an evening’s lecture for her indiscretion.

When she was through, she crossed through the dining room and into the empty foyer. Sunlight fell from the windows in the upper story, fading light casting long shadows along the far wall. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called up to the second floor.

“Oscar, Felipe! It’s time to eat!” Imelda was surprised they weren’t already downstairs, eavesdropping on her admittedly one-sided conversation with Mamá. There seemed to be no greater delight for them than to hear her get into trouble. It didn’t seem fair at times; they were Mamá’s favorites, her little angelitos, and they never got into trouble unless Papá caught them red-handed in the middle of some convoluted scheme.

Imelda made it halfway up the stairs before the two came sprinting around the corner, sliding on the rug at the head of the staircase before barreling down it. Tall as Papá, the twins were stretched as thin as taffy; at only twelve they were already showing the beginnings of a mustache at the corners of their lips, their wild hair sticking up in identical cowlicks. She braced herself for impact, only for them to swing around her at the last possible second, laughing as they flew down the stairs.

Grabbing for identical collars, she managed to nab Oscar before he could duck out of reach. He’d always been the slower of the two, coming into the world a full three minutes after his brother. Oscar wiggled in her grasp, voicing wordless complaints as she held him in an iron grip.

“Was she angry?” Imelda asked, already knowing the answer. Oscar paused in his attempt to wriggle free, eyeing her with a sullen pout.

“I won’t say until you let me go.”

“You’ll say now, or I’ll make you sorry!” He twisted, peering over his shoulder to see that Felipe had abandoned him to his fate. Still hesitating, he began to howl only when she wrapped her arm around his bony neck in a signature older-sister headlock.

“All right! She was!” he yelled, shoulders bunched against her forearm. “She made us go upstairs until he left.” His pout returned, this time at the memory of being told to mind his manners in front of guests. Imelda felt a small shiver run up her spine. If her mother had scolded the twins, that meant she really was angry.

“Did you tell her where I had gone?”

“How could I?” he grunted, wiggling harder and nearly pulling them both down the remainder of the stairs. It took her by surprise; they were getting so big! The two of them had been able to reach her feet before she was halfway out of her window. If Felipe hadn’t slipped on one of Mamá’s trailing vines, they wouldn’t have dropped her in the middle of her escape. “Didn’t know what excuse you’d make,” he added in a mutter.

“Smart boy.” She let him go, sizing him up with a smile before wrapping him up in an impulsive, almost threatening embrace. Even if they were little devils, they were still her baby brothers. They had no gain in helping her climb out the window to escape their mother, but they’d gone and done it anyway. There was a loyalty there, somewhere beneath the constant mockery and wheedling. It was almost heartwarming.

“Get off!” Oscar finally fought himself free, sticking out his tongue and clearing the remaining three stairs before shooting off towards the dining room. Imelda scowled after him, hands on her hips.

“That’s the thanks I get for trying to be nice!” Maybe not so heartwarming after all….

“Imelda! Come!” She turned on the stairs, picking up her skirts so the wet hem would stop slapping against her shoes. She ran back through to the kitchen, stopping only to splash some water on her face and smooth down her hair as best she could. It would only be worse for her if she showed up late and unkempt.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting Mamá take a seat as she began to serve everyone from the stewpot. A young lady must learn the proper way to manage a household, serving her family until her own daughter—if she were lucky enough to have one—took over the duty for her.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Mamá asked, a rare undercurrent of exasperation in her tone. She frowned, her thick brows furrowed as she watched her daughter spoon soup into Felipe’s bowl. “Where were you this afternoon?” Imelda didn’t answer right away, finishing her duties before taking her seat at her father’s left side. She tucked her napkin neatly into her lap, picked up her spoon, and took a bite.

“Well?” 

“I went to the riverbank. With Lucía.” She dabbed her lips with the napkin, wincing as the hot soup scalded a line down to her stomach. “We lost track of time.” It wasn’t a lie… at least, not a whole lie. Her best friend really had gone with her to the riverbank, but only to give Imelda a solid alibi. That wasn’t the reason she’d left the hacienda in the first place, but to reveal that would be the equivalent of suicide.

“ Ay ….” Mamá rubbed her temples. “You’re too old to be running around unchaperoned. You know this. You’re a young lady now,” she added, as though that explained everything. If it had been the two of them alone, Imelda might have argued that in her book, Lucía was old enough to count as a chaperone. But she must not argue with Mamá, especially not in front of Papá. She bit her tongue, staring down into her bowl.

“What’s more, you had a visitor this afternoon, and you were nowhere to be found!” Oscar asked for another helping and Imelda stood to refill both his and Felipe’s bowl. He locked eyes with her and for once, it seemed as though the twins weren’t silently laughing at her misery. They seemed to pity her instead, offering quiet thanks as they took back their bowls. “Poor boy, he waited such a long time! It broke my heart to see him so downtrodden. And after I’d been all over the house, shouting myself hoarse with calling your name!”

“Who was it?” Papá asked, wiping the soup from his mustache.

“Héctor Rivera. You know, the little skinny one with the patched up coat. Hangs around the plaza with that other one, the… ah… de la Cruz, that’s it.” Her father nodded his recognition. Imelda let out a frustrated hiss, unable to keep her nostrils from flaring. Her mother caught it immediately, pursing her lips in answer. “And just what is that look for? He was a very polite young man!”

Of course she would think so. Stupid Héctor! What with his big ears and bigger nose, and that pointed chin, and those wide eyes, and that crooked smile! Of course he was polite, of course her mother liked him! She would fall head over heels for any man showing preference for her little girl! Stupid, stupid Héctor!

“Listen to me: when I was your age—”

Oh, boy. Here we go. Shoulders slumped, Imelda sipped her soup and settled in for another one of Mamá’s marriage spiels. “When I was your age, lindita, I was already married to your father for two years! I was barely out of my quinceañera dress when we began courting. Here you are, almost seventeen, and you’ve turned down nearly every man in town! What are you waiting for? A prince? Is no man in Santa Cecilia good enough for you?”

“They just don’t like me!” It was her traditional response, void of all meaning. Everyone at the table knew the truth. Men in Santa Cecilia liked Imelda just fine… until they didn’t. Unfortunately for her, Mamá was in no mood to play games.

“It’s because of your temper! No man will ever want you when you act so irritable and impatient!” Mamá nodded in time with her words, fingers folding the napkin back into her lap. “You must be genteel. What have I told you? A lady is tranquil, well-mannered, orderly, and kind. No rudeness, no shouting, and certainly no violence!”

“Mamá—”

“Tch!” her mother interrupted, shaking her head. “You must throw aside these childish tendencies of yours,” she continued, holding out her own bowl for another portion. “They are like the muñeca your father gave you. It’s a symbol of leaving childhood behind and embracing womanhood.”

“But—!”

“No buts! It is simply the natural course of life!” Helpless, Imelda turned to her father.

“Papá, if I can just explain—”

“Enough.” Imelda closed her mouth, cheeks burning with frustration. Angry tears pricked her eyes as she averted her gaze. “Your mother and I have given you many liberties growing up.” He shared a glance with her mother. “Perhaps too many liberties.” 

“You are still young, mija.” Her mother’s smile seemed almost indulgent. “But you must understand, the time has come for you to—”

“I will not understand!” The twins gasped, spoons clattering in their empty bowls. “I will never understand!” Her parents looked at her in utter amazement; even at her worst, she had never dared to be outright defiant to their authority.

“Imelda!” Her mother’s voice took on a sharper edge. “You will not raise your voice in your father’s hearing. That is almost as bad as swearing.”

“Why must I do this?” she argued, fighting to keep her voice level. “Why should I have to choose a husband and give everything up, just because I’ve reached some arbitrary age? I don’t want a husband, and I don’t want a family! If my only choice is to surrender everything to some burly oaf, I’d rather die!”

“What on earth are you saying?” her mother snapped, shaking her head in disbelief. “Do you want to see your life without men? Look at your Lucía! Look at her mother, at the shame she has brought on her family! On her own daughter! A man keeps you respectable, Imelda. A man keeps you safe . Do you really believe your father—”

“Papá, may I be excused?” Imelda did not speak above a low voice, yet it felt as though she’d been shouting at the top of her lungs. “Please?” It would be shameful to cry, grown as she was, but she felt the first tears clutch at her lashes and knew she would not be able to escape them for long. 

“Yes.” For once, Papá did not rebuke her for interrupting at the table. Nor did he hint at her clearing the dishes. “Go to your room.” She nodded, feeling numb all over. It felt much like the time the twins had poured a pail of spring water over her head. She stood, pushing in her chair, and slowly made her way upstairs.

By the time she reached the bedroom, standing alone in the dark corridor, she was thawed enough to feel the tears warming her cheeks.

Imelda couldn’t settle enough to sleep.

The twins had gone to bed some time ago, the muffled chatter of their voices dropping off into quiet snores. She combed the snags out of her hair with slow, even strokes, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She considered herself a somewhat beautiful woman, even if she had inherited more of her father’s genes. She didn’t have Lucía’s perfectly sculpted cheekbones, perhaps, or Gabriela’s naturally arched eyebrows, but she made up for that in other ways.

Papá said that she looked like Mamá, with her dark eyelashes and lithe figure.

Mamá said that she looked like Papá, with her soft brown eyes and rounded nose.

Oscar and Felipe said she looked like a horse, only to take it back the moment she cornered them with shoe in hand.

Deep down, she knew that her parents were right. The men of Santa Cecilia didn’t like her because they were threatened by her, of her. She was not the type of woman to giggle or act coy when tarrying by the fountain in the plaza. She didn’t blush when a man called her pretty. She didn’t let them tug on her braid or pinch her cheeks, or sing love ballads.

And Mamá was right: it was her temper that got her into trouble more often than not. It always seemed to flare up before she could think to smother it, coals bursting into a raging inferno. A man whistled at her, and the next thing either of them knew he was on the ground and she was standing over him with an empty basket in her hands, groceries staining his once-pristine clothing. They never cared to speak to her after that.

Bah! What did she care? A tiny, miniscule part of her always sort of hoped… wished… that she could go on unmarried forever. She could live with her parents, or with the twins, and life could go on as it always had. But of course that was only a dream. It was her duty to marry, and so marry she would. To be unwed—a spinster—would be an embarrassment to her father’s name.

Why should it? She frowned at her reflection. Why can’t I do as I please? She knew the answer to that, too: marianismo. Her mother had quoted it to her often enough, tongue dragging on the syllables to further hammer them in.

A woman’s place was in the home. She put her family ahead of her own desires for the greater good, to the benefit of all. A good homemaker, a frugal spender, a caring mother: in short, all the traits of a proper Mexican wife.

“Imelda?” There was a soft knock at the bedroom door. Her mother peered in, the corners of her eyes creased with worry. “Are you still awake? It’s getting late.”

“I’m going to bed now.” Imelda felt a lump at the base of her throat, the delayed shame of making a scene at the table. She knew, without being told, that she was far too old to be throwing a tantrum in front of her parents. She looked away, clutching the comb in tight fingers.

“Ay, Imelda….” Her mother closed the door, looking her over with a sympathetic eye. “Come here, mija.” She sat on the end of the bed, patting the empty mattress at her side. Imelda obediently came to sit next to her, staring down at her lap. Mamá took her face in both hands, turning her head to the light and wiping away the last remnants of tearstains from her cheeks. Her fingers were rough, calloused from years of hard labor, but each touch was as gentle as a caress.

“Imelda, your papá and I… we don’t say such things because we want you to be angry or upset. We are only thinking about what’s best for you. There will come a time—sooner than you might think—when you realize that family is the most important thing in this life. Nothing comes before it. Nothing can be allowed to come before it.”

“Marianismo,” she replied flatly. Mamá shook her head.

“Not just marianismo.” She took a deep breath. “We all make sacrifices for our families. Men, women: that part doesn’t matter. It’s all the same in the end. Sometimes, for the people we love… well, some things are worth giving up.”

“But—” The words fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird, desperate to break free. “I’m not ready to be a wife yet! I’m still—!” She fell silent, reaching for her mother’s hand and holding it against her cheek.

“You are my Imelda.” Mamá wrapped her in a hug, one of the tight ones that she usually found suffocating. This time it was not constricting at all; on the contrary, it made her feel warm, loved, safe. She could hide from the world in her mother’s arms and she did just that, burrowing her head into the soft meat of her neck and clutching the back of her faded dress.

“You will always be my little girl,” Mamá continued, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “It’s frightening to think about, I know.” She rocked her gently, as though she were only six and not sixteen. “I’ve taught you everything I can; the rest, you must learn on your own. But hear me when I say: anyone in Santa Cecilia should be honored to have a wife like you.”

“But I—I’m—”

“You are our strong, our proud, our beautiful Imelda. And we are not asking you to change your ways completely! Such a thing would be impossible.” Mamá pulled back, smoothing the hair from her brow and kissing her forehead. “Me, Papá, your brothers: we love you just the way you are. Now, we must find someone who can do the same as your husband.”

“They really don’t like me, Mamá.” Her mother’s eyebrows rose in feigned surprise.

“What? Why, Héctor likes you just fine!” she protested lightly, chucking her chin. “And even if he is not the one for you, there will be others in time. But if you show them nothing more than anger and resentment, that is all you will receive in return. They will never know the beautiful angel you are, deep down.”

“But what if I’m nice to them and they still don’t like me? What then?”

“What then? Uff ! What good are they?” Mamá made a face, waving the pretend suitors away. “If they can’t realize they’re vying for the hand of the most priceless woman in all of Mexico, then they are not worth your time! I’ll send your papá and your brothers to beat them across the head until they see clearly!” Imelda couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of all the men in her family standing in a row, taking turns to dash some poor fool’s brains out for daring to insult her. Mamá smiled, picking up her hands and kissing her palms.

“Just give them a chance, mija. That’s all we ask.” She gave the slender fingers a squeeze. “I know you will make the right choice. For your family.”

“For my family,” Imelda agreed reluctantly. She tugged her hands away, folding them in her lap. “Was Papá very upset after I went to my room?”

“Hmm? Don’t worry yourself about him. I’ve taken care of that.” Imelda looked up in surprise. “What?” her mother laughed, mouth twisting wryly. “You think I can’t handle your father? Just who did you think you got that temper from? It’s honest, I can tell you that much.”

She laughed again, and suddenly Imelda thought of her childhood. Her mother, haggling with the grocer and the butcher, physically yanking her and the twins apart, boxing their ears soundly when they complained, the fiery glint in her eye whenever anyone aside from Papá tried to coerce her into doing something she did not want to do.

Perhaps she does know what it means to sacrifice for family. Imelda felt as though she were seeing her mother for the first time, as a fellow woman instead of the person who dictated orders to the house.

“My goodness.” Mamá wiped her eyes, standing up and fixing the front of her dress. “That’s enough talk for one night, I think. Don’t stay up too late, Imelda.”

“Yes, Mamá. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Imelda waited until her mother shut the door before letting out a low exhale. She was lucky that her parents weren’t angrier with her. Mamá seemed to understand, at least. Even so….

Thump.

Imelda jumped, startled by the loud noise. She stared across the room, at the wall separating her bedroom from the twins’ room. Muffled speech, too low to make out, and then all was silent once more. She stole across the room on silent feet before pressing her ear to the wall. The last thing she needed was for them to start making noise!

Thwack!

“Oscar! Felipe!” she hissed, knocking as loudly as she dared. “Keep it down!” There was no answer, though the walls were thin enough that they could not have missed her warning knock. “If you wake Papá—” Her words were cut short by a louder thump, as well as a muffled curse.

Imelda froze. The sound had not come from the next room. It had come from her room.

More precisely, from just outside her window.

She turned her eyes to the window, covered by the beautiful curtains her mother had sewn for her last birthday. For one long moment she was motionless, trapped against the wall with her heart in her throat. How could anyone be outside? Her bedroom was on the second floor, far out of reach. But she had not imagined it, either. The sounds were real, and that voice—that voice did not belong to anyone in her family. Nor did it sound like one of her father’s quarry workers.

Standing with her cheek to the plaster, Imelda considered her options. She could scream, which would immediately bring her family running to her aid. That was probably the most practical solution, since Papá would easily take care of any would-be intruders. Or she could make a run for it, escape to her parent’s bedroom. But what if that put the twins in danger? Of course, she could always just go to the window herself, just to make sure there was no one outside.

Call for Papá. She half-crawled to the door, reaching out and grabbing one of her boots by the laces.

Call for Papá. On hands and knees she crept to the windowsill, ready to bludgeon whatever—or whoever—she found there.

Call for Papá . Trembling fingers reached for the curtains, her breath locked in her chest, pulse pounding in her ears as she gathered the courage needed to throw it aside. I am not afraid , she told herself firmly. Well… I am, but I am also Imelda, daughter of Juan the quarrymaster, and I am brave.

Why won’t you call for Papá!?

“Ya-a-a-a-a!” It was a pathetic battle cry, but she was too caught up in the moment to care. Flinging open the curtain and casement in two quick movements, she brandished the boot over her head and prepared to strike the hunched shadow just outside the window.

She gasped.

Héctor gasped, too.

Imelda slammed the casement shut, dropping the boot as she grabbed the curtains and shut them behind her back. She was drenched in a cold sweat, trembling with nerves and shock. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, chest tight and fluttering with adrenaline. She caught sight of herself in the mirror: hair hanging loose from her braid, eyes wider than a barn owl, lips parted in a silent shriek.

Peck, peck. Peck. The sound was not unlike a little bird, tap-tap-tapping at the windowpane. She managed to swallow, taking three deep breaths before opening the curtains once more. Arms crossed, she glared down at the sheepish face in the window, timid and flushed as he continued to peck on the glass with his fingernail. The last wisps of fear bubbled up into anger, and she considered the boot before deciding that a fall from this height would probably kill him.

Even if she couldn’t stand him, she was not about to hang for the murder of Héctor Rivera.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Imelda threw open the window, kneeling so that she loomed over his cowering figure. “Why are you here—wait, what are you even standing on?” Curiosity overcame her fury and she leaned out of the window to see that he’d climbed her mother’s rose trellis, wobbly legs shaking as he scrambled for a better grip.

“H-Hola, Imelda….” Héctor at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Can I come in?”

“No! Go away!” she snapped, afraid to speak above a harsh whisper. “What are you even doing here?”  

“I, erm… I wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? You see me every day in the plaza!”

“Tomorrow would have been too late!” he explained hurriedly, his eyes pleading for her to listen. She rocked back onto her heels, scowling as she watched him grip the windowsill for dear life.

“You were already here once today,” she couldn’t help but point out, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“And you weren’t,” he replied easily, steadying himself enough to rest his chin on one elbow.

That’s because I was avoiding you! Imelda bit her tongue, unwilling to waste time saying the obvious aloud. If she lost her temper, if she raised her voice…. Héctor would not be the only one in danger. Even if they were trying to marry her off, Papá and Mamá would end her life if they found her like this: unchaperoned, underdressed, unrepentant.

“I was not,” she finally agreed, lifting her chin obstinately. “I was at the river with my friend.”

“So you like the river?” Héctor leaned on the sill conversationally, as though they were standing at the counter of the general store in town. “Do you like to take walks on the bridge path?”  

“We were picking flowers.” Why was she even bothering to tell him this? Why was she humoring this clown? If she had any sense in her head, she’d shut the window now and ignore him until he gave up.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“My… my what?”

“Your favorite type of flower.” He leaned forward eagerly. “I could pick some for you. I’d pick you fresh ones every day, if you want.”

“I don’t need someone to pick flowers for me! I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself!” His forehead creased, mouth twisting in slight annoyance at her immediate rejection. “I’m still waiting for the reason you’re here, you know. This could have been a conversation for tomorrow.”

“Ah! Yes, well—I wanted to ask you something.” He grunted, lifting himself higher on the sill in an effort to take the weight off his legs.

“Ask me what, Héctor? Hurry up, I don’t have all night.”

“You see, they’re having this dance tomorrow night, at the plaza. And I thought that—what I mean is—” He averted his eyes, chewing nervously on his lip as he looked everywhere except her. “The other day, when the band was playing; you danced very well. I-I wasn’t staring!” he added quickly, seeing the look on her face. “I just happened to notice, and… erm… I thought that maybe you liked to dance. And I also like to dance, you see, so I thought maybe you might go dancing tomorrow. With me. Together.”

“And the only time you could think to ask me was the middle of the night?”

“I came by earlier, but you weren’t here!” he protested feebly. “And tomorrow would be too late. I thought if I could catch you tonight, before you were in bed….” He ran a hand through his hair, making the thick strands stand on end. “I’ll admit, this wasn’t my best plan.”

“You’re just now realizing that?” Héctor narrowed his eyes, mouth set in a thin line. She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him so disgruntled.

I’ve never actually spoken to him before, have I? At least, not like this. Most of the time she found any excuse to avoid him, scowling at him from across the plaza and ignoring the way her friends giggled at his lovelorn sighs. He’s actually funny, in his own way.

“I’m just going to go. Have a good night.” He backed out of the window, squinting down at his feet in the dark.

“Wait.” Imelda tilted her head, looking him over as best she could from his current position. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite as ugly as she’d led herself to believe. Sure, his nose and his ears were large, but they gave him a boyish air that was almost… cute. His hair seemed soft, not oily and greased like some of the men she’d turned down. He did have wide eyes, but they were surrounded by a fringe of beautiful dark lashes. That crooked smile… now that he wasn’t so far away she could see that it gave him dimples, which made it all the more charming. And if his chin was pointed—well, no one was perfect.

“Why do you want to take me so badly?” she asked, shaking the thoughts of her mind.

“Well… I like you!”

“What on earth do you even know about me?” she sputtered, flushing from the roots of her hair down to her toes.

“Your name is Imelda. You have twin brothers. You like to dance. People call you a firebrand. You’ve hit every man in town except for me.”

“That can be fixed!” He didn’t answer, merely smiling that adorable, crooked smile as he continued.

“You like to eat buñuelos almost as much as Lucía. Your forehead wrinkles when you laugh. Your favorite color is purple. Sometimes you sing as you walk home, when you think no one else can hear.”  

“Y-You’d only know those things if you’d been spying on me!”

“It’s not spying if you know I’m there,” he argued. “You frown at me almost every day.”

“That—” He did have a point. “Hmph! Who cares? Just because you know something doesn’t mean you know everything.”

“I would learn more if you agreed to dance with me.”

“You really want me to come?” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“And you’re not just doing this to laugh at me?”

“What makes you think I’d do that?!”

“Because I’ve hit every man in town, except for you.” She frowned. “You could be setting me up for a cruel joke.”

“I’d never!” he gasped. “Imelda, do you hate me?”

“No.” The truth stumbled past her lips before she could think.

“Then why do you act as though you do?” She opened her mouth, but could not think of any good reason. “Is it so hard to believe that someone has an interest in you?”

I… I don’t know. They gazed at one another silently: one intense, the other calculating.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered. It was impossible to think straight with him staring at her like that. He blinked and obeyed, scrunching his eyes shut before immediately peeking through his lashes. “Héctor!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” He squeezed them even tighter, nose wrinkling with the effort. She watched his face warp and smooth again as he waited. He really was a stubborn one, wasn’t he? And earnest, to boot. She couldn’t help but believe that he was telling her the truth. But… why her? Just “liking” someone wasn’t enough, was it? Imelda took a deep breath, biting her lip as she searched for something to say.

Going to a dance would make her mother ecstatic. She didn’t want to be seen in front of everyone with Héctor, but… it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, either. Was this what her mother meant by giving him a chance? Was she even willing to give him a chance? She leaned in as she thought, counting the lashes resting against his thin cheeks. Héctor wasn’t horrid, but how could he possibly make her happy? What would it be like to have him as a husband?

Their noses brushed and he opened one eye, immediately jolting back with a little yelp of surprise. She felt it on her lips, one quick breath.

“O-Oh.” She cleared her throat, blushing heavily as she tugged the braid over her shoulder and began to run her hands down its length. Héctor watched her quietly, letting her fidget a moment before offering a shy smile. He leaned in, tilting his head in clear invitation.

Imelda would never forget her first kiss: Franscisco Aquino, the bricklayer’s son. Rather, he had kissed her before she even knew what was happening. It had taken her by surprise, and it had been… disgusting. He’d been given a black eye for his trouble, and her friends had all agreed he’d earned it. What man , Lucía had said, tossing her curls with a sly laugh, kisses like a trout? Her revulsion had been drowned with peals of laughter, and she had not kissed anyone since.

Thankfully, Héctor did not kiss like a trout.

His lips were warm, hesitant almost, pressing carefully against hers. He didn’t try to crush her against him, or slobber all over her with the eagerness of a hound; in fact, the only parts of them touching were their mouths. She had been too shocked with Franscico to shut her eyes—and it had been over rather quickly, once she’d shoved him away—but now she let her lashes flutter, focusing on the gentle way his lips moved over hers before she pulled away.  

“Imelda….” No one had ever spoken her name like that before, raspy and thick with emotion. It sent a thrill straight through her, a funny tingle spreading from her lips down to her stomach, burning her from the inside out. She opened her eyes and met his shyly, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

“Héctor?”

“Will you dance with me tomorrow?” he murmured, his eyes never once leaving hers. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“I will.” He nodded, tongue darting out over his lips. She followed the movement with her eyes, and before she knew it he was leaning back in for a second kiss. One small part of her voiced its protest, but to her surprise she found that she didn’t really care. He could kiss her as many times as he wanted.

“Eww!” The two of them flew apart, blinking at one another before turning as one towards the source of the sound. She felt her face heat once more, this time in rage, at the sight of her brothers propped up in their own window. Now that they were noticed, the twins began to do what they did best: mockery. “Imelda kissed Héctor! Imelda kissed Héctor!”

“Oscar! Felipe!” In her anger she forgot to be quiet, grabbing her boot and nearly climbing atop Héctor in order to get a good aim. “I’m going to kill you both!”

“Oye, chamacos,” Héctor began sternly, brow furrowing. He leaned away from the trellis, wagging his finger as he spoke. “I think—!” Before he could finish, he was interrupted with a loud cracking sound. With a shout he dropped a few feet, clinging to the splintering wood for dear life.

“I think you’re falling!” the twins shouted in unison, nearly tumbling out of the window themselves.

“Imelda?” Imelda muffled her scream in her hand as her mother knocked on the bedroom door. “What’s wrong? We heard you cry out.” Héctor looked up at her in shock, his mouth hanging open. “Imelda? What—” Mamá opened the door, Papá two steps behind her. Her parents took one look at the tableau before them: their daughter on her knees, dressed only in her nightgown, the edge of Héctor’s pale face as he slipped out of sight, vines snapping from the window as they followed the trellis towards the earth. Her father bellowed, turning on his heel and racing for the door.

“Papá, wait !”

“Papá?” the twins parroted, sliding back through their window to better see the chaos inside the house. Frantic, Imelda waved both hands at her stunned mother.

“Mamá!” Caught between husband and daughter, her mother took the more dangerous of the two paths and raced through the open door after her husband. Turning back to the window, Imelda found the trellis jutting from the wall, the thin wooden rails buckling beneath Héctor’s weight. There was an overlapping patter of bare feet as the twins shouldered their way beneath her, Oscar on one side and Felipe on the other. The three of them watched helplessly as more of the wood began to snap, its occupant dangling above a bone-shattering drop.

“Grab the trellis!” she ordered, and the boys lunged to obey. Just as their long fingers brushed the edge of the wood, there was an even louder crack as it split wholly in two. Héctor shouted as he fell backwards, scrambling like a lizard to stay on top of the swaying structure.

Just my luck: I found a man I can tolerate, and he’s in danger of busting his skull open like a melon.

“Look!” Felipe pointed, tugging at the sleeve of her gown. “His pants!” One of Héctor’s suspenders had gotten caught up in the trellis, leaving him hanging a much safer distance from the ground. If he could get himself free, it would be relatively easy to jump down and make his escape. Imelda sighed in relief, only to hold her breath again when she heard her mother—this time, outside the house.

“Stop! Let’s at least get him down!”

“Where’s my shoehorn!?!” Her mother raced around the corner of the house, faster than Imelda had ever seen her run before. Then, several things seemed to happen all at once:

Mamá took two handfuls of Héctor, yanking him with all her might.

Imelda pushed the trellis, slipping over the windowsill as she snapped it beneath her hands.

The twins grabbed her by the waist, holding her up as she lost her balance.

Papá appeared at the edge of the house, a lantern in one hand and his metal shoehorn in the other.

Héctor slipped off the broken trellis, tumbling down into the rosebushes and trampling them as he stumbled to his feet. Mamá took one look at his nervous smile, slapped him hard enough to send his eyes rolling, and then pushed him in the direction of the gate.

“Hey, payaso!” Imelda called, unable to stop herself from cackling at the absurdity of it all. She’d just kissed a man—twice!—she was hanging by her legs out of her own bedroom window, her mother had just let the same man escape, all because they were afraid her father just might kill him if he had half a chance. “You better run!” Héctor waved, blowing her a kiss before leaping the gate and taking off down the street as though the devil himself were at his heels.

“You blasted—!” There was a clanging crash of metal on metal as the shoehorn dinged the gate. “Stay away from my daughter!” Mamá shook her head, taking in the sight of her ruined rose garden with wordless sounds of dismay. Finally she looked up, wringing her hands with a sigh.

“Dios mio, Imelda! This is not what I meant!”

Imelda yawned, wiping at her sockets as she squinted in the early morning light. She opened her eyes to a splash of fading purple; it took a moment to reorient herself, staring around her bedroom as she reached out to touch the wilting stems.

“You need some water,” she informed them, sitting up with a creak and a muffled grunt. Recalling her dream, she could not help but smile at the distant memory of that long-ago night. Everything had turned out fine in the end; her mother had smoothed things over, and she had been allowed to go dancing despite her father’s residual anger. Aside from a stern lecture about the dangers of being unchaperoned around a man, nothing had come of Héctor’s little escapade.

“Mamá was probably just happy I hadn’t beaten him down that trellis myself,” she chuckled, taking the flowers in hand and looking at them in the fresh sunlight.

What is your favorite flower?

“You were such a child back then,” she sighed, pulling herself to her feet. Her bones cracked as she hobbled to the vanity. “Then again,” she amended, looking at her reflection with a smile, “so was I.”