#if that's the family waiting outside the prison might as well stay in

[worstloki]

Loki probably had to deal with Frigga's 'subtle' attempts to get him to apologise and reintegrate into the family through the entire jail time :/

#not that I think Frigga showed up often I feel like she ignored him like 7 months and then started showing up #like she was suddenly sooo concerned #started asking why he wasn't eating well #getting furniture brought in #give him shoes and some different clothes (that he wouldn't end up wearing) #i feel like she would deliberately miss the point that he'd rather actually be in the cell than not point out the hypocrisy #because either what he did was fine without excuses the way Odin goes around (and Thor before did) #or they should all deserve punishment too #Frigga like oh your father and your brother and that's sad too bc all she does is ignore the entire issue from the last time he was 'alive' #to Frigga the last time Loki was around he had the whole found out he was adopted breakdown and dropped himself into space #like wow everyone in the family made the decision to ignore that #why would they question his motive he was obviously just out for a throne #if that's the family waiting outside the prison might as well stay in #smh

[itsbuckytm]

Reunited / Rick Grimes

summary: With Rick Grimes alive, escaping from the bridge proved to be a daunting challenge for everyone, especially for you and the others you had encountered, many of whom had since passed or moved on to different parts of the city. While the CRM focused on rescuing new victims from a nearby vault, you, like many others, had believed Rick to be dead. However, his unexpected return brought about a reunion that revealed a deeper, more profound connection between two lovers.

ps: english isn't my first language so i appolagize for any grammar errors (which i will be editing them if seen through out) but i do hope you enjoy!

Rick was keenly aware of your hiding spot. Tracking you down, though, was simply a waiting game. Fortunately, you slipped away after the chaos on the bridge. Everyone, including you, thought Rick had perished. Michonne's desperate scream and Daryl's uneasy sense confirmed the loss of the man they all relied on. Forever.

However, this time was unlike any other. Rick found himself recruited by the army stationed outside the city's main gates. It wasn't until he and Donald caught wind of a nearby enclave of survivors in need of rescue that their journey truly began. It was during one of these escort missions that Rick spotted you, utterly vulnerable. Within the vault, amidst a mix of shattered families and strangers burdened with the trauma of living in a city overrun by monsters, you were just one among many in desperate need of aid. And what truly killed Rick more was the fact that he, himself couldn’t even get near you. 

Still reeling from the shock, you struggled to muster your remaining energy. Amidst the escort, you caught sight of Jadis, but even recalling your own surroundings was a challenge. The sight of living, talking humans proved more daunting than you had anticipated, let alone considering what might transpire once you were among them.

Rick had to be halted just before catching sight of you. His mouth, ready to whisper your name away. Y/N… Without exchanging a word, Donald swiftly grasped his left shoulder, their shared glance conveying the need for patience, particularly considering your recent ordeal. ‘She'll receive immediate care,’ Donald whispered, knowing well that you were among the select few the army had been searching for. 

Throughout your time there, you hardly ventured beyond the confines of your room, following strict orders to remain within. Occasionally, brief strolls outside the base were permitted, but always under strict time constraints. Initially, you couldn't shake the feeling that this place resembled a prison rather than a refuge. Yet, despite your reservations, something within those walls compelled you to stay longer than you had anticipated, much to Rick's dismay. 

Rick watched you from afar. A lost soul he did not believed to be reunited with, let alone feeling your presence amongst himself. How you would exist from your room to get some fresh air, sitting near the lake that separated a journey you once tried to forget. And the others, imagining what it would’ve been if everyone was here. With him. So he simply kept his distance. Nothing to scare you of course. 

Days passing, now felt like months and you were already assigned in your first years of training. Although you had offer your help in the nursery section, which thanks to Donald whom made sure that you get the position, it was during your first day working amongst other nurses, that you actually met in. In flesh. 

Rick had to be cautious. He understood your potential reaction, especially if you were to discover that he, along with other military colleagues, was the one privy to knowledge about your area. Moreover, encountering him in person felt like a nightmare you wished hadn't occurred. As your eyes fell upon the patient, injured like others who arrived, his world shifted entirely upon hearing your voice utter, "Coming right up."

Upon returning from preparing the bed for your next patient, you were unprepared for the revelation of Rick's presence and how he came to be here. The moment this realization hit, your eyes and mind aligned abruptly. Despite striving to maintain professionalism, the sight of the man shook you to the core. A man everyone had believed to be dead, now standing alive before you. What unnerved you most was his well-being. Nonetheless, you pressed on with your duties, mustering the courage to ask the first question: "Any injuries?" Rick, anticipating your reaction, responded promptly and simply. He claimed only his arm required the usual annual check-up, though both of you suspected there might be more beneath the surface.

During his appointment, Rick and you did barely say a word. As you tendered his wounds, you noticed his gaze softens everytime your fingers would be delicately clean his new arm rest. It was something he had missed from living outside the base. When Carl was still alive, you had been with them for sometime already and you would be keeping Judith while he went to gather some material for the week. Enough so to keep them alive and with more and more allies during your stay, foes such as Negan where a doomed faith would be met, ever since the bridge he couldn’t get his mind off anyone. Michonne included, who you had the joy to meet and talk during your off times. 

As the silence enveloped the room, you found solace in softly murmuring a sweet melody, a habit you had maintained since earlier days. Rick had always been captivated by this tune, ingrained in his mind whenever you tended to anyone at camp. In those moments, he longed for the return of such days, free from the threat of walkers. However, he knew deep down that this hope existed only in his dreams, far removed from reality. So he did the same, in his head. Before actually breaking the silence. Enough for you to force an habit to even begin talking with a man you thought once dead. 

"I'd be remiss not to ask how you're doing," he said, his voice familiar yet slightly rough, even hoarse. However, there was an unexpected calmness to it, as if nothing troubled him since his rescue by the army. Your gaze lifted swiftly from his wound, allowing yourself a brief moment to absorb the sound of his voice once more. "You're right, please, tell me," you replied, pausing briefly, your eyes steadfastly meeting his. "How are you?" 

He almost felt a chuckle bubbling up inside him. The irony of your unwavering presence hadn't faded since the last encounter. You, someone who had seen it all, just like him, had managed to find solace in humor. You owed that partly to Daryl, who could be either a good or bad influence, depending on one's perspective. For Rick, it was undoubtedly a positive one. However, he knew he had to temper his eagerness with patience. "I could have my good days," he teased in his familiar voice, one you had grown accustomed to and secretly missed hearing. "But now that you're here..." He approached cautiously, noticing your slight flinch, yet your eyes conveyed an attempt to appear unaffected by his presence, which he found oddly endearing. "And you?" 

Of course, you couldn't evade the question. Instantly, you hesitated, but Rick's approach, the way he initiated the interaction firsthand, signaled that he was still the same Rick you knew. A Rick who, albeit a bit "sane," still carried the essence you remembered. Like Michonne, you felt a glimmer of hope in this world knowing he was still around. "Couldn't say I've had my best days either," you admitted. 

He chuckles. “Funny, isn’t?” He lowered his gaze his fingers grumbling within each other, playing with his watch soon after. “How we all have our best days.” He said in a way that made you fivers down your spine. His words spoke like butter in your ears and yet, you wanted to embrace him instantly in his arm soon after. The only thing was that you couldn’t guess if what he meant was real, or simply a mutual feeling you both had once years ago? Especially after the bridge.

"Guess it's just luck," you shrugged innocently, completing the final touches of tending to his wound. Rick couldn't help but admire your face, and before he knew it, his hand was cupping your cheek, his gaze meeting your lips. Without giving you a chance to speak, he brushed his lips against yours, a kiss that instantly brought back memories of your time outside the city. He had wanted to kiss you then, to taste your skin, to have you all to himself.

"God damn it," he murmured softly after another shared kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to catch his breath. A chuckle escaped him, prompting you to question what was amusing him. His answer was simple, "You have no idea how hard I searched for you. I owe Donald for that one." Oh, he certainly did.

You smiled softly, feeling reassured by his response. If it weren't for Donald, who knows where you would be now. The thought of ending up like so many others frightened you. But then you reunited with Rick, and from that moment on, being with him was all that mattered. For both of you, being together was everything. You belonged to him completely. 

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes smut #twd the ones who live #towl spoilers #michonne #daryl dixon x reader #donald okafor #donald okafor x reader #janis twd #twd x reader #twd imagines #twd x y/n #twd x you

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 12

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 8792

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: This is the ending of book 1! Enjoy! Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 This story is now complete!

Aelinor was nearly mad with waiting by the time Aemond returned to her. The door to her chambers was locked from the outside, guarded by a guard who was unmoved for her pleas. With no means of seeking out answers herself, she was forced to sit in the window, watching the dust settle over the Dragonpit and praying to all the gods she could name that Aemond would come back to her. Her tears dried on her face, her throat sore from her sobbing.

The sun was dipping below the horizon when she heard voices outside her door, and then Aemond was pushing through. His hair was messy, a deep frown carved onto his face, but he looked no less worse for wear.

She began to cry anew, throwing herself across the room and into his arms. He barely caught her, her weight throwing both of them against the wall as she sobbed.

“I thought you were dead!” She beat a fist against his chest. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “No, Lina. I am not dead. Rhaenys only sought to flee, and no one was harmed.”

Aelinor pulled back slightly. “It was Rhaenys, then. I saw Meleys take flight from the Dragonpit and I feared the worst.”

“Only smallfolk and a small number of guards were injured.” Aemond’s hand stroked down her arm, and yet she did not feel comforted. “She had escaped her chambers, we suspect with aid.

Her chambers. Because like Aelinor, the Princess Rhaenys had been confined to her chambers. A well-treated prisoner. A hostage who was served dessert and treated with courtesies. If Aelinor had gone with Aemond to the coronation, might she have been able to flee as well?

“It is done then?” She asked quietly. “Aegon?”

“Yes,” Aemond nodded, a flicker of pain crossing his face when he stepped away. “My brother wears the Conqueror’s crown, and is lord of the realm.”

For how much longer, Aelinor wondered. Rhaenys would surely head straight for Dragonstone, to alert Rhaenyra and Daemon. If they had not already begun to muster their forces, they would now. What would they think when they learned of what had happened? When they realized Aelinor was still a prisoner in the court of the usurper?

“You’ve grown pale,” Aemond whispered, reaching out to touch her arm.

“Is it any surprise?” She scoffed. “With all I have learned today?”

Aemond took her arm and led her toward the chaise, not releasing his touch until she was seated upon it. Then he took the seat opposite her, allowing her a few moments to collect herself.

“We left things very badly earlier,” Aelinor said. “Before…before you left.”

Gods, to think that only a few hours ago she had been angry at him. That she had internally cursed his family and their entire idiotic plot to steal the throne. That those might have been her last word to Aemond, that he might have died in the Dragonpit while she paced in her chambers cursing his name, it was almost too much to bear.

“You were angry,” Aemond’s tone was gentle, understanding. “I cannot blame you for that. Though I will confess, it was not how I hoped you would react.”

“How else should I have reacted?” Aelinor demanded. “I was dragged from my chambers in the dead of night, made aware of a plot to steal my mother’s birthright, and then informed that I am to be a hostage for peace negotiations in a war that your mother and grandfather have started! Have I missed anything?”

Aemond looked down at his feet. “No. Only that I wish you would not think yourself a hostage. You are my betrothed, Lina. We are to be married. Is there not some part of you that is happier for it?”

Aelinor leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. “Aemond, I was happier for it the moment the King announced it. There is no one in the world I would rather marry than you.”

“But?”

“But…” She sighed. “Our union was meant to bring about peace. Now it is being leveraged against me to prevent a war.”

“And if a war is prevented?” Aemond asked. “What then?”

“What do you expect?” Aelinor asked, voicing the thoughts that had filled her mind since she had been alone. “If your brother retains the throne and my mother relinquishes her claim, I have no doubt that your mother will break the betrothal and seek out a bride more to her liking. And if my mother chooses to fight for her crown, if she storms the Keep and lets Daemon cleave Aegon’s head from his shoulders, then they will kill you as well, no matter how I might protest.”

Aemond’s face grew cold. “You have given this a great deal of thought.”

“I wish to marry you, Aemond.” Aelinor squeezed his hands. “But I do not wish to see the world torn apart.”

Aemond stood suddenly, marching toward the window. “Do you think I want this war? Is that it?”

“No!” She exclaimed. “Why would you ever want that?”

But even as she said it, she found herself doubting her words. Could Aemond let go of his grudge against her brothers so easily? He had promised her, but that promise had been made when they believed they would have years to slowly bring their families together and reconcile their feelings. Now they were heading for a terrifying clash, one that provided the perfect opportunity to spew hatred against her brothers.

Aelinor buried her face in her hands. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. She should have been happy. Everything had been so close to perfect, and now it was all ruined.

“What are we going to do, Aemond?” She whispered.

He did not respond.

There were not many options left open for Aelinor. If she tried to flee, to rejoin her family on Dragonstone, then she would most likely be either killed in the attempt or captured. Then she would be treated as a prisoner should be treated, cast into the dungeons somewhere with Jeyne. If she died, or if her family learned that she had been mistreated, there would be war.

But what was her other option? To remain at court and play the good little princess? If she stood at Aemond’s side as he supported his brother then she would be a traitor to her family. And she was many things, but she was not a liar. She could not swear false oaths and fake loyalty to a man who did not deserve his crown. What could Aemond do in all of this? He was loyal to his brother, and while she did not agree with it, she could understand it. After all, she had forgiven her brothers for their own cruelties against her, and she would have stood at Jace’s side against any who might have threatened his claim. Perhaps even against Aemond. So how could she expect him to do any differently?

And how long would she have to decide? Before Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent marched to her door and demanded that she bend the knee or face the consequences. What would she do then? What would Aemond do if she refused?

“I cannot swear to Aegon,” She said. “I cannot. It would kill me.”

“Then I will not ask you to.” His voice was hard.

“But what will you ask of me?” She asked. “Because I cannot remain locked in this room. People will demand answers.” Perhaps they would not. Perhaps there was no one left in King’s Landing who would question their new king on what prisoners he saw fit to keep.

“You shall not be confined, I will see to that.”

“How?” She demanded. “Talk to me, Aemond, please. You are all I have right now.” Her voice broke as she realized that it was true. There was no one else in this city that she could trust, no one who might look out for her or care about her wellbeing.

Aemond turned from the window, startling when he saw her near tears and rushing to her side. “Please, please don’t cry.”

“I don’t mean to!” She hated to be weak, to be so overcome that she could scarcely speak. But this was the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced in her life, and she could not see the way forward.

“You are my betrothed,” Aemond said. “ My Lina. I don’t care who you are sworn to, or if you bend the knee to my useless brother. You will have a place here. Always.”

“At your side.”

He nodded.

“In your brother’s court.”

His nod was more hesitant this time. “Yes.”

It was barely a solution. She could hardly go around proclaiming Aegon a usurper, and sooner or later someone at court would question her presence and the ambiguity of her loyalty. She would be declared a traitor by her mother’s supporters, and an enemy by Aegon’s. She would be parted from her family, from her brothers and Baela and Rhaena and the little ones, for an indeterminable amount of time .

But she would be with Aemond.

Would that be enough?

She reached out a hand, and Aemond did not hesitate before taking it. He dropped to his knees in front of the chaise, resting their hands in her lap. “You’ll stay?”

Did she have a choice? “I will stay with you, Aemond.” For better or for worse.

His face melted in relief, and he leaned up to capture her lips with his. For a brief moment Aelinor let her eyes flutter closed, let herself forget that the world was crumbling to pieces around them, that the dream she’d had of a perfect future with Aemond was being trampled in the chaos.

Aemond’s hand raised to trace her cheek, brushing softly against her nose. She pulled away slowly, regretting the loss of his touch as soon as she moved.

Aemond lifted their hands, pressing soft kisses to the back of her hands. She could feel the apology behind each touch of his lips. I’m sorry . I didn’t want it to be this way . I’ll protect you .

“So what now?” She tried to give him a small smile. “I suppose going for a ride with Darrax and Vhagar is out of the question.”

It was meant as a joke, but his face darkened.

“What is it?” She asked. “Is Darrax alright?” She cursed her selfishness, realizing that she had not even wondered after her dragon, if he might have been injured in Princess Rhaenys’ escape.

Aemond was shaking his head. “No, no, of course he is alright. I checked on all of the dragons before I returned. It was part of what delayed me.”

Of course it was. Because the Aemond she adored would never have let anything hurt their dragons. “Part of what delayed you?”

He looked down. “My mother — that is, the King has requested that I go as an envoy to Storm’s End.”

“But House Baratheon is sworn to my mother.” Aelinor breathed.

“Yes,” Aemond nodded. “I am to deliver an offer of alliance. Supposedly one that he will not be able to refuse.”

Aelinor could think of no offer that would justify breaking an oath. “What is it?”

“I do not know. I am just to deliver the missive.” 

She was sure that her despair showed on her face. Not only was Aemond leaving, but he was walking into almost certain danger. If House Baratheon stayed true to their oath, then Aemond would be a servant of a usurper. They could detain, harm or even kill him. Perhaps turn him over to her mother. 

But if Aemond was welcomed, then it meant that her mother had lost the support of a powerful house. And most troubling of all was that Aelinor did not know which outcome she was praying for.

“How long?” She asked weakly.

“Two days.” He said, squeezing her hands tightly. “I will leave on the morrow, and return in two days.”

Two days. Two days alone in this Keep, alone with her thoughts in a den of traitors and snakes.

“Aemond.” She was begging, though she did not know for what.

“I must, Lina.” He implored. “But I will return to you. I swear it.”

She pressed her eyes closed, taking a shaky breath. “You’ve never broken a promise to me.”

“And I never shall.”

Gods curse her for her stupidity, but she believed it. With all the faith and devotion she had held at five years old, Aelinor chose to believe him. She had no other choice.

“Then,” She forced a smile, trying to blink some tears from her eyes. “Let us have dinner together, so that we each have a good memory to tide us over until we see each other next.”

“In the library?” Aemond asked, lifting his hand to brush her tears away.

She shook her head. The library would remind her too strongly of her grandfather, and she did not know how much more sorrow she could bear. “The garden?”

“The garden.” He agreed, standing from the floor. “I shall order our dinner, and return to escort you in an hour. I must…I must change and speak to my mother first.”

Change because his clothes were still speckled with dust from the Dragonpit. Speak to his mother so that she might prepare him to serve as an envoy for Aegon. The world had truly gone mad.

But Aelinor nodded. “I shall await your return.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, looking like he wanted to say more. But whatever he saw in her eyes scared him into silence, and he turned and left.

************************************

Storm’s End was a miserable, damp, hellhole of a castle.

Aemond’s impression of their potential new allies was a bleak one, making him regret all the more that he had agreed to his grandfather’s request. Anyone could have gone to treat with Lord Borros, could have delivered the message that he held clasped in his hand. This was not worth being parted from Aelinor.

The two of them had taken dinner in the garden. Aemond had the servants move the table away from the balcony, knowing that Aelinor would not be cheered if she were looking out at the city and could see the damage to the Dragonpit. Instead they had eaten in one of the interior pavilions, attended by a small army of servants now that they did not have to keep their meeting a secret. He had tried his best to take her mind off things, but he knew that he had been unsuccessful. No amount of lemon cakes or roast chicken could distract her from the loss of her family. They had retired early, and he had left before the sun rose to reach Storm’s End.

And it would be a loss. Despite what Aemond had told her, he knew that peaceful resolution grew less likely by the day. His mother held some fondness for Princess Rhaenyra, but he could not see an outcome in which she, Prince Daemon, or their pack of bastards were allowed to live the rest of their lives in any comfort, if at all. No, he was not about to risk Aelinor’s safety to sue for peace between their families. Instead he would just have to do his best to ensure that she remained on the right side of things, protected by their betrothal.

But it was difficult to protect her when he was in Storm’s End.

The Storm Keep was not impressed when he compared it to the Red Keep. He’d heard the stories, of course, about how the castle had been destroyed by a thousand storms until finally it’s walls were built strong enough to withstand the gales and thrashing waves that rose up the cliff. And it was not the strength of Storm’s End that he doubted. It’s walls were thick, it’s foundation solid, but the entire thing seemed to be little more than a beautifully carved cave, no amount of tapestries or fur able to keep out the damp cold that permeated every inch of the castle.

He had not been greeted upon his arrival. Vhagar had attracted much attention when he set her down just outside the castle walls, but Lord Borros was not there to greet him. Instead he had been met by the two knights who now led him into the castle. It was a sign of disrespect that the brother of the King had not been greeted properly, but Aemond could understand it. Though his brother sat the throne, things would seem less certain elsewhere in the realm. If Lord Borros were smart he would be sure not to commit to either side without considering his moves wisely. That he had not been meant with iron and steel was an indication that there was hope in Aegon’s cause. The Baratheon’s were not so dedicated to their vows that they would kill him on sight.

Two heavy doors swung open, and Aemond stepped into yet another cavernous room. A small crowd had gathered around the throne at the far end, where a large man with a dark beard sat swathed in a cloak of fur. At his side stood four girls with equally dark locks, along with a small retinue of knights and other lords that Aemond did not recognize.

“Prince Aemond!” Lord Borros called. “To what do we owe this visit?”

Aemond supposed he needed no introduction, not when his eye — or lack thereof — made his identity so obvious. “Lord Borros, I come with a message from your King.”

He walked forward, the letter held in his hand.

“And how is your father?” Lord Borros asked, no hint of subtlety in his tone. “Well, I hope.”

“My father is dead,” Aemond announced, noting the titters it set off in the crowd. “I come in service to the one true King, Aegon Targaryen, Second of his name.”

Lord Borros tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Your elder sister still lives, does she not?”

“I believe so.” Aemond stopped a few feet from the foot of the throne. 

“And was she not sworn in as his heir?” Lord Borros asked. “Or am I misremembering.”

“My Lord Borros is very astute in his memory,” Aemond smirked. “But we must always do what is best for the realm, must we not?”

Lord Borros nodded.

Aemond held out the letter. “From the King, and my mother the Dowager Queen.”

There was an awkward pause, and then someone shuffled forward from the crowd. Aemond let the maester take the letter from his hand, watching the man climb to Lord Borros’ side before breaking the seal and reading aloud.

“I, Aegon Targaryen, Second of my Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do invite House Baratheon to swear fealty to the Iron Throne and my ascension, as is willed by the gods and my father, King Viserys.”

They had made Aemond fly all the way to Storm’s End to deliver that ? Any knight could have delivered that message.

Still, the declaration seemed to alarm the room. People began to shift where they stood, some eyeing him nervously. He was either the brother of a king or a usurper, but he had nonetheless brought this matter to their doorstep.

“In addition,” the Maester continued, “As an act of good faith, I, King Aegon the second, with the support of the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, to propose a formal alliance be struck between our houses.”

Aemond schooled his features so that none of his confusion showed on his face. A formal alliance? His niece and nephew were still far too young to be wed, though he supposed a betrothal might be enough ‘good faith’ to secure Lord Borros’ support.

“With the consent of Lord Borros, we would seek the betrothal between his eldest unmarried daughter, or whichever daughter he sees fit—”

Something wasn’t right. Aemond started to step forward, but the maester beat him to it.

“And my brother, Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

One of the girls next to the throne let out a shocked gasp. Aemond glared at them, realizing that these were Lord Borros’ daughters. They were pretty enough, he supposed, but it did not matter. He was already betrothed to Aelinor, and no Baratheon could hold a candle to her.

“Well then, boy,” Lord Borros seemed to puff up in his chest. “You bring us an offer of marriage.”

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to dispute their claim. His blood seemed to boil as he realized what his family had done. They had sent him as an emissary to make their offer seem more legitimate, all but forcing him into a position in which he had to feign disloyalty to Aelinor in order to support his brother.

There was no way that any of his family expected him to go through with this plan. He was betrothed to Aelinor, and that had been his father’s dying wish, or close to it. It was not a betrothal that could be broken, nor was it one that he had any intention on breaking.

But this situation required a delicate touch.

“Does House Baratheon require bribery to ensure their loyalty?” He asked, trying to force some levity into his tone.

Lord Borros let out a single, hearty guffaw. “Hardly bribery when it is freely given. As it is, my House is so overcome with loyalty that we could never refuse such an offer from the Crown.”

Because who would? Aemond glanced at his daughters again, wondering which of them was the eldest. He would not marry any of them, and from the frightened looks they were casting his way, they did not wish to marry him either. They were no different from the ladies of King’s Landing who trembled any time he cast his eye over them. 

“Is this it then, boy?” Lord Borros demanded. “If we pledge allegiance to your brother, swear to him as the King, then you shall marry one of my daughters.”

No . Aemond thought. I shall never marry anyone who is not Lina.

But what was the harm in lying? Once his brother’s claim was secured, they could break the engagement without consequence. If any rebellion had already been suppressed, if Princess Rhaenyra and her family had already submitted, House Baratheon would be forced to set aside their discontentment. Yes, this would work. As soon as Aemond returned to King’s Landing, he would take his mother aside and tell her his plan. They would hold to this false betrothal until such time that they no longer needed House Baratheon, and then they would break it and he would be free to marry Aelinor. Perhaps they would even find some wealthy lord to marry one of the Baratheon girls, as a show of good faith. His mother had likely already thought of this plan, and would support him when the time came.

So Aemond gave a sharp bow of his head. “I shall do as the King wills.”

Lord Borros smiled. “Very well then. To the King!”

*************************************

As forlorn as Aelinor felt without Aemond, she was determined to make a good showing at court. If what Aemond said was true and she was not a prisoner, then she needed to act as a guest. She would not remain in her chamber sulking and hiding as the Hightowers schemed against her family. No, she would not allow them that privacy. If they could move freely through the castle, then so could she.

Still, it took her until nearly midday to work up the courage and prepare herself to leave her rooms. Dressing herself without Jeyne was not a struggle, but she was not skilled enough to manage her hair, so she settled on a simple braid with her dragon hair pin at the crown of her head. Her dress was a plain gown in sleek black velvet, the long sleeves decorated at the elbow by thin silver bands. A mourning gown, for the death of her grandfather, with just enough ornamentation to show her standing.

She was a princess of House Targaryen. The daughter of the rightful queen. And she would not be made to hide.

The guards stood to attention when she opened her door, twin looks of confusion on their faces.

“Princess?”

Aelinor clasped her hands in front of her, the picture of a proper princess. “I am going for a walk. I assume you both will be accompanying me?”

“We…have been told to escort you, Princess.”

They had been told to keep an eye on her, more likely, but she didn’t care. They wouldn’t stop her, and that was what mattered.

She started down the hallway, keeping a brisk but casual pace that kept the guards following just a few steps behind her. The corridors were empty, an uneasy quiet filling the halls as she realized that far too many of the rooms she passed were vacant. Where had their occupants gone? Fled in the chaos? Imprisoned? Or worse?

The thought was one that could have sent her spiraling, so Aelinor once again focused on her goals. She must get her bearings and try to understand what was happening at court. She could not be useful to anyone, not even herself, if she was clueless as to what was going on. As she walked, her second goal would be to find someone who could help her find Jeyne. Not only was it not appropriate for her to not have a chaperone or a maid, but Aelinor did not like to think of any member of her household being treated unkindly. She had hope that Jeyne had simply been reassigned, perhaps told to work in the kitchens until she could be returned to Aelinor’s service. Whatever the answer might be, Aelinor would find it.

As she approached the center of the Keep and the main gathering halls, she slowly found herself surrounded by more and more nobles. They huddled in small groups, many of them with shoulders hunched or red rimmed eyes. Too many of them were wearing mourning black, and more than a few wore Hightower green. All of them turned to look as she passed, with only a few remembering to bow in greeting. 

Aelinor did not pretend with niceties as she had when she first arrived, and did not grace them with so much as a nod. They did not deserve it. The frequency of the color green, and the fact that these people were still alive, all but confirmed that they had declared for Aegon. And Aelinor would not treat with oathbreakers.

“Princess.” A voice said from behind her, and she watched as expressions of alarm spread through the crowd.

She turned slowly, keeping a mask of indifference on her face. “Lord Larys.”

The lord in question stood behind her, wearing a black doublet with a dark green undershirt, pinned in place with a small bee-shaped broach. His cane was clasped in both hands, and that same unnerving smile was painted on his face.

“I admit, Princess, I did not expect to see you today.” 

“No?” She kept her tone light. “I thought to take a walk. I found my chambers rather…confining.”

“I’m sure,” He hummed, his gaze scanning her from head to toe. “I’m sure you are lonely with Prince Aemond being gone. Perhaps I might offer my company?”

She would rather die. “That is not necessary nor suitable, Lord Larys.” She said quickly. “I would sooner keep company with the ladies of the court, though I do not see as many familiar faces as I would have expected.”

“As you can imagine, recent events have been divisive.” Lord Larys smiled.

“Evidently.” She wanted to turn and walk away, yet she knew that Lord Larys had the ear of the Queen, and as such likely had many of the answers she sought.

A guard walked up to Lord Larys, leaning down to speak in a low tone. “Lord Larys, you are needed in the dungeons.”

“The dungeons?” Aelinor said sharply. “I should not think the dungeons would require the attentions of a lord of your standing.” She spoke loudly, her words setting off an uncomfortable murmur in the gather nobles.

“As it is, we find our cells rather crowded at the moment.” Lord Larys said. “I must excuse myself.”

“You are not excused, Lord Larys.” Aelinor declared. She was a princess, after all, and it would be a grave insult for him to turn his back on her. She saw a muscle tick in Lord Larys’ jaw, and his tongue darted out to lick the corner of his lips. 

“I am looking for my maid,” She said. “Her name is Jeyne and I understand she was detained the night of the King’s death. I want her returned to me.”

Lord Larys clicked his tongue. “Then I am afraid I must disappoint you, Princess.”

“I am prepared to go to the Queen,” Aelinor said. “She would not deny me my maid.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that she would not deny you a maid,” He tilted his head. “But alas, your maid, and all that remained of the Princess Rhaenyra’s household, have already been executed as suspected spies.”

A deathly silence fell over the hall.

“Executed?” Aelinor breathed, her chest feeling too tight. “When?”

“Yesterday evening, Princess, on the orders of the Hand.” Lord Larys bowed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

This time she did not protest, letting him walk away and leave her in her barely concealed grief.

Yesterday . 

While she had been dining with Aemond, worrying over how she was going to miss him and how she would survive the confines of this new court, Otto Hightower had ordered that Jeyne be murdered. Who else? She was ashamed to realize that she did not know the names of the grooms who had remained to care for Darrax, or the tailor and stewards who had remained to help her get settled, before returning to their own families on Dragonstone in the coming weeks. They would never get the chance to return now. Was it her fault? Instead of eating dinner in the gardens and wallowing in her own grief, she should have been demanding their safe return, fighting for them. That was her duty, and she had failed them.

People were dead, and she hadn’t been able to stop it.

And she had a terrible feeling that this was only the beginning.

************************************

Lucerys Velaryon was here.

This complicated things. The boy was soaked to the bone, but kept from shivering as he walked into the hall. Aemond held back, just out of view of his nephew. 

After delivering his message, Aemond had been offered a meal, which decorum had forced him to take. He had been preparing to leave, unwilling to spend anymore time away from Aelinor, when word came that Vermax had landed in the courtyard.

Lucerys’ eyes were scanning the crowd, unease clouding his features. No doubt he had seen Vhagar outside the castle, and he would be looking for Aemond to be somewhere within these halls.

“Lord Borros,” Lucerys announced, his voice impressively powerful. “I bring a message from my mother, The Queen.”

Lord Borros let out a huff of amusement. “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the King. Which is it, King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Aemond stepped forward, a smirk pulling at his lips when Lucerys’ eyes widened. The bastard had not expected to be beaten in this game of diplomacy, and Aemond wondered whether the boy had the mettle needed to best him. 

But Lord Borros’ words were not to be borne. How dare he question the House of the Dragon? It was for exactly that reason that this uncertainty must be squashed as quickly as possible, lest the power of their House be questioned. 

Lucerys handed over his missive, and the maester hurried forward to read it. Aemond smirked as Lord Borros scoffed.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” He shook his head. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids, which of my daughters will you marry, boy?”

Lucerys swallowed. “My lord, I am not free to marry. And I am already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands?”

“King Aegon is already married,” Lucerys said. “Does he claim to set aside his wife for your daughters?”

Aemond saw what he was trying to do, attempting to sow distrust into their brand new alliance. It was smart, something that Aemond himself would have tried to do.

“The offer is from his brother and envoy, Prince Aemond.” Lord Borros gestured to where Aemond waited. “So you come empty handed, boy.”

Lucerys turned to look at Aemond, confusion coloring his face. Aemond kept his expression neutral.

“This cannot be, My Lord,” Lucerys said hesitantly. “For I know Prince Aemond to be betrothed to my sister, Aelinor Velaryon. Unless…he has broken this engagement?”

Aemond heard the question he did not speak. Where is my sister?

The irritating thing was that Lucerys was right. Aemond could never cast Aelinor aside, but for the sake of his family, he must pretend that he was willing to do so. 

So he squared his shoulders and said, “Princess Aelinor is the daughter of a traitor. I do as my King wills.”

Lucerys shook his head incredulously. “Then you are an oathbreaker, and as unworthy of my sister as you ever were.”

He turned back to Lord Borros, offering a polite bow. “I shall take your response to the Queen, my Lord.”

Unworthy .

You are unworthy of my sister .

“Wait, my Lord Strong,” Aemond stepped forward. “Did you really think you could fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost.”

Lucerys tensed. “I will not fight you. I come as a messenger, not as a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond said, anger simmering in his blood. “No, I want you to put out your eye.”

There were gasps from those gathered in the hall.

“As payment for mine,” He continued, relishing in how Lucerys backed away. “One will serve. I will not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

“No!” Lucerys shouted.

“Then you are craven as well as traitor.” Aemond ripped off his eye patch, letting the bastard see exactly what he had lived with. “Perhaps I should hold your hand in the fire, as you once did to your sister.”

“Do not speak of my sister!” Lucerys stepped forward with surprising boldness. “You who have never deserved her loyalty, nor her love. Where is she? Is she a prisoner in your Keep? Have you killed her already to make room for your new bride?”

“Give me your eye!” Aemond roared.

“I shall give you nothing!” Lucerys shouted. “I come as an envoy. But know this, Usurper, if Aelinor has come to any harm by your hand, you shall not know peace.”

“Who shall bring that vengeance, bastard?” Aemond seethed. “You? Your brother? You are no match for me.”

“Where is my sister?” Lucerys demanded.

“Your eye!” Aemond reached for his sword.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros ordered. “Someone escort Lucerys Velaryon back to his dragon. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.”

Lucerys cast one last glare Aemond’s way, before following the guards out of the hall.

Aemond’s chest heaved, his blood boiling with rage. Who was Lucerys to question his love for Aelinor? To suggest that he had hurt her? She stayed in the Red Keep for her own safety, and no matter that his family considered her a hostage, she was still his betrothed. 

But that bastard conspired to take his brother’s throne, to take Aelinor away from him.

No, Aemond would not make it that easy for him. 

And he followed Lucerys out of the hall.

**************************************

Aelinor was surprised when the guards allowed her to visit Helaena’s chambers. The Queen’s chambers, as they called it, because her husband was now King. It was nearly laughable. When the door was opened and Aelinor saw her aunt sitting on the chaise, a hoop of needlework in her lap and a vacant expression on her face as she watched her children play on the ground, she thought that she had never seen anyone less queen-like than Helaena.

And it was not a slight against her aunt, or at least, she did not think it was. Helaena was a gentle soul, ill-suited for Aegon and the politics of court. She wondered if her aunt had had any idea of the plot to steal her mother’s throne, or if Helaena was just an unwitting passenger in the scheme.

“Aelinor,” Helaena did not look away from her children. “You’re here.”

“I am,” Aelinor looked over her shoulder, waiting until the guards had closed the door behind her. “I am shocked that they will leave me in your company, considering we are apparently enemies.”

“Are we?” Helaena mused. “No one told me.”

“Nor me.” Aelinor went and sat next to her aunt. Leaning over, she studied the embroidery in the hoop. A tangled dark mess, with a single red thread knotted throughout. Not quite messy enough to be a mistake, and yet far too cluttered to be art. But her aunt had never held a particularly clear mind, and these were not easy times.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were playing with wooden blocks on the ground, seemingly unbothered by the tense atmosphere. 

“They’re growing well,” Aelinor said. “They take after you.”

“Do they?” Helaena tilted her head. “I hope not.”

That hurt Aelinor’s heart, to think that her aunt might not see that she was a lovely person. She reached across to take Helaena’s hand, but her aunt flinched away. Aelinor tried not to let that sting, remembering how her aunt had never enjoyed being touched.

“I’m so scared, Helaena,” she whispered, knowing that she could trust her aunt to keep her secret. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you think you should do?” Helaena tore her gaze from the children, an unreadable expression in her eyes.

“I’ve no idea,” Aelinor sighed. “Aemond wants me to stay with him, and I do not wish to leave him, but how can I stay here? I…I cannot pretend to be something I’m not. I won’t.”

“Nor should you.” Helaena said. “You are more of your family than you know.”

It took her a moment to decode that statement. “Yes, I have often been told that I have all of my mother’s stubbornness. Perhaps that will serve me well here, give me the strength to stay true to what I know to be right.”

How did Helaena feel, knowing that Aelinor considered her husband to be a usurper? Did it bother her? Sometimes she thought that Helaena existed in a different world entirely, too distracted to be bothered by their family politics, so long as they never touched her.

“You are your father too.” Helaena’s voice was ice cold.

Aelinor froze. “What do you mean?”

“You will see, before the end.” Helaena sighed. “We all will.”

Aelinor was nothing like Prince Daemon. He was cruel, ruthless, the type of man who sowed chaos and blood everywhere he went. She could never be like that.

“You should go,” Helaena said suddenly.

“What?”

“You should go,” Helaena repeated. “It's for the best.”

“Oh, alright.” Aelinor stood, brushing out her skirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, perhaps?”

Helaena shrugged, picking up her needle and thread. Aelinor took that as a dismissal, and Helaena started humming as she left the room. It was only when she was nearly back to her chambers that she recognized the tune Helana had been humming as one she had heard many years ago, a disturbing verse from her aunt’s lips. 

“Blood and bars and iron. Blood and bars and iron.”

****************************

The sun was setting when someone began to pound on her door. She nearly froze in terror, remembering that night only a few days ago when the guards had come to take her away. Had they learned that she went to see Helaena? Had the hand finally ordered that she be thrown in the dungeons, or worse?

“Lina!” A frantic voice came from the other side. “Open the door!”

It was Aemond. She hurried to unlatch the door, and he tumbled inside.

Her first thought was that he looked unwell. His face was paler than normal, a slight tremble to his flesh, and his hair still is disarray as if he had come right from the Dragonpit.

“When did you return?” She asked, grasping his arms. “Was there….everything went alright?”

He didn’t respond. “Come, we must go.”

“Go?” She asked. “What do you mean?”

“Come.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her from the room. Her guards were gone from the hall, and she wondered if he had sent them away. 

“Aemond, where are we going?” She asked. “What happened?”

He turned and pressed a finger to her lips. “I beg you, please, please stay quiet. We don’t have long before they realize I’m back.”

Did no one else know he was here? Why was he sneaking around? Aelinor had a million questions, but she did as he asked and refrained from speaking as he led her down the stairs and out into the courtyard. He peered through the door, and once he deemed the coast was clear they hurried toward where is white horse was secured to a pole.

“Where are we going?” Aelinor whispered. “I’m not dressed for—”

“There’s no time,” He insisted, spinning. With an easy motion he grasped her around the waist and lifted her into the front of the saddle, swinging up behind her. 

“We can’t just— Her words died in her throat as he kicked the horse into a gallop and she had to grasp the saddle to stay seated. He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other holding the reins as the stallion thundered through the open gates and down into the city.

Aelinor was not dressed for a ride. She wore the same black down she had worn all day with a simple hair pin, and now her hair was fluttering around her face as her skirt exposed her lower legs. Though, she supposed there was no cause to be outraged. They did not pass any guards as they passed into the city, and then they moved so fast that the smallfolk they passed seemed little more than a blur.

Aemond’s hand kept an iron grip on her waist, and she let herself settle back even as unease crept through her. She was certain that she was not supposed to leave the Keep, which meant that Aemond was purposefully doing something forbidden. Why? And had he only just returned from Storm’s End? Surely he should have gone first to the King and to his mother, but instead he had come to her.

They rode for what felt like an hour before they began to climb the hill to the Dragonpit. Aelinor’s mouth dropped open as they passed mounts of crumbled stone, some of them still stained with blood. The broken bodies of the dead had already been cleared away. Aemond pulled his horse to a heel at what had once been the gates, jumping to the ground and pulling her down nearly as quickly.

“Aemond, what are we…”

“Prince Aemond,” One of the Dragonkeepers appeared. “He is ready.” 

“Good.” Aemond tossed a small purse to the man, who slunk back into the shadows without a word.

“Did you just bribe him?” Aelinor demanded. “Aemond, what is happening?”

It was growing dark now, dark shadows cutting across his face. “You’re leaving.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You need to leave,” He repeated. “They have readied Darrax. If you leave now no one will be able to catch you before you make it to Dragonstone.”

She shook her head, even as hope fluttered in her veins. “What do you mean? Not two days ago you were insisting that I stay with you.”

“Things have changed,” He said. “Things are…I think things will get worse. I will not have you here when that happens.”

Understanding dawned on her. Lord Borros had not agreed to Aegon’s demands. This was fear, terror as he realized that his brother would not be able to keep the throne. 

Aelinor should have been happy. She did not wish for Aegon’s campaign to be successful. But Aemond…he was clearly terrified.

“I shall go to my family,” She said quickly. “I shall speak for you. We shall have peace, Aemond, I know it.” Her mother was far more rational than the Hightowers, and she could sway Daemon into cooperation. There need not be bloodshed.

Aemond shook his head. “You…you need to go, before it’s too late.”

Aelinor realized that he thought he was saying goodbye to her, perhaps for ever. She could not believe that it was true, and yet she had to acknowledge that things seemed terribly uncertain.

She lifted her hands to cup his face, “Aemond.”

“Please,” His voice broke. “You must go. Before…”

Before? Before what?

“Aemond Targaryen,” She forced her voice to be strong. “This is not the end for us. I have loved you all my life, and I will see you again. I swear it.”

A strangled sound escaped his throat. One of his hands dug around in his tunic, removing a small velvet bag. With shaking hands, he held it out to her.

“What is this?” She asked, taking it from him.

He glanced around. “It…it’s for you. Please…”

She wasn’t sure if he was asking her to hurry, or what he might be asking. But she carefully undid the strings, turning the back over her palm.

A small pendant slid into her hand. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but when she lifted it she could see that it was a small blue gem set in gold, a spiderweb-thin gold chain hanging from it.

“Oh Aemond,” She gasped. “It’s beautiful. Is it…” She gasped loudly as she recognized the gem. 

“My…it’s my sapphire!” She gasped. “Your eye?”

He swallowed. “When they cut it to fit my eye, I had them keep that piece. I had it made for you years ago, and I was just waiting to give it to you at the right moment. But now I…”

Now he did not think that there ever would be a right moment. No, Aelinor could not let that stand.

She lifted the pendant over her head, the chain long enough that the sapphire slipped under the front of her dress, coming to rest between her breasts. “Thank you, Aemond.”

But he was shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“We will have more time.” She promised, wrapping her arms around him. “Won’t we?”

He didn’t answer.

A familiar screech sounded from the Dragonpit, and she smiled as Darrax crawled forward. His dark scales glistened in the fading light, and he let out a soft coo when he saw her.

“Aemond?” She turned to him, still waiting on his answer. 

He surged forward, pulling her tightly to his chest and kissing her with furious energy. Aelinor didn’t care that they were in public, that any of the dragon keepers might see them. She just melted into him, dimly aware of tears sliding down both of their faces. She could have stayed that way for an eternity, happily starved of oxygen if it meant that they need not be parted.

But Aemond pulled away, his hands tracing over her face. “You need to go. Please.”

She nodded shakily. “Alright, I’ll go.”

With more strength than she thought she had, she tore herself away. Darrax chirped when she grew near, dutifully dipping his shoulder for her to climb into the saddle. It was not easy in her gown, but she managed to settle herself and secure the straps around her thighs. Once she had the reins in her hand, she turned to look at Aemond.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” She asked.

Aemond gave a jerky nod. “Of course.”

“Good.” Her throat grew tight. “I’ll miss you.”

He pressed his eyes closed, nodding again. “I shall miss you as well.” 

If she didn’t leave now, she wasn’t sure that she would ever find the strength. “Goodbye, Aemond.”

“Goodbye, Lina.” He stepped back, giving Darrax room to spread his wings.

Aelinor opened her mouth, the words catching in her throat. She took a deep breath. “Darrax, Soves! ”

With a loud screech, Darrax lunged forward, diving off the side of the hills. For a few terrifying moments she was in freefall, and then his wings caught the wind and carried them toward the sky.

*******************************

Dawn was breaking when she sighed Dragonstone. They had flown through the night, Darrax having to work twice as hard to avoid the harsh winds sweeping the coast. She suspected that they had missed the worst of the storm, yet her fingers were still frozen by the time she saw land.

Screams rose from the island as she circled low, aiming for the courtyard. Guards piled into the small space, narrowly avoiding being crushed by Darrax as they landed.

“State your purpose!” Someone yelled. Swords were drawn, reminding Aelinor that this was not a happy homecoming.

“I am Princess Aelinor Velaryon!” She shouted, dismounting as gracefully as she could. “Take me to the Queen!”

She had never thought that she would be so happy to see Dragonstone, but to see the halls filled with familiar faces, to know that she was not about to be arrested or murdered was enough to have her fighting back a grin.

She was escorted the the Great Hall, surprised to find it filled with people.

“Princess Aelinor Velaryon!” Someone announced.

Aelinor stepped forward, scanning the faces. Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, Baela, Rhaena. No Jace or Luc. At the head of the table, her mother sat in a chair with Prince Daemon by her side.

Not forgetting the new order of things, Aelinor dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“Come from King’s Landing?” Prince Daemon asked.

There was a heavy feeling in the air, one that made Aelinor wish to curl up into herself.

“Yes, I flew through the night.” Aelinor said, turning to Princess Rhaenys. “I was glad to hear of your escape, Princess.”

“And I am surprised to learn of yours,” Princess Rhaenys said.

“I had assistance.” Aelinor said, deciding not to betray that it was Aemond who had helped her.

Disliking the atmosphere, Aelinor stepped around the stone table, making her toward her mother.

“Mother?” Rhaenyra did not rise to greet her, her face pale and stricken.

Aelinor cast a glare at the crowd, and most of them averted her eyes. She knelt next to her mother’s chair. The gold crown on her head sat low on her brow, and there were salt marks down her cheeks.

With a start, Aelinor realized that she was no longer pregnant. “The babe?” She asked quietly, her voice breaking.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No. She is gone.”

She. Aelinor had lost a sister.

She reached for her mother’s hand, and Rhaenyra took it, giving her daughter’s hand a squeeze. “I have missed you, Mother.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed together, as if she were trying for a smile and failing. Something was wrong.

Aelinor looked around, noting the absences from the table. “Where are Jace and Luc?”

“Jacaerys flies North,” her father said, “ To summon the banners to your mother’s cause.”

Jace was well-suited to diplomacy, and Aelinor had no doubt that he would do well. “And Luc?”

Rhaenyra made a broken sound, and Aelinor felt her stomach drop. “What is it?”

Prince Daemon’s fingers tightened over the hilt of his sword. “Prince Lucerys was sent as an envoy to Storm’s End.”

Aelinor was going to be sick.

“And word reached us before we fished his remains out of the sea.” Prince Daemon finished.

“No,” Aelinor breathed. “No, it cannot be.”

“Lucerys is dead,” Rhaenyra choked out. “Murdered.”

“Murdered.” Aelinor shook her head. “This is not possible.”

She rose shakily to her feat, feeling as though the world was falling out from under her. 

“Don’t forget the most important part,” Prince Daemon leveled his gaze at Aelinor, and she knew what he was going to say even before he spoke. “His murderer, the one who they say hunted him through the halls and pursued him into a storm.”

“Please, no.” Aelinor begged.

“Your brother was killed by Aemond Targaryen.”

Aelinor’s world shattered.

#hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #game of thrones #lady of the ashes #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #aemond x oc

[dangara2610]

(4/10) Alive Ulla - Part 5

Have a nice day you all 🧬🍁🍎🖼️🧫🍎🧭🧭🍁🍎☀️🧪🍇🧭🍁🧫🌾🍎🍁🧭☀️

Here I am, once again, trying to get this done before I get distracted again, but as you can see I am easily distracted.

Right now, I mean, two weeks ago, I used that feature "voice to text converter", so you might see some words wrongly chosen.

I'll try to correct everything before posting, but if I am in a hurry, it will get confusing as always.

Back to the post 📯👾⚗️🧪

Next thing I imagined was all these happening :

Donella on her own - Part 1

A.1 Donella finished her school regulation with great success, no graduation , also she was sick and tired of the environment she got, so she thanked the Faber family and got back to her native land Ingvarr.

Now being older and wised , she noticed the actual state of this place.

A.2 I kind of imagined this Kingdom fell into a vicious economic cycle because of the following factors:

A.2.1. Maybe Ingvarr is supposed to relate to real history of England colonizing Iran, but the great difference that the native Iranian Royal family survived the wars and won. (On a post, there was told how Ingvarr was inspired on Persian culture)

So instead of getting a colonization by europeans with overexploitation of minery and land, we got a kind of "Mercy agreement" about letting english kingdom to stay, but not as slaves or war prisoners, but as employs.

A.2.2 Yet ,they still got some wary sentiment, becoming racists, so they didn't let these people to afford too much, they would work a lot but earn little.

Ingvarr royals rised the prices of the school materials, building materials and groseries on purpose, it would look fair because they would actually bring the best of the best from far away lands, cheap things were not on sale.

Only the owners of the mines, of the lands, war veterans, teachers and birth certificated original families of Ingvarr would be able to buy these goods.

A.2.3 Then, what would the citizens/migrants habitants of Ingvarr would buy with their payment?

After each shift of work they get their meals, so no hungry at the streets (unless you got unemployed ) , as well the work uniform, the money would be for paying the entrance and exit of the big doors, outside each town, specially outside the kingdom, buy your way out and way in.

A.2.4 Mothers and kids usually had not an employ, so, forgotten by the royals, the payment would be saved for them, the workers would hide some food and sell it, get some old clothes and adapt them.

That's why they had too much hurry into making kids have a skill to join the mines, children labor became a common thing.

A.2.3 Kids who wanted to play and have some freedom would get expulsed from the mines, having to face the fury of their parents, what would happen next?

Them trying again but stopping playing around to help the family finances, or maybe get away, becoming children of the streets.

A.3 After looking around a while, Donella entered the Royals section, so fancy and full of military, mostly women, children playing on the park, scholars getting out from their building, a colorful market, lots of houses with unique architecture, until reaching the palace.

A.4 She asked for a meeting with the head of maids, she wanted to join, the guards asked her to wait , the call would be sent, they followed protocol, after some hours she got invited in for a work interview.

Donella presented herself, showed her certificate of studies and named her skills, of course, the head of the maids made racists comments, thankfully, those got drowned down after she made intelectual comebaks, impressed, they would welcome her to the maids team, along with warnings about harsh punishments in case of bad behavior.

She as the reserved and hard faced woman she is, agreed with a humble speech and a promise of hardwork.

A.5 She had a plan and she was going to follow it

5.1 Endure, no need to make friends or earn someone else's trust, just be the one doing a good job, so she won't get fired.

5.2 Hide trinkets, coins and anything valuable, hide it on the trash and save them for later, as a way to do "ant robbery" , unnoticeable and slow.

5.3 Once she gets to clean military gear, memorize designs, so she would make a imitation of them, next, improve them, then, sell it , to the royals or to other kingdoms, that depends on the future circumstances.

A.6 Her first big mistake, not getting true private storable spaces, so she would need to get a lock to shut her notebook with the designs, materialize the improves would have to wait.

A.7 Of course, the racism and commenting behind her back were stressful, so she lost concentration and talked back, getting caught on a cat figth with another maid, of course, she wouldn't win, she knew she was bound to apologize but decided she wouldn't add to the humillation and let them decide a punishment for this unsubordination

A.8 Work on the stables for a whole week, of course she made a great job on the castle staff doing the cleaning chores, but people here were loyal to their warnings, she would meet here lots ....

Oups , I run out of time, let's be faster :

Donella met lots of male Persian/Iranian guys

One of them was Cyrus

Both wanted more money and power

Cyrus was supposed to be one of the grandsons of the veterans, a live of riches not as secured as the grandsons of the owners of the mines, so , he needed to start his own business

He liked Donella plans, so he would make her his business partner in secret

He was the one presenting the improves to the weaponry house, so he got the credit and the payment.

Donella and Cyrus got their first salary, she wants to go to the market but Cyrus insist he must be the one saving the money or , it would be suspicious if a maid of the palace suddenly has a lot of coins or new products on her bedroom or pockets.

Donella feels robbed and untrustful , but each time Cyrus carry her to his place to work, he showes her how her money had been untouched, reminding her about how , once they have enough, they're going to move from this kingdom somewhere they can be richer and more free.

Her punishment finished and she came back to the indoors chores

Some other Persian guy from the stables came to the headmaster of the maids and asked for Donella, eager to buy the "adote" of her and marry her.

The maids in the castle divided into the ones congratulating her and wanting to be friends as fast as possible, so they could get invited to the wedding, and the ones who would get angry at how unfair this was and how she doesn't deserved this, so they would secretly sabotage her way, scare her with the disvantages of being the wife of a Ingvarr men, and tell the soon to be bride how a bad woman she was.

The headmaster of the maids, as protocoled, started an investigation about who were Donella parents, so this guy could pay his adote to them.

Donella of course was furious, this guy was going to ruin her way to a live of riches and freedom... Or what if not? Maybe she would take advantage of this.

Cyrus contacted her on the night, informing her about how this guy spyed them and wanted to steal her away from him, so he would be the one getting the new business afloat, that guy is no a dumb searching a pretty woman.

Donella tells Cyrus that, as far as it seems, she can get her objectives with this new guy as with Cyrus, so , what can he offer for her to choose and get more benefits?

He added he would make sure she would not only work for this business and then get locked like this other guy like to do with his employees, total freedom for going all the Seven Kingdoms if she likes, as long as both get their money

She liked it, both knew they couldn't say "no" to a men buying a wife and stay as they were, so, both played dumb while making preparations to move.

Cyrus buyed her a uniform similar to the one he usually wear, so she could leave the maid one on the bedroom, the clothes were expensive and she could get an unnecessary problem with the local police if she didn't give it back to her boss.

She payed her way out to the door guard, leaved a letter about quitting.

Now, Donella and Cyrus would-

Oups, I have to go, seee you next time , thanks for reading 🍎🌲🪷🌿🎊🥝🌀🌷🍡✨❄️🌸🍡❄️💐🧬✨🌤️🪩🌤️🧬🧪🌤️🧬🎹🍎❄️🍡🎹🧬🎹🌤️🍊🧪🧬🌤️🍊❄️🍡✨❄️✨🍡🥝🥭🍉🥭🌠🎊🌠🎊🌀🌿🍓🌳🧬🍎🧬✨🍒🍒✨🧬💐

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#varian #tangled varian #tts varian #varian the alchemist #varian tts #rta varian #rapunzels tangled adventure #varian and the seven kingdoms #hugo vat7k #vat7k #vat7k donella #donella vat7k #vat7k cyrus #cyrus vat7k #vat7k ulla #ulla vat7k

[jaxteller87]

my sunshine (teenage years)

Jax's POV:

Leaving the school grounds that day felt like I was escaping a prison, even though I had stayed long enough to make it technically count as a full day of attendance. The whole idea of school had lost its charm for me a long time ago, and my thoughts were constantly pulled in other directions – like the club, my family, and the unpredictable paths life seemed to carve out for me. But today was different; today held a weight that I couldn't ignore, no matter how strong the club's pull might be.

The bail was tempting – just ride out, hit the open road, and let the wind carry me away from all of this. But Gemma and Amber's mother insisted I go to school, probably fearing that sitting around the hospital waiting room would drive me insane. Given the rough situation in Charming and the ongoing tensions with rival clubs, they might've been right, so I reluctantly agreed.

Today was the day of Amber's shunt replacement surgery. Amber, the girl who had become an anchor in my life amidst the chaos of SAMCRO. She deserved all the support in the world, especially from me. And so, after a morning of restless fidgeting through classes, I found myself at St. Thomas Hospital.

After forty-five minutes of wandering around like a nomad, I finally found my way to the front desk. The receptionist pointed me in the right direction – down the bright, white hallway, past room 109, around the corner, last door on the left.

Standing outside her door, I looked in through the window. There they were, Amber's parents, flanking her on either side of the bed where she lay peacefully asleep. My emotions welled up within me – accompanied by an overwhelming sense of wanting to be there for her.

And then, unexpectedly, a gentle melody filled the air. It was Kim, Amber's mom.

You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You'll never know, dear How much I love you Please don't take My sunshine away

I remained outside the room momentarily, just watching. The connection between Amber and her parents was strong, and I couldn't help but feel like an outsider looking in. But I wasn't just an outsider; I was someone who cared deeply for Amber, someone who had found solace and companionship in her company.

As Kim continued to sing, I gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, the soft creaking of the steel door unnoticed amidst the melody. Our eyes met – Amber's, a mixture of surprise and relief, and mine, a silent reassurance that I was there for her.

Taking a seat, I settled beside the bed, my hand finding hers beneath the sheets. And there, amidst the beeping monitors and lingering smell of antiseptic, we sat together – a biker from SAMCRO and a girl from a different world – bound by circumstances that had drawn us together.

"I'm heading out to grab a drink," her dad said, "Do you want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks," I replied, "How's she holding up?" I inquired softly, my fingers gently combing through Amber's hair.

"She's doing well. She had a bit of trouble waking up from the anesthesia, but she's alright now. The doctor mentioned she might be able to head home tomorrow," I continued.

"Really? They just cracked open her skull, and she's ready to head home?" I asked.

"Yep," Kim replied with a chuckle. "The surgery wasn't as severe as when Amber was just a baby. Medical advancements have come a long way."

As Amber's eyelids fluttered open, I silently repeated to myself, "Hang in there, darlin'. You've got this."

"There she is," Kim said softly.

Amber's POV:

The world slowly came into focus, and I met my mother's comforting smile as I awakened.

"Teller," I whispered, my hand reaching out for his. He gladly clasped it in his own, a smile playing on his lips.

"Look at you with the cutest mohawk I've ever seen," he chuckled.

"Thank you," I whispered back, straining to smile.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, his lips brushing a gentle kiss on my hand.

"Maybe a drink? If that's alright," I looked to my mom for approval.

"Sure, sweetheart," she nodded.

"Here you go," he said, handing me the drink with a reassuring smile as I took a sip.

"Thank you," I tried my best, struggling to keep my eyes open against the pull of sleep.

"It's alright, darlin'. You can rest now. I'll be right here," his soothing words reassured me, and I knew everything would be alright.

Jax's POV:

Gemma and I were making preparations for Amber's return home. Both of us had shared doubts about how soon she could be released, but low and behold, the moment was upon us.

"Welcome home," we beamed as Tim wheeled Amber into the house.

Tim lifted her gently and set her on the sofa, "Thanks, Dad," she smiled.

"Thank you both," Kim added.

"No problem at all, Kim. You guys are family," Gemma assured her.

"Jax, if it's alright with everyone, could you stick around for a while?" Amber yawned, glancing my way.

"I'm good with it, but Kim, if I overstay my welcome, say the word, and I'm gone," I chuckled.

"Thank you," Amber smiled sleepily, resting her head on my lap.

Over the next few weeks, I found myself spending a significant amount of time at Amber's place, assisting her mom and being there for her.

One night, I woke up to the sensation of a blanket being draped over me. "Jax, it's alright," Kim whispered. "You can stay the night." She turned off the lights in the living room, leaving me in the recliner while Amber rested on the sofa.

A few days later, Amber and I found ourselves at "Burgers and Sweets," She needed a change of scenery after being cooped up at home.

"Well, well, look who decided to join us," I teased, noticing Opie and Donna walking toward us from the parking lot.

Opie laughed. "Well, hello there, sweetcheeks."

"Come on, Ope, I thought we agreed, not in front of the ladies," I joked.

"It's only a matter of time until they find out about us," Ope whispered, but loud enough so we could all hear it.

"Cat's out of the bag, guys," Donna smirks, "We've known for years."

"What? Really?" I laughed.

"What gave us away? Was it the way my heart melts whenever Jackson Teller walks into a room?" Opie took my hand, but I quickly took it back.

"Alright, Ope, you're scaring me," I replied.

"Uh oh," Amber chimed in, "Looks like the honeymoon's over."

            "How you doin', girl?" Donna asked, sitting next to Amber.

"I'm getting these stitches and staples out this week," She remarked, scratching her head through her hat.

Later that day, after our ice cream outing, I accompanied Amber home as I could see her running out of steam pretty quickly. She needed her rest, so as I placed her on the sofa to get some rest, I gently tilted her chin back and leaned in for a kiss. She giggled as I did, her arms wrapping around my neck.

"I love you," I chuckled softly.

"Love you too, Teller," she giggled back, sealing the moment with a kiss.

#jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x disabled reader

[cryptidclaw]

Question for curiosity: Have you decided on Mistyfoot and her mate situation?

Honestly Blackclaw or Leopardstar as her mate is just riddled with angst on both sides.

Blackclaw abandoning her and their kits due to be being half order and watching it all happen and later roping against her.

or

Leopardstar being right and center to all of it. The reason Mistyfoot and her family are in the situation in the first place, is because her mate decided to join Tigerstar.

Their kits up for the slaughter.

Imagine how much more painful it’d be for Mistyfoot watching her former mate raising Tigerstar’s kits.

It’s also hilarious how Leopardstar loses both her wives (Mistyfoot and Sasha). Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Leopardstar was seeing Sasha on the side and Mistyfoot just not saying anything when she finds out and Sasha is brought into the order.

Also, Have you decided on if Primrosepaw and Pikepaw could live? or Reedwhisker since I didn’t see him in your River order post.

They’d definitely have some kind of injuries. All of the cats held in the prison should have some kind of injury or heavy scarring because you can’t tell me they were only shoved in a den.

Like, blind in one or both eyes or twisted legs.

ok wait, the Leopardstar idea is actually so good and angsty! I love it!

I think Blackclaw can be Misty and Leopard's donor, so double angst bec moth Leopard and Blackclaw basically abandon her and her kits after she is found out to be half Order!

I think in RoC Leopard is very obsessed with how the Order sees her and how she is respected, so she is constantly acting in ways that will get her respect and help her raise in the ranks.

Leopard saw that Misty was beautiful and a great warrior, very respected in the Order and because of this Leopard fell in love how great and powerful they could be together. They had their kits with Blackclaw as a donor because Leopard definitely wanted her kits to be pure Order even if donors from outside the Orders were allowed, and she wanted a strong, powerful and well respected tom as the donor!

When Leopard found out that Misty was half Order she was horrified, she was mates with a half Order cat! she immediately left Misty and pretty much abandoned her kits because she was terrified of what the Order would think of her, and she knew she would loose power and respect if she stayed by their side.

I think Leopard just went down hill from there, maybe she was even more motivated to join with Tiger because she wanted to prove that she was allied with his anti- half Order ideals. She also wants to prove that she can make River Order even more powerful!

She still secretly gets with Sasha because she doesnt actually hate outsiders as much as she hated how the her reputation could be ruined by being close to them.

I think after Tiger is kicked out, Leopard sees that River Order is quickly becoming very against the Orders' xenophobia due to them being horrified by what happened to their Order due to it, so Leopard decides to make Misty her deputy to be like "look! Im not like Tigerstar! Plz forgive me". She also randomly lets her new loner/ ex-kittypet wife into the clan bec she feels like that could possibly work in her favor at this point, plus she can get away with it now bec she's leader.

I also like the idea of Misty's other kits surviving, or at least more than in canon? I honestly just got confused an couldn't figure out when Misty's kits were born so I didnt at them to the allegiances lol. I like the idea of Primrosepaw surviving though! I really like her name! Plus maybe she can carry on the Misty bloodline! hmmm what would her name be... Primrosethorn could actually be pretty cool...

alsoo the idea that the cats in prison at the time where left with injuries is sooo good.... I will ponder thissss, I might give Feathertail and Stormfur something like that too!

#cryptid answers #cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Imagine: Alexi finding you right after getting out of prison

you were the Only women the Red guardian ever Loved. Being  A black widow you worked closely with Alexei in the beginning of his new life with having the same Surem in him that Captain America had. Unlike Steve Rogers, Alexei didn’t waste time telling the women he loved. that he was head over heels in love with you. the first time Alexei told you that he loved you. you were both in Germany. you just finished knocking out a guard and Alexei without thinking blurted out that he was madly in love with you. you just laughed not taking him seriously. and went on with the mission. 

after that night. he asked if you loved him and you confessed that without reason you fell for him. and that it scared you how easily you fell for him. it was History after that. the Leader of the Red Room soon caught on to both you and Alexei and started separating your missions and ordering you both to Stay away from each other. 

it worked until Alexei was sent to America to go under cover with a wife and two daughters. Nat and Yelena. you were sent to Canada for a similar mission. however with one Son. And a bumbling Idiot of a man who was Awful..  he wasn’t cruel or violent.. but he was a bumbling idiot. he fumbled and forced you three too move multiple times. for other getting a Side Piece and bringing them home, to Fumbling and getting drunk at work events and curse and roaring off in Russian! 

it was  soon after the fourth move you found yourself driving too get a clear head from your misable Life. you couldn’t even like your “fake son” he was 15. and caused equally as much trouble. so when you found yourself. Drove too the Same state of Alexei you didn’t realize you drove to his town until you were there. and by then you figured you might as well go visit him. 

he’s ‘wife” soon noticed you. you were both in the same Red room training side by side for years as she asked what you were doing there. the truth was better then lying. she would know you were lying. ‘i needed to See Alexei... is he home?” 

He wasn’t and you spent the afternoon with Nat and Yelena telling them that you were their Auntie. Yelena believed it instantly. Nat didn’t. she was old enough to know you weren’t but you asked about their lives. and got a sense of a true family here. you weren’t surprised to hear how much of a home they made here. Alexei always craved to have a family. to have a home to call his own and kids running around and have everything he and you both were denied growing up. When Alexei came home that night after seeing you. he was breathless. stunned as you stepped over hugging him.he hugged you tightly. squeezing you too tightly ti caused you to go breathless but you loved it. you missed Every inch of your giant. 

when the girls went to bed. so did Melina went to bed early so you and Alexei could have some alone time as you both went outside to start a fire as Alexei asked what was wrong. "my family sucks..." he chuckled as you laughed softly. rubbing your face, 'My husband is a bumbling idiot. we have had to move several times. he doesn’t even pretend.. we are on our last chance.’ 

“then what?” Alexei asked as you shook your head “I go back to the Red room and wait for a new mission. I just. I didn’t realize I was coming to see you until I was in your town. I’m Sorry if i caused any issue with Melina.’ 

he shook he’s head, ‘she understands. you can stay.” you smiled weakly, knowing that wasn’t a option. ‘your girls are great. they really look up to you.” he smiled weakly as you spoke, “that Nat is going to be a heartbreaker.” he chuckled as you laughed as he spoke, “Dove what can I do to help you?” 

“We run away? all of us? live in the woods. and just be happy?” you joked as he chuckled, “Melina wouldn’t approve, she would rat us out fast.”  you chuckled nodding your head, ‘i just. I just needed to see you. talk to you. I’ll be fine. I should probably start heading back.” he nodded his head as he spoke ‘Stay the night with me?” you smiled saying of course. 

the next morning you went back home and soon after, Alexei was imprisoned, the girls were sent to the Red Room for training and Melina was working another mission. you fought for Alexei’s innocents but that didn’t happen. and you were taken from your cushion mission to more deadly ones. 

Shuffling up the stairs to your apartment. the day was Hell, you were trained in all things. from fighting to ballet, to pop culture, you were No Match for just having a Shitty day. between Everything, you touched other than dropping or breaking, and everything that should have been two seconds. took three times as long to finish. One! was supposed to be just uploading a photo to an email. and sending it. off.  the moment you clicked the photo.. the screen went black and All the computers in the office died.  power outage. 

and to book your computer just Died when the power came on and the tech thinks the power outage destroyed your computer since you didn’t have a serge plug attached to your computer. you had that stupid cord. but you lent it to someone earlier that day to put a space heater up in the room. the Email was to Yelena you were going to show her a photo of your flower. the first plant you have successfully kept alive for longer than a week. you were exhausted. today was Hell. your plans were simple tonight. finally, watch the show ‘game of thrones” eat takeout, and find an excuse to go to bed early.

you got to your apartment to sigh heavily. the door was ajar. slightly opened. you knew you didn’t keep it open. Damn it. you thought. the last thing you wanted to do was clean up the mess of some poor idiot you were about to beat to the brick of death for breaking into your house. you stood there for a second sighing heavily. Damn.!

Bending down grabbing your dagger that was strapped under your pant sleeve at the ankle you grabbed it and slightly pushed the door open. Seeing no one in the hall you slipped inside seeing your bowl of acorns was neatly near the front door on a little table you slipped your hand into the bowl grabbing the gun you had hidden inside. Grasping your gun you went to the first room checking to see if the office was clear. You however did notice that the office was cleaned. Your papers were organized, and the desk was cleaned up. Even your wastebasket was empty. The more you looked, the more you Noticed how Clean your place was- which you did NOT clean up today, yesterday, or even the day before. you were in a slump and your tiny flat showed it. a few dishes here and there, and the bins were full of trash. your floor hasn’t been vacuumed in who knows how long. you just.. didn’t have the mental capacity to clean.. so you haven’t! But Someone has! 

the first person that came to your mind who would be so Bold and Break into your place was Nat. She Hated Clutter and Mess. and she would and Has in the past broken into your flat to clean it. But Nat was gone. the events with Thano’s were a few weeks ago. but she was Gone. Yelena found you and told you. which broke your heart. Yelena.  your next person on your list as you shifted from the office to the kitchen to see pots and pans out as you noticed boiled potatoes and the oven on. you checked seeing it was a Roasted chicken. Definitely NOT Yelena she doesn’t know how to cook especially not a roast, or potatoes. and you could smell yams. Not her. the kitchen opened up to the dining room/living room and it was empty. it was then that you noticed your bedroom door was open. 

slipping inside checking to see it was Empty, but someone’s pants were laid out on the bed. as you heard the Shower on. well Someone had the gull to Break in, Clean the entire Flat and then Use your shower! the spy in you wanted to charge into the bathroom gun aimed and scare the living crap out of whoever was In the shower. but a larger part didn’t want to Fight a naked person. so you sat down next to the pants. Waiting for whoever it was. to come out. 

after a few minutes you heard the shower turn off as you aimed your gun. prepared to Shoot. then out walked Alexei bare-chested, holding a towel around his waist. as he was covered in tattoo’s. the last time you saw him bare he only had One tattoo. a dove on his ribcage to represent you. so when you were far away on a mission or him. he could feel like you were close. but now. he’s entire chest and arms were full of tattoos. your mouth fell as he spoke, ‘I just got out of prison.. ugh- Hi.” 

“Hi? After all this time? why? How?’ your head was spinnign as you dropped the gun as he stepped over, ‘i wanted to impress you with a meal.. Yelena said you were here.” 

your head as spinning seeing the loss of your life just walking into your front door. after years of waiting. ‘Hi.” 

he smiled brightly as he smiled back , “Hi” 

#" #marvel imagine #black widow imagine #black widow #imagine #fandom #fandom imagne #alexei #alexei imagine #david harbour #david harbour imagine #violent night #jim hop #jim hopper imagine

[taz-writes]

object memories

A fic I wrote as part of my D&D druid’s backstory that I’m in the mood to share. Do you ever write something for the sole purpose of splashing around in your own prose like a dog in a kiddie pool?

TLDR: POV character Hush and her father were held prisoner by a cult for 10 years in solitary confinement, before being ritually sacrificed. Unbeknownst to the cult, Hush wasn’t quite dead and woke up later in the mass grave mortally wounded but alive. As a druid, Hush can shapeshift into animals if she’s seen and studied them before. This fic is about how she 'discovered’ her first four wildshapes in the aftermath of her ordeal, while learning to survive alone in the wilderness and fend off the hunger that threatened to consume her.

~4,600 words; CWs: gore, animal death, take ‘em seriously I’m not kidding around. I feel like there’s also something going on here with the hunger stuff, but I truly don’t know what the fuck to even call that CW. If somebody knows, let me know lol.

The rat was the first. 

She doesn’t know exactly when she reached the tipping point, but she grew intimately acquainted with the ways of the rats over the years. She spent an eternity in that dungeon, curled in the corner among her clinking chains, feeling them scurry over her in her sleep. Grew acquainted with how they move, how they think, grew used to fighting them away from what little she had to eat, bartering with them for the space, for help to stay clean, teaching them to bring her things. She watched them for generations, while they nested in the dirty little pallet that she slept on,  until they were closer friends than she’d ever had among humans. 

She knew them, inside and out, long before she knew how to change into anything. When she awoke in the aftermath and the wildshapes came, the rat was like a second skin. She slipped into the shape like a shield, slick with blood, and slithered out with the last of her breath. 

The world outside was big. 

She couldn’t heal. The first word she spoke when she took her given shape again was a rattling, empty gasp that sent sticky gore oozing through the feeble scabs over the gash in her neck. It didn’t matter how desperately she grasped for the language, how well she knew the incantation, how crisp and adamant the gestures were that should have saved her. There was no magic without sound. And her angelic heritage did little to help when whatever the source of her limited innate healing, it simply didn’t respond. 

She spent the first week or so in the glade on the edge of the forest where she collapsed after running out of time as the rat. The summer heat broiled her skin, even through the shield of the canopy, leaving her parched and aching and crisp like a dead leaf. In the haze of exhaustion, she began to treat her wounds. 

The sacrificial shift they’d dressed her in shredded easily. She wound long strips of it carefully around her waist and chest, stomach churning at the horrid sight of the injuries, and tied the rest as tightly as she could across her ragged neck before the pressure made her choke. Every motion left her dizzy and sick. She might have laid there on and off for hours or days or a month, languishing in the softest patch of moss she managed to find and dragging herself back and forth from the clear little stream that burbled a few yards away. As many moments as she could, she hid behind the rat again. The rat wasn’t bleeding. The rat was safe. The rat could forage, devouring whatever it could find, just enough to sustain her. 

She learned the rabbits next. 

Timid creatures, cautious and quick, they watched her with their wide beaded-bright eyes and darted to safety at the sound of her rattling breaths. While she waited to recover her strength between wildshapes, she watched them back, tracking the little families back and forth among the wild grasses. They were solitary, but not alone—never truly alone. 

There was a nest not far from her resting place. She stumbled across the babies on her way to the stream. Their tiny forms huddled together in a depression in the grass and she looked one in the eyes and its little ears trembled, it tucked itself deeper in the shadows, bracing, and a sudden knife twisted in the center left of her stomach. 

It took too long to realize it wasn’t the wound this time. 

Her sunburnt skin ached desperately, throbbing to the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t hers. She fumbled past to the edge of the water and dipped her face below the surface, where the chill could bring her to her senses, but the soft curves of the current brushed their way along her cheeks like the perfect ghosts of her father’s hands. 

Her lungs burned before she came back up for air. 

The next time she changed, the new shape was a rescue. She was a stranger but she smelled like the glade, and the other rabbits allowed her there. In the shadowed night they huddled together, warmed by each other’s skin, and her tiny rabbit’s heart began to calm as it hadn’t before in a very long time. 

She couldn’t remain forever. She was keenly aware, the longer she lingered, that she was far too close to the cult. Any member could stumble across her here, out on a forage or traveling to the compound, and she wouldn’t get another chance at freedom. She couldn’t risk it. When her stomach sealed enough that the insides of her abdomen didn’t spill to the outside after any major movement, she staggered to her feet like a newborn fawn and began the journey. 

She stuck to the woods. Waterdeep was a death trap, anyone could be cult-aligned, anyone could see her and they thought she was dead but she couldn’t know who might know her face. The roads were too much of a risk, populated as they were. Stealth was her only option. The angels guided her when she slept, teaching her how to find north and south in the stars, how to know clean water from stagnant, how to name the leaves and berries around her and tell which ones were safe. She treated her aches with willow bark and bandaged herself with buffers of soft clean leaves. She passed the days in the shelter of her animal forms or huddled in the shade, thinking of anything but the black spots that swarmed intermittent in her vision and the weakness in her limbs. She stayed alive. It was a near thing. 

When the berry season faded, and the leaves began to turn, the hunger snarled in her like a wild beast. 

She stumbled to the nearest town under cover of night, shielding her body with her arms, following the smell of something delicious she couldn’t name that made her gut twist with starving, nauseous desperation. It was too open, the streets too broad, but every building’s door loomed and narrowed and filled her mouth with the suffocating taste of molding earth until her heart pattered the way it did in the rabbit’s body and the outlines of the structures blurred and blackened before her eyes. A too-cold breeze swirled through the streets and she shuddered from head to toe. 

There was a man ahead in dark robes that swirled and her heart moved like rabbit’s feet fleeing in her ribcage. She forced herself to the alley, forced herself back, and bolted into the safety of the sacred darkness. 

It was like that at the next few towns, too. There were kind people, here and there. One gave her a soft dark shirt and soft dark pants when she met him in the night, thrust them at her and skittered off when she tried through rattling gasps to ask if he wanted payment; a few innkeepers let her stay the night and gave her meals in the morning that softened the hunger’s brutal edge. But it couldn’t last, because the figures in the alleyways always came back, and names that she remembered from another life haunted her until she fled back to the safety of the trees. 

The days grew colder. 

The woods were safer further south, deep and dark, filled with birdsong and the golden colors of the waning year, the colors bright as life. She’d taken a sharp rock and cut a stick to hold her weight, easing the pressure on the days when walking was too much. Her breathing was growing easier, and her neck didn’t bleed anymore. But the words that would call magic to her side still couldn’t find their way from her mind out through her lips. 

She was losing strength. The angels taught her traps and snares, but her feeble hands couldn’t tie the knots tight enough, and the few beasts she trapped slipped free when she tried to claim them. The herd of deer that once bolted at the sight of her now didn’t even flinch, the great many-pointed stag that led their numbers watching her passively while his mate and children drank at the riverside and foraged from the dying grasses. There was little to forage and less to live by, and some days the wavering mists of exhaustion hardly left her vision. 

Sometimes, on the nights the angels didn’t come, she dreamed of the stag instead. Of his glinting eyes in the brush, watching her, unafraid. She murmured prayers in the morning to whatever forces listened. 

She met the wolves in the pits of a moonless night, by way of gleaming golden eyes and an uncanny silence sweeping over her resting place, and she knew they’d come for her. She resolved herself to at least go down on her feet. 

When the first wolf lunged, she lashed out with her staff, squeezing her eyes shut against the wave of fatigue that swept through her body from head to toe and sent the blood rushing out of her head, and felt herself make contact. The beast yelped, and she blinked spots from her vision just in time to fend off a second, sending it sprawling across the scrubby ground. Her hands shook.

“Please,” she tried to rasp, though nothing but a helpless wheeze came out. The wolves paced. She shifted back, making space, feeling acid adrenaline spread slow like venom down her arms and into her fingertips, biting back the way every motion tore at the scabby flesh of her still-healing abdomen. 

The wolves kept pacing. In the dark, they moved like dancers, every footstep intentionally measured. Silent, despite their size, dwarfing her with heavy bodies—direwolves, not just wolves, but their largest and most vicious cousins. 

Her stomach growled with a ferocity that nearly sent her to her knees. 

The third wolf lunged. She grasped for the little magic she knew, one of the rare spells that remained without her voice, and scared it back with a shard of ice that burst into bitter steam across the pack. Its yelp was piercing and sharp and left her dizzy. Through the haze as she recovered, she watched the wolf pack flee. 

She dreamed of the stag that night. She dreamed of blood and the careful steps of hunting beasts, tender in the foliage. She dreamed that she staggered to uncertain feet and the stag was there, his muzzle nudging against her arm, strong and stable, as she found her way upright. She wrapped her arms around him. He was warm and smelled of musk and the gentle decay of the forest floor in fall. He didn’t flee. His fur was soft like the velveteen skin of something whose name she’d forgotten, a precious something she’d loved in another life, beyond her memory, behind the veil of the endless dark. She awoke grasping for it, the name on her lips but not close enough to catch it, even if she’d had the voice to speak. 

She dreamed fitfully, in bursts, interrupted by the empty claws of a hollow stomach scratching at the inside of her vessel like nails on slate.

The next day, something whimpered in the bushes when she went to change her bandages at the stream. She braced herself against her staff, and nudged aside the leafy branches, and found the wolf. It was panting,  golden eyes glazed grey with pain, curled up defensively with hackles raised. It growled at her approach, but the sound was weak, and tapered to a whimper. 

Near its feet, the ground was muddied with black-red blood. She traced the line from its paws to the place in its side where the fur was shaved down to muscle and a thin line of bone. The ghost of a spell and an icy projectile flashed across her memory.

Her hands were shaking again. 

She went to the water. This stream ran clear and cold, down from somewhere in the mountains, carrying the mineral taste of glaciers high above. Flakes of mud and blood trailed free from her hands when she dipped them in the current, and she watched them swirl away through the eddies and whorls. 

It was all mechanical, in the end. She pried a piece of moss from the bank, hefted it, ran it through the water and watched the dirt run off the roots towards the valley. Washed it clean, squeezed it under the surface and watched it fill with water. Stood and turned back to the forest. 

The beast didn’t calm, but it didn’t bite when she pressed the pad of moss as gently as she could against the gash. It snapped, and she looked it in the eye, waiting. Its jaws were wide, teeth yellowed and worn from use. It could tear her to ribbons even now, if it had the nerve. She wouldn’t last long. 

She washed the wound, and padded it with clean dry lichen, and flinched when she touched the beast’s side and a warmth filled her fingers that hadn’t answered her since she first returned to consciousness in the grave. She caught it like a soap bubble, soft as a memory. It settled in her chest and the breath that filled her lungs was deeper than she’d had in years. 

She’d forgotten how it felt, when the warding darkness at her center answered. When the healing power in her blood responded to her call. 

She forgot it again when the hunger returned in a wave of dizzying force, chasing all other thoughts from her mind. The wolf, rising from its rest in the hollow, tilted its head with a calculating glint and watched her. Gold eyes met gold. 

It turned to follow the water, limping ever so slightly, and padded off. 

She followed. 

The pack was waiting in a stony cavern where the stream met a sparkling river. She felt their wary gazes long before she saw them, hidden as they were among the warm grey stone. But they recognized their lost member and pounced on him, tumbling together in a massive joyful bundle over the sandy patch of riverside, and before long it was like they hadn’t even seen her. She found a bright place on a rock by the shore, and waited for the sun to warm her bones more than the hunger chilled them. 

Across the river, the bushes rustled. She knew what she’d see there. 

The stag disappeared into the brush, and her vision blackened. 

She awoke to the hot wet stickiness of a tongue on her face, and flinched, recoiling from the threat. In front of her sat the injured direwolf. 

“Hi,” she whispered, bracing herself. “Hi there.” The words stuck in her wound and scraped. 

The wolf cocked its head, stood, and licked her face again. It… did not try to bite her head off. This was not a situation she had anticipated. She particularly did not expect to be licked a third time. The wolf’s breath almost made her faint again. 

Behind the wounded animal, the packmates slunk forward, watching her. Waiting. 

The hunger in their eyes was a mirror of her own, and the shapechange came in its aching wake. 

She followed them, that night, in a wolfish skin that matched their own. It wasn’t long before she had to pause, the time limits of her wildshapes forcing her back to rest while the pack moved on, but the howl carried on. They didn’t like to leave their own behind. She learned their faces—the mother the first to lunge, the father the second, the grown pups that followed them with their own faces and minds and hearts. They walked the trails of the forest, and she learned their gait, their stalking dance, their silent patience. 

She slept between great warm bodies, and dreamed of blood and meat and the beasts that once wore the bite-marked bones on the floor of the den. 

In the days, she jostled with the pups as one of them while she could. When she couldn’t, she rested on the rock by the river, while the echoes gnawing in her stomach dueled the white-hot claws of her bone-deep scars. She scrounged late-season eggs from a duck’s nest and swallowed them raw, on her hands and knees in the riverbank mud, eggshells scraping her gums and spilled yolk staining the ground, and coughed up half what she found when her scarred neck screamed with pain from bending low. It staved off the ache for an hour. She scraped up the spilled remains in her hands and wept. 

On the fifth night, she followed the pack to a valley full of marsh-weed, where they found a limping boar. The pack struck in a whirl of fur and fangs, iron-stink staining the water. They fought her back from the bounty until the leaders took their share, but the scraps she claimed sated something, hot and vicious in the pit of her gut. 

It was enough for a day. 

She dreamed of it after, the blood that dripped from her fangs, the viscera on her tongue, the hot iron taste of it, the texture of muscle rending against her jaw. The heat on her lips and gums, bone crushing and crunching and cracking in her grasp, the relief like a soft warm pelt at the end of a long day’s journey as the soft squishing prey slid down her gullet like a prayer… 

She dreamed of it night after night after night, waking with saliva in her mouth, thinking of it between the angels’ words, the ghost of that sensation dancing through her mouth in all her forms. She sat by the river and echoed it, conjuring up the giving resistance of flesh under her teeth, biting her tongue till it bled to remember the taste. She dreamed of nothing but. She dreamed even in her waking hours, as the first autumn frost laced over the land and the pack sat full and happy from the hunt. 

She dreamed of it until the dream consumed her, empty of everything but teeth. 

She left the den on an ice-bitter evening under ponderous slate skies when the dull weight of the thought hung heavy like an overripe fruit, when she wondered what the wolves would feel like beneath her fangs, if their heavy furs would rip and tear the way that scrap of boar did or if they’d linger in the teeth and scratch and bristle. She slunk up the hill to the north on the pack’s favored trail, filling her muzzle with the scent of heavy musk and petrichor. 

The stag was waiting. 

His antlers glinted in the cold dead moonlight, graceful as a halo, round as the crescent moon. He turned his head. She met his eyes and lunged. 

She tore out the flesh of his neck like pages from a holy book, paper beneath her fangs as his blood ran like wine at a ritual. His stomach opened just as easily, staining the fallen leaves in garish scarlet, and his legs kicked feebly as she tore through the viscera that spilled free, relishing in the iron stench. Mouthful after mouthful, she ate her fill. She tore through muscle and tendon until she finally sank her teeth into his bright-hot heart and swallowed it in shreds. It might have still been beating, or the pulse between her jaws might have been her own, racing and vicious. She felt every piece reach her stomach, filling the void, hot in her chest like a hearthfire, bright as a star, sweet and tangy in the wolf’s senses and prickling in her own. 

She hunted the liver down among the mess and swallowed it next, and the kidneys, and parts she knew no name for that glistened red and pink and sickish yellow in the light. She savored the feeling, the soft wet warm of it, the taste of the life that would fuel her own. She pried out the lowest of his ribs and it crackled in her jaws and she chewed out the marrow until there was nothing left of worth. 

She didn’t know when he stopped moving, only that eventually, he did. It took too long. 

When the wolf’s stomach filled, she lost the shape and scrabbled at the stag with her own weak human-shaped hands, her fingers shaking, nails digging into the slickened meat for purchase and prying up scraps to devour. She shook and shuddered and buried her own face into the stag’s shattered chest, drinking the lifeblood until it dried sticky on the edges of her skin, until she was full, until her aching stomach silenced and stopped and grew bloated with bleeding flesh. 

She raised her head and her gaze caught upon his eyes. They were wide, and glassy, and milky with the haze of death. 

She turned away from the kill and threw up nothing but bile, choking on the taste of steel. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, too hoarse for anyone to hear, shuffling to the side and cradling his head in her lap, the warm blood filling her soft dark pants and seeping through to her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

She leaned over him, wrapped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers into his short soft fur. Velveteen. Buried her face in his, her eyes hot and stinging, she swore she felt the ghosts of hands in her hair as the blood dried sticky on her face and melted down her cheeks. She clutched him tight enough to strain the scabs down her chest and belly, threatening to once again reopen the wounds. And she stayed there, waiting, until nothing came. Her stomach was quiet. 

As she rose to her feet, she carefully bent and lifted as much of the stag as her body could manage. He was lighter than seemed fair, even to her haggard limbs. 

Her hands didn’t shake. 

There were hunters in these woods. The angels had told her, murmurs in the night, between the endless thoughts of hunger. They could help her. She stumbled through the brush, dragging the stag behind her, listening for someone larger than herself. 

In the hours before the dawn, she found a young man in the valley, carrying a crossbow and a knife. He stiffened at her approach, and stood there wide-eyed, watching. 

The words she spoke to explain herself died in rasping whistles in her throat, but still he watched, rapt, his eyes darting between the stag and her own face. 

“You… you killed that?” the man asked, gesturing. 

She nodded. Her neck twinged. She felt the man’s gaze skirt over her scarred neck, her hands slick with blood, the wrinkled scabby mess of her stomach where it was visible between the hem of her shirt and her makeshift belt. 

“Do you… need to… take it somewhere?” She shook her head. The man swallowed. “That’s a lot of meat for one person. Erm…” He looked around, and she tilted her head. “…Do you know how to treat it? If you’re planning to eat that yourself, you probably want to salt-preserve it, it’ll spoil quickly otherwise. I could… help?” 

She shook her head quickly, forcefully, then nodded, please, and the man flinched.  But he was true to his word. 

He led her to a clearing, his hands fluttering and his soft eyes nervous as she followed like a wraith, and showed her how to lay the stag down and open the rest of its body with a clean sharp knife. How to strip the meat from the bones, careful and keen, and process it into chunks and then lay it in pieces in salt to let it dry. She watched the process with singleminded focus, noting down every last motion, memorizing each flick of the knife. 

He let her borrow his blade, so she could clean the carcass and keep that velveteen skin. With a few weeks’ drying and treatment, it would make a good blanket to last the winter through. She stripped the stag to the bones, and kept those as trophies. That night, the angels taught her to sharpen them into knives. 

When the man had left, knife and bow in hand, retreating into the shadows, she realized that he never once quite looked her in the eyes. 

She kept the skull. Late at night she stared into its face, searching for the glint of the stag’s all-knowing gaze in the depths of his bones, knowing there was nothing on the other side. She stared at him until somewhere deep inside, a part of her became him. Until his eyes became her own. 

She took the form of a deer in the morning, wearing the weight of his antlers like a crown. The herd moved by her in the bushes and watched her like a ghost. 

She went south. The winter was upon her, and it was time again to travel. The herd had enough to haunt them.

#dnd fic #this is... more gruesome than i usually go in for but it was fun to write #the way this feels like cannibalism when it definitely isn't #but at the same time in some metaphorical sense it kind of is #it's more... killing somebody and then stealing their skin #hush is a creepy forest witch who talks to angels and makes people nervous #and i love that for her #the hunter she met in the woods is just some sad little himbo trying to feed his family and thanking the gods he wasn't murdered by the fey #100% that man thought hush was either a faerie or a demon and feared for his LIFE #i told the DM that someday i would love her to just randomly bump into that guy again #because now that she's healed enough to /talk/ again she wants to thank him and will be all excited to see him #'omg it's my best friend!!!' meanwhile this poor guy is shitting himself 'oh fuck oh no i DID accidentally sell my soul to the fey' #hush is one of those characters i categorize as 'obliviously terrifying' #she is just a gal trying to survive and trying to regain her sense of self after being violently dehumanized for over a decade #she encounters other people and is overwhelmed but tries to be 'normal' #she just... fails to realize that between the aasimar angel traits and the inability to talk and the telepathy she uses to compensate... #she is very scary to other people #but then you talk to her and she is in tears of joy bc she had a fresh baguette this morning and it was really good #and it's like... ah. she's just poorly socialized

[whisperthelocalcrypticbastard]

there was an idea, there was a bored bastard in class and now ive digitalised these doodles!

esentially i asked myself: what if beetlejuice knew Emily Deetz? sooo.... I did this more info under the cut

What if Beetlejuice met Emily Deetz? 

Beetlejuice was pretty done with everything, it had been thousands of years since he had been cursed and he was alone. At that point he had given up and was just waiting for the end. Then he was given a guide for a little girl. This little girl didn’t die, however. She got up again and just brushed whatever happened off. She turned around, looked at him and asked “Are you the devil, Mister?”

That gave him a heartattack and he panicked. It’s been so long since he’d been seen he had no idea what to do now that he was. He stuck around and the girl thought he was her imaginary friend and personal pet demon. He let that happen. As the girl grew up she realized that he was an actual demon and didn’t seem to mind at all. The two of them were best friends, siblings perhaps. 

She summoned him, but he realized that he was...still trapped. He was still in a prison, but his straight jacket had been taken off and he was allowed to roam the permises but not step a foot outside. He was happy for the first time in his death! He might hide from her boyfriend and oop suddenly husband, thats awesome Ems! He wouldnt like him being around her and she would understand and hang out with him less, so hiding a little wasn’t a problem at all. 

Emily got pregnant and he promised her to be there for the little one. Lydia came along and Beetlejuice realized he was capable of unconditional love. This little girl would have his protection, no matter what. Emily filmed him with her a and the tapes were hidden away in a little box labeled “my pet demon”. Death was good, it was amazing. Then he realized something was wrong. Emily wasn’t doing good and Lydia was only four. 

With a heavy heart and fueled with panic Beetlejuice burst into the Netherworld, despite knowing his mother would have his head and tried to appeal, tried to get Emily more time. Of course, this didn’t work and when he returned 11 years had passed. Devastated he spent as much time with Emily he could, still hiding from the rest of the family, but now from Lydia too. 

He guided her over, because staying wouldn’t have been a good thing for her and she understood. Emily made him promise to make sure that Charles and Lydia were alright, that he would be there for them. He came back and they werent in the house anymore. 

That was an entire rollercoaster for him and there were so many different feelings...Beetlejuice was thrown right back into manic desperation and then....well the musical happened, like it did, but much more hurtful for poor BJ.

#fanart #art #digital drawing #beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanart #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #beetlejuice broadway #doodle #doodlings #sketch #lydia deetz #baby lydia #au #digital art #artists on tumblr

[fairy-made]

Im ngl its getting real annoying that my brother wants to play the elden ring multiplayer mod with me, my bf and my cousin. Hes being persistent about it because he wants us all to spend more time together. But this is the cousin that sexually creeped on me, that had to move out immediately because of it. I dont know what to do.

Its with the cousin who possibly would have sexually assaulted me(?) 🤪🤪🤪 The one I woke up to masturbating or half naked in my bedroom doorway in the middle of the night (couldnt tell which because I cant see well from a distance without glasses 🤪) and wanted to “keep it between us” after I realized what happened the next morning. He also confirmed it by mentioning a kink in the same messages, which, I think I mentally repressed the specifics of. I just called my mom immediately after that.

My mom and his mom (my godmom) decided this should be kept quiet for his safety. Because my dad and brother might attack him. And whatever, whatever, black families do this shit all the fucking time, whatever. I still speak to him and am friendly at gatherings. The kids got fucking issues. Supposedly he went to therapy. Dont know if thats true. But I just dont want to play through elden ring with the motherfucker. I can refrain from wishing him dead. Dont want my brother or dad in prison for killing him either I just dont want to spend a lot of time doing anything with him.

I told my brother “hes just…. A little weird” when he asked kind of why I was dragging my feet about playing and he basically said “I understand how you might feel. He has his quirks… Try to be a little accepting of him though. He doesnt have anybody except us. We isolate ourselves in this family a little too much. We should be closer to each other. A playthrough of the game will go by quick too.”

Like…. Yeah. I agree. Since were now becoming the adults in our family we should try to stay close. Except…….. ahhh!!!! 🤪🤪🤪🙃🙃🙃

Im not sure what to do outside of just not playing elden ring and maybe trying to just play a different game thats less of a time commitment……….. I mean I have no idea where to begin if I was to try to tell my brother about all this. I dont think hes some unhinged motherfucker or nothing but. Just seems like a bad idea to tell him until the cousin moves away to a different state (which I dont know when that will be… its supposedly after he gets married) sigh.

And yeah I have mixed feelings about him getting married as well!!! Like. Is it my place to tell his fiancee that he creeps on family members???????? Or do I just wait till he moves so its not my problem anymore???? IDK!!!! Id basically ruin his life and any chance at having family outside of his mom.

Who knows, people like my own mom or his mom might actually blame me for speaking on it.

#personal

[universestreasures]

@jeweledknight​ Sent: A Puss in Boots: The Last Wish Starter (No Longer Accepting!)

“Come on. You didn’t think I’d actually stay-“ [@ Rekka]

“I...I was kinda hoping you would...” 

The unusually depressed words of the Duchess of Hearts slip out from her lips, the volume of them being so low the White Queen might have missed it. Rekka didn’t get to see her sisters often. Holidays like the Unbirthday they were celebrating for Kourin were the only time the time-loop of a daily routine the White Rabbit had subjected everyone to would temporarily be changed. This allowed not only more freedom for the residents of the lands ruled by the Queen Hearts for the holiday period, but also allowing those from lands not under their domain to enter the red gates of the palace. 

It was a shame time couldn’t loop on these days. These days being on repeat Rekka and surely the other residents would appreciate. Anything was better than the hell of monotony they had been subjected to because of the White Rabbit’s futile attempts to hold the sanity of the Queen together. Rekka wondered just how long before Misaki would finally crack and this sinking ship would finally become a sunken one. After all, he wasn’t exactly tackling the problem, despite what he might believe. Tackling it would actually involve helping the broken heart of the Queen through the stages of grief instead of just trying to keep things as close as they were to the ‘happy times’ before the incident.  

But that stubborn bunny wouldn’t listen to anyone. He was too blind, too stupid, too proud to hear the advice of anyone. Rekka’s tried. Ren’s tried. Hell, even Asaka’s tried. No one’s words would reach those ears of his. Only her majesty could get through to him, but she’s too concerned with...well her grief to really have the agency to do anything about it. She wasn’t seeing how allowing the White Rabbit to act outside of his role has caused sufferings to her people, the very people she wanted to free from the chains that bound them to their roles.

How ironic...

The entire situation made her envious of Suiko and Kourin. They got to be away from this madness, free to live out their lives with the roles they were given in their own way. It was a life Rekka should have had, and one she wanted to have, but alas...there was a shackle to her legs unlike the elder two. She was the Duchess of Hearts, not the Duchess of White after all. And there was nothing she could do to change that. Nothing at all...

“Kou, when was the last time you, me, and Sui got to do anything fun together?” 

Honestly, it’s been so long that Rekka can’t recall. Then again, her entire vision of time was skewed. Everyday looked the same, until the White Rabbit announced a holiday that would shake things up like today’s. It was no wonder she felt so small compared to her sisters, who both have grown so much since she last saw them unlike her who looked and was the same, like an untouched doll that had been sitting on a shelf waiting to be played with.

She then sighs, her real emotions seeming to come out. They were ones she’s been forced to keep in. For what friends does she even have in this red prison? “Things around here...are getting worse by the day, and...I won’t be shocked if even these holiday breaks are taken away from us by that stupid bunny. I just...I just want to spend some time with my family. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes Rekka may be arrogant. She may be selfish, proud, and haughty, all of which are characteristic of her role, but...she is still Rekka. She is still the little sister of Kourin and Suiko. She is still a person with thoughts, feelings, and wants. That’s what the White Rabbit seems to be forgetting; that the end the day they are people Though, she thinks is not too surprising for him to be unable to comprehend that. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be human, only granted that form by Misaki because she wanted him to be more than a furry lap warmer.

What a waste of her feelings if you asked the Duchess of Hearts. Wonderland would be off so much better if their Queen of Hearts never had met the White Rabbit, a meeting that had been brought about because of the very sister that Rekka so desperately was wanting to spend time with...

“One hour. One hour is all I’m asking of you, Kou.” She thinks the White Rabbit will find them and ruin it if they tried for anything longer than that. Thankfully he seemed to be preoccupied with the preparations for the Unbirthday party later that day. “Can’t you do that...for your little sister?”

~

#💎 Knight Determined To Keep Their Precious Memories (Jeweledknight) #💎 Cute Treasure (Rekka Tatsunagi) #💎 Cute Answers (Rekka Asks) #💎 Cute's Broken Duchess Of Duchess (Rekka Broken Wonderland AU) #tw long post #(UGHH THIS GOT SAD #(REKKA JUST...WANTS TO BE WITH HER SISTERS HONESTLY #(SHE LOVES HER ROLE BUT SHES LIKE....COULDNT I HAVE BEEEN THE WHITE DUCHESS INSTEAD. A SIMILIAR ROLE BUT WITH HER SISTERS #(SHE DOESNT REALLY HAVE ANY FRIENDS AND THE ONE PERSON SHE INTERACTS WITH CONSISTANTLY AKA REN IS A JERK #(GRANTED SHES ALSO A JERK BUT YOU KNOW #(MORE SHOWING HOW MESSED UP THE ROLE SYSTEM IS

[atrashmammall]

Ok I’ve slept and have some thoughts about the dsmp finale, obvious spoilers under the readmore and unless otherwise specified this is about the characters not content creators!

First and foremost (and possibly most controversially) I enjoyed the ending for the most part, sure there were scuffed bits and bits that didn’t entirely make sense how it was portrayed but the ending felt cohesive. I’m proud of what cc!Tommy created!

There are a few things I am for the most part headcanoning that while not directly stated in the lore as far as I’m concerned are actually canon:

1. When Tommy said “I’m sorry dream” he wasn’t apologising for being “a problem” or “a pest” I think it was more an apology to himself than anything else, I don’t think really he was ready to die, and I certainly don’t think he was ready to accept he was going to die a murderer (by his own admission he didn’t want to do it he didn’t want to be the bad guy) and so the apology was more for himself that anyone else

2. It was not a sympathetic dream ending, Tommy knew that the only way he could be sure he was going to keep dreams attention long enough was to make it about himself, to try and understand dream long enough for Tubbo to set the nukes, he’s smart, and he knew just fighting dream would do nothing so he had to find another way to distract him

3. Tubbo did in-fact make it to the main cell where Tommy dream and Punz were, he couldn’t get through the cobble wall Tommy had built but it didn’t matter, Tommy knew he was there and he knew Tommy was there and they would be together till the end of the earth, and that was enough

4. The ending we saw with dream Tommy and Tubbo in a new land is not the same characters as the ones that died, there will be no “slowly remembering past experiences” trope in season 2 (if there actually is a season 2) it will be entirely separate unrelated characters to allow the cc’s to tell stories they couldn’t previously due to character restrictions

5. Tommy does in fact have an afterlife (not the new server start we saw) he was greeted by mumza and led to a snowy cabin not too dissimilar to the one he stayed in with techno, together they wait for techno, Phil and Wilbur to join them (the nuke hit the prison first hence why Tommy is there first, Wilbur joins last coincidentally tripping on a rock outside the gas station he works in, hitting his head and fucking dying) They spend the rest of their life (death) just getting to be the family they never got to be before

They’re only minor changes really, but as far as I’m concerned these are canon - it’s the only way I could feasibly see a functional season 2 working, having the characters slowly remember and be the same as season 1 would just be beating a dead horse, I really think this server reset serves to allow them to bring in entirely new characters, and it would be pointless if actually it ended up being a “amnesiacs remember over the course of events” thing because it would undermine all the story telling that was carried out in season 1 and characters might feel forced to fall back into the role they played in season 1

Was it a little rushed? Sure! Are there things to critique about the way certain characters were portrayed? Definitely! But saying things like “no lore has been good since Wilbur and techno stopped writing” or “we agree Wilbur was the only good writer” feels a total discredit to all the other amazing writers that likely wanted to do much more with their character but couldn’t due to communication issues! To say there have been no good storylines since Wilbur and techno feels disingenuous - it completely ignores all the other amazing storylines, bad, skeppy, Hannah, puffy, erect, all of las nevadas, foolish? They’re all amazing stories that didn’t do as well as other lore in part because of situational changes and in part due to lack of communication between cc’s!

#dsmp finale #dsmp lore #dsmp lore discourse #ctommy #ctubbo #long post #this pretty much sums up my thoughts and feelings on the matter #I think regardless of what we want season 2 will probably go ahead #and if it does I hope they don’t try and reconnect it to season 1 #it would feel too forced - I want them to be able to tell new stories not have it end up at the same dream bad Tommy and Tubbo kill dream #either way I’m glad it’s done now #might write a fix it fic #or a slightly sadder but in my opinion better ending #more cohesive at the very least

[helicrazy]

The last thing he remembers is electricity jolting through his frame. Seizing his movements and causing him to collapse to the ground before everything goes pitch black. On the bright side, the visions finally come to a stop, or it might be because his processor was fried. Either way, it was nice to have his mind clear up. 

The noises and many voices let Vortex know he has reached the hospital. From there on he slips in and out of consciousness. He would have loved to just pass right out into recharge, but feeling those soft medic servos on him didn’t help. It felt very nice as they patched him up and moved him around, so he couldn’t complain. He even feels a sedative enter his system, and it makes everything feel like bliss before he’s finally knocked out.

Note to self, find out who repaired him and properly give them a thank you after all this. 

He stirs online much later when hearing people chat about him outside the room. One was going on about how he was found eating someone and should be in prison at this very moment. Especially since his repairs were all done. The other countered with the fact that narcotics were found in his system.  And that it was best for him to stay to monitor and run more tests. 

Ah, doctors. Got to love them. 

Unfortunately for him when the talking stops, an officer steps into his room. A white and steel flier with cobalt stripes, sirens on their wings, and pretty purple optics. His visor hasn’t been replaced yet but the colors are really popping on this one.

“I see you’re finally awake.” The officer declares. Her tone suggested she did not appreciate having to wait for so long.

The copter attempts to sit up but finds his servos are cuffed to the bars of the hospital bed. Then begins to softly laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” She demands while pulling a chair up to sit down. Keeping within arm’s distance even if Vortex was unable to go anywhere.

“Heh. If we were meeting under different circumstances I’d totally ask you out.” The Combaticon responds tilting his helm towards the flier with a grin.

“I don’t date criminals. Especially Cybertronian’s who eat their own kind.”

“I DIDN’T-” He tries once more to move but the abrupt movement makes him wince. Yup. His body was still in pain. Where’s the nurse to give him more painkillers? “I didn’t eat the mech.” 

“Sure. You were just giving them tender kisses on the throat right?” She sneers. Then pulls out a data pad from her subspace and proceeds to start typing on it. “Vortex. Place of creation is unknown. Family, none. For known associates, see Combaticon file.” Her optics dim in confusion. “Your RAP sheet appears to be shorter than I last saw it.” 

“Good deeds get them removed.” 

“It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Yeah well tell that to your Commander.” 

“Enough!” She sighs scratching her face plate. “Look, you are being charged with mechslaughter and cannibalism, so I just need to know what happened. Everything detail you remember.”

“Once again I didn’t eat the guy.” The copter scoffs as his helm falls back on the bed. 

“Then tell me exactly what happened, and perhaps we can drop that charge.” 

He’s silent for a moment, debating his options. Telling the whole truth was not possible. He was hunting someone down to kill them. Then everything went to slag when he got drugged up, but he knows he can use that to his advantage. 

So he starts by saying that he was looking for a friend. That their last known location was at the building he was found beside. 

The officer mentions that the place was marked for ‘using’ and Vortex counters that the friend was struggling with quitting. Clearly, they needed a fix, so they went there. 

He continues, stating he went inside to look but found nothing, and before he could leave he felt the injection of a needle in his neck. Then everything turned into some fever dream where he couldn’t tell what was happening. Somehow, he found his way to the roof. Thinking that being outside would help except whoever shot him up followed to push him off. Hoping to possibly kill or maim him. 

As for the mech who got their throat ripped apart well... The copter explains that in his point of view it looked like he was being attacked. Threatened. And the only way he could fight back was to use his denta. 

He didn’t mean to kill the mech. Obviously. It was sheer panic and chaos throughout the whole trip. 

“Alright...” The officer begins as she finishes typing. Then stashes the data pad away when getting up. “I’ll run this by with my Commander and see what he thinks of this. In the meantime you are staying here, cuffed, for the safety of everyone in his hospital.” 

“Oh please the only thing I’ll be eating here would be the valves of whoever patched me up.” The Combaticon laughs once again. 

“You are disgusting.” She glares before making her way to the door. It slides open revealing another cop outside. Who she orders to stay put and make sure Vortex doesn’t leave. 

“Hey! What about my one free comm. call?” 

The door gets slammed shut. 

#ic status #{{ Probably the last post #as I have a concert to go to tomorrow #and want to enjoy my weekend before going back to work on Monday #but hoped you all enjoyed. #Tex is obvs fine #but deep down is where he is suffering the most }} #Plot: Another Way Out

[duckprintspress]

Contributor Spotlights: Lyn Weaver and Louise Long

Welcome to She Wears the Midnight Crown and He Bears the Cape of Stars, two brand-new anthologies that share a common theme – masquerades – but tell different types of stories – wlw in She Wears the Midnight Crown and mlm in He Bears the Cape of Stars. These collections are the latest titles from Duck Prints Press, the indie publisher founded by fans to publish original works by fan creators, and they’re crowdfunding NOW, only on Seed & Spark!

Curious about the collections? Well, here’s a sneak peek of the works of two of our creators!

She Wears the Midnight Crown Contributor Spotlight: Lyn Weaver

Biography: Lyn Weaver has been writing fanfiction for over a decade and original fiction for even longer. Her preferred genres are fantasy and horror, and her preferred tropes are ‘enemies to lovers’ and anything to do with identity issues. She won’t read a story if something bad happens to the cat.

Story Title: The Thing with Feathers

Teaser:

They say the masked Delvers who harvest the Dungeon’s riches become monsters if they stay too long or dig too deep, and that those monsters flood out of the Dungeon at night and kidnap women. That was why the tower was built so close to the gaping wound leading to the earth’s core: so you would learn to be grateful you weren’t down there. In your experience, the Dungeon is an ugly hole in the ground and the Delvers are your fellow prisoners. Precious few would choose to step into a pitch-black hole in the ground they might never return from, after all. Most of them are out there because they can’t live any other way. Or they’re simply being forced to, the way Nasha was. To top it all off, you haven’t seen a single monster. Not until tonight.

A soft thump rouses you from uneasy slumber. You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and freeze. There’s a woman on the windowsill. The windowsill hundreds of feet above the ground.

“Huh,” she says. “Three years of searching and you were just outside home all along.”

You blink. Then you shoot upright and stumble toward her. Her skin is grey in the moonlight, short wild hair reaching up toward the moon. Something about the shape of her isn’t quite right, but she’s the first person you’ve seen up close in three years. You don’t care.

He Bears the Cape of Stars Contributor Spotlight: Louise Long

Biography: Louise Long (she/they) lives in Cardiff and writes contemporary and urban fantasy. She also writes speculative fiction as J. L. George, and her first novel, The Word, is published by New Welsh Rarebyte. In her other lives, she’s a library monkey and an academic interested in literature and science and the Gothic.

Links: Personal Website | Twitter

Story Title: Give Him a Mask

Teaser:

Tam’s shoulders bunched up; he forced himself to relax. “Most people round here are a little weird,” he said. It was true: the Pearl teemed with the arty kids, the queers and outsiders. “Lot of them don’t talk about their families much, either. Better off without them.”

Defensiveness made its way into his voice, and the stranger looked at him curiously. “Are you better off without yours?”

“They’re arseholes.” Tam sighed and pushed himself upright. Anna was beckoning him from the stage door. “I’d better go. Stick around and watch us, if you like.”

“Maybe I will.” The stranger took a half-step forward, held out his hand for a second, then let it fall back to his side. “I’m Emlyn, by the way.”

Tam could hardly give his real name. “Starry,” he said, after a moment.

Emlyn blinked at him. “Starry?”

“Starry Knight.” Tam’s cheeks warmed. “It’s a stage name.”

“That’s terrible,” Emlyn informed him, solemnly. But there was a twinkle in his eye, sudden and unexpected. It did equally unexpected things to Tam’s insides, putting a vertiginous, swooping feeling in his belly.

He grinned, suddenly reckless with it. “Wait ’til you see me onstage.”

*

Intrigued? You should be! But, if you want to read the rest of these stories you’ll need to back our campaign, running now through July 14th, 2022!

You Know You Need to Know What Happens Next – Back and Find Out!

#duck prints press #he bears the cape of stars #she wears the midnight crown #queer fiction #queer authors #mlm fiction #wlw fiction #queer short stories

[needleanddead]

wait rose had an abusive ex-boyfriend? I didn't know about him honestly. Spare some more infos about his and rose relationship?

oh, yes; rose has had one (1) romantic entanglement in their whole life. it did not end well. long post under the cut; someone asks me about backstory and i just start typing and don’t stop.

cw: domestic violence, violence, misgendering, alcohol, uhh. bad. a bad time.

rose had a reasonably nice childhood; their family was comfortably lower-middle class, they were shy and nervous with a stutter (they went to speech therapy growing up; they always had it but the severity wobbled around. in the current timeline its in a pretty bad state). they have some issues about being the forgotten/least loved child because of their sister needing a lot of their parents attention. they were bullied pretty badly throughout high school; but they figured university was a fresh start and that things could and would get better for them. the best laid plans, though—

his name is/was thomas and he was a business student (fucking business students) at the same university rose attended. rose met him at a freshers event (do you guys call that first week of being a student 'freshers week' outside of the uk? do you call first years freshers? do you guys chant ’down it fresher’ in attempts to make people as drunk as possible?) - and he was very sweet to them; rose was an anxious mess trying to figure out if they'd made enough of an attempt to be able to go home and say they tried, and thomas . . . figured rose would be an easy mark. thomas grew up in a fairly affluent family (his father is a high-profile lawyer, his grandfather owns a successful textile business that thomas would have inherited, hence the business degree); his family wanted him to Settle Down With A Nice “Girl”, and thomas figured that rose would do.

they moved in together after their first year. by this point, everyone was pretty aware thomas was a player with a drinking problem; but he was also friendly and well-liked, and rose was awkward and quiet and shy. it got to a point where thomas would be mad about rose going to their classes; what did rose need a degree for, when they were going to stay home and cook dinner and do laundry and never mention the lipstick marks on thomas's collar? he'd get violent if rose did try and say something, if the house fell into what he considered disrepair, if rose wasn't in the mood--

("what's the point of having a live-in girlfriend if she isn't going to put out whenever i want? fucking look at me, rosie-posy. what's the matter with you?")

all of their friends as a couple were really thomas's friends, he would be very happy to remind them. obviously rose's gender identity was them making up for not being pretty or sexy as a girl. rose was lucky that anyone wanted them. rose should shut up and get on with things. rose missed so many classes their university "asked them to leave" (read: kicked them out). his violent tendences escalated.

eventually, he got into it at a bar with the wrong guy and went just a little too far. he didn't kill a man (technically. the man did die, a few months later - but somehow thomas's father-slash-lawyer managed to convince a court there was no proof that said death was because of the injuries thomas inflicted. who knew what underlying causes there might have been, what other medical issues, would they really condemn such a Bright Young Man and tar him as a murderer, and thomas’s prison sentence was for ‘grievous bodily harm’)-- but he did get taken into custody to await trial. anyway, when the news of him being taken in got to rose they realised that if they stayed with him any longer, he would absolutely eventually kill them. rose packed a bag and called their family in tears. (they did, eventually, give a written and recorded statement that thomas was prone to violence. it was hard for them, but they did it). after moving back home, rose's agoraphobia got much, much worse - partly because of fear of leaving the first truly safe place they'd been for well over a year, partly because they started seeing the ghosts.

their parents quietly disposed of letters in unfamiliar handwriting postmarked from a prison for several months - and with their parents dead, several years later, at a new address . . . rose hasn't received a letter for quite some time. co-incidentally, rose really doesn't mind any silly nicknames anyone chooses for them, but they can't bear being called rosie-posy :).

#constantly workshopping this name btw he used to be called reuben but i didnt like the double Rs fgbjnkgfnk #abuse cw #violence cw #misgendering cw #rose tag #things are pretty good for them right now!! they’re doing better!!! #[dangles them in front of bad people and pspspses] #current timeline rose is 27 so this all happened about six years ago. they’ve had a lot of therapy

[sidehugsnsideblogs]

FCSU# 65 Proceed with the Proceedings

Penny and Becca decided to stay in Newport to watch the proceedings. Becca had been very close to Allen Jr when they were kids so she wanted to see his trial especially. While she definitely agreed that no sixteen year old should be married, she did hope they'd go easy on her brother because he was only nineteen himself. In the end, Allen Jr was let off with a comparatively light sentence, three years in prison and no contact with his wife or child until Natalie turned eighteen. Becca tried to say hi to his during recess, but he wouldn’t even make eye contact.

Caylen Brown also had a teenage bride, a Culton daughter named Affinity. Since she wasn't pregnant at the time of the raid, Caylen was able to argue that their union hadn't been consummated yet. He claimed that he too was uncomfortable with his new wife's age and planned to wait till her eighteenth birthday to “Get close to her.” It was a bold-faced lie but it worked. He got one year probation and no contact with Affinity till her eighteenth birthday, which was the following month.

Jonathon Culton was given twenty years in prison for marrying and impregnating his teenage niece, Clarity. He argued that the in the church a woman is ready for marriage when God himself says so. His unremorseful attitude contributed to his long sentence. He also had several outbursts during his trial claiming that as a woman the judge held “no rightful authority” over him. Needless to say, Judge Houda wasn’t very impressed.

The FCSU lawyer motioned to delay the two remaining trials-Elden Brown and Royce Culton’s. Royce’s trial was delayed because he kept filing motions to make certain evidence inadmissible in the trial. Elden’s was delayed due to health reasons. He fared poorly in prison and ended up developing pneumonia. Not wanting to responsible for the death of an elderly man, he was released to a hospital to await his trial. His wives Charlene and Nina visited him everyday.

Once he recovered, Elden stood trial for aiding and abetting a fugitive and endangerment of a child. He was issued a steep fine, which was paid by the church, and vanished. Word amongst the survivors was that Elden had purchased another compound somewhere to be the new New Place. The location was kept secret and there was a new series of hoops to jump through to gain entrance.

While they completed their parenting classes Charlene, Nina and their children lived in a cramped, rented house in the suburbs of Newport. The time spent together resulted in an uneasy truce between the two. The pressure to qualify for the next compound was so intense that the two women decided to agree with each other and be perfectly obedient so they could be sent to the new Zion.

On Royce’s orders Rachel would travel between homes and give FCSU members their assignments. The church was being separated into three tiers representing Earth, Sky and Heaven. The lowest rank were called Brethren of Earth. These were the folks Royce blamed most for the raid. They were often taken to small houses/apartments to live alone, writing letters of repentance to Royce. If they did everything just so, they might be reunited with their families. This category included the Construction Crew who would build up the new compound only to find they weren’t allowed to live there. 

The second tier was called The Brethren of Sky and could only wear shades of blue. These members were allowed to live on the compound, but only as servants. They were not to speak to anyone outside their rank and were responsible for producing enough food to sustain the compound. They too would write letters to the Prophet repenting for their sins as well as reporting on any wrongdoing in the home. 

The top tier was The Brethren of Heaven. They wore formal wear at all times, white dresses and suits. The Prophet alone could determine one’s rank. Even the Brethren of Heaven were required to write letters, though mostly to relay gossip to Royce. The first to qualify were his closest daughters and wives. But as quickly as Royce could elevate a person, he could also demote them, sending them away from the Promiseland to solitary to repent. Peoples’ rank seemed to shift daily. 

Though all of Royce Culton’s minor daughters quickly made top tier, Farrah and Evangeline were held behind and instructed to write letters to the judge, stating that they full consented to their marriages and wanted their husband released from prison. Since they were the “victims” of Royce’s case, they hoped that repeatedly stating their support for him would have some kind of bearing on his trial. They were to spend all day everyday praying for the Prophet’s deliverance, they couldn’t even speak to each other.

#fundie sims #fcsu #fundie tumblr #fundiesims #sims 4 story #sims 4 #cult blog #the sims 4