#it only seems fair after the mother web

[schrodingers-romy]

My Angel of the Sea [Tomioka Giyuu x Reader]

Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu x AFAB!reader

Summary: After a mysterious ocean creature helps save you, you have the chance to save him in return. And then, after you get closer, you get the chance to 'help' him in another way...

Warnings: Near-drowning, and a few mentions of anxiety resulting from this. Non-explicit mention of injuries. Reader has AFAB anatomy referred to with fem terms, but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic smut (MDNI). Biting. PIV sex. Heat/rut sex. Oviposition (whatever the egg thing is idk). Breeding. Weird sea creature anatomy. Very sweet for what was supposed to just be smut.

Word Count: ~8,700

Notes: First post of my little event, Strange Lovers. Also serves as a submission for @monster-october-kny-2023! This ended up being way longer than I thought lol. Also editing your own smut is very embarrassing. Mdni banner template courtesy of @cafekistune

[Ao3 Link]

The impact with the surface of the freezing ocean shocked the breath out of your lungs, and you began to sink.

It hurt. The boat was tall, the deck elevated off of the water quite a distance. It had taken a monumental gust of wind to tip it and you enough to where you went flying. From that height, hitting the water felt like getting thrown down onto concrete. It was a wonder you were still conscious.

After impact, you sank like a stone. Through all the pain, breathlessness, and shock, you only had one clear thought: ‘why me?’

There wasn’t supposed to be a storm today; you were nearly to the shore of your home, barely a half hour’s ride away in fair weather. The storm was supposed to pass by after you were already curled up in your little seaside shack with a book. But as always, mother nature was vindictive in her unpredictability. It seemed strange to name a force so powerful and uncaring mother.

She certainly wasn’t being motherly towards you now.

The freezing ocean was less a mother’s embrace and more like that of death. Scarcely had you thrashed your way to the surface for a breath before a white-crested wave forced you back under. The sheer force of it disoriented you, making you spin around in a panic for the direction of air.

Your lungs burned as you kicked yourself upwards again. This time, an even bigger wave shoved you back down, before you could even finish gasping for air. Saltwater flooded your mouth and lungs instead of oxygen, and you started to drown.

It was so much more painful than you would have thought. Your lungs were silently screaming for air, but opening your mouth just brought in more water. Your limbs, aching also from strain, didn’t have the oxygen needed to push your body to safety.

Your vision began to spot black, and the pain began to give way to the numbness of unconsciousness.

Before you were completely gone, your brain fired its synapses a final time to grace you with the hallucination of an angel.

He had an unnaturally pale face, with eyes as placid and blue as the sea on calm days. His long black hair formed a spiky halo around his face, accented with the fluttery bluish fins he had in place of ears. One of his webbed hands seemed to reach towards you.

This water angel was the last image you saw before your mind slipped into darkness.

-

You awoke spluttering, coughing what felt like the entirety of the ocean out of your sore lungs.

You were dazed, but surprisingly…alive, for someone who was nearly drowned in her last memories.

You looked around frantically. You were beached like a whale on the sand. A familiar sand…

Whipping your head around (which wasn’t the best idea judging by how a thunderous headache made itself known as soon as you moved your head), you saw you were home. You had washed up on the beach right in front of your home.

But how? You had been sure your life was slipping away…and you were quite a way from this shore when the storm threw you overboard. There was no way the sea had just washed you here with the tides…right?

But you had no other rational explanation to why you were here, alive, if a little battered and sore. It was simply a miracle.

But in the back of your mind, your hallucination of the water angel lingered.

-

He never left your mind.

Even though you knew he was just a figment of your oxygen starved brain, you found yourself thinking of him constantly during the next few days. Small scraps of paper filled with scratchy, unfinished sketches floated around your home. Each one had him on it; some were attempts at a full figure, but others were just a singular feature. None of them were right. Your hand wielding a pencil was insufficient to render the creature you saw so clearly in your mind’s eye.

Other affects of your near-death experience also lingered.

You hadn’t been back down to the beach since you had washed up there. Once you awoke, you stumbled your way up to your little cabin without looking back to the sea once. You had spent the next few days resolutely holed up in your home, nursing your injured body and mind. The cold shakes and soreness took warm liquids and time to cure, but they did improve. Your mind was another story.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to even look at the ocean then. You knew, logically, that it was a force of nature with no feelings or intentions, but you couldn’t help but feel betrayed. You loved the sea, choosing a remote place just a short walk to the water because you wished to walk the beach every morning just to watch it. You wanted to be able to look out your window and see it. You wanted to be alone, isolated, with it as your only companion. But this companion, this friend your imagination made of the water, didn’t exist. It cared not for you, it had no feelings to return. Still, it was a bitter blow to learn the thing you cared for so much could have so easily been your end.

But you knew you had to overcome this.

Maybe, you thought, if you just went down to the beach again…even if you had to make yourself go. Seeing it again would remind you of your love for it, and perhaps also erase thought of the water angel from your mind.

You took advantage of this temporary burst of courage. Slipping your shoes and a sweater on, you stomped out your way out the door and onto the path to the shore.

You couldn’t yet raise your gaze, keeping it trained on the path you stiffly walked down. You could hear the gentle lapping of the waves; the sea was once more calmed, the beast inside temporarily sated after the last big storm.

Once you could see nothing but sand surrounding your shoes, you stopped. With a deep breath in, you looked up.

It…was just as you remembered. Smooth, gradient blue marred only by a few patches of white foam on the crests of gentle waves. It was…beautiful, and you felt calm once more. This wasn’t the harsh sea of your nightmare, but the same sea you had seen every day for forever now. This was normal. You were fine.

Everything was normal, except for the thing on the rock.

It had taken you a second to notice it; the rock in question was close to the shore, but a bit to the left of your vision. You waded out sometimes and sat on it, when the tide was low and the ocean quiet. It made you feel like you were sitting atop the water.

You weren’t on the rock now, yet it was still occupied. At first you thought it was a normal man, but then…you froze.

It was him.

Your water angel, that is. Clear and shining in the light of day.

Seeing him again, you realized what he was. Not an angel, not really, but some sort of sea creature. Half of his body was passable human, but at his waist skin faded into dark blue iridescent scales, covering a fish-like tail. Patches of scales decorated his upper body also, and the webs between his fingers were obvious, as were the gill-slits on his neck.

He was acreature of myth, never something you thought was real…but there he was. Looking right at you.

Your eyes were locked with his. His looked even more vivid above the surface, pupils slitted from the bright sun. They seemed to bore into you.

Unconsciously, you took a step towards him. This seemed to break whatever sort of spell was created when your gazes met, because he flinched back slightly, and slipped back into the water.

You ran over to the rock, uncaring of the seawater soaking your shoes. But he was gone in a flicker of blue.

Your water angel wasn’t something made up by your dying mind. He was real, and you knew it now.

-

In direct contrast to how you spent the last few days, the next week of your life was spent almost entirely by the water’s side.

Now that you knew your water angel was real, you were desperate to see him again. You had to know about him; what he was, exactly, and why in the world would he bother to save you.

You knew it was him who saved you, not a miracle of the tide. But you just didn’t know why.

So, you spent almost all your time sitting on the beach, watching the water. The only times you went back to your house were to prepare food or sleep; even then, you sometimes fell asleep on the sand instead of your own bed. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see him plastered on your eyelids, a ghostly figure printed on the blackness.

On the eve of the seventh day, you had to return to your cabin more than previous days. It wasn’t particularly cold out, but the wind was chilly and harsh, so you had to return for a blanket and to refill your thermos with warm drinks. The sky turned steely gray, and the sea mirrored it in color. Eventually, your anxiety at seeing the increasingly large waves won out against your dedication to seeing the water angel again. It was going to storm soon, and nothing was going to keep you out in it. Not again. You couldn’t risk it again, especially since it appeared your water angel wouldn’t be here to save you this time.

So, reluctantly, you bundled yourself up in your blanket, grabbed the basket filled with your things, and trudged back up away from the churning dark water and towards your house.

The storm rolled in quickly after that, and you were grateful you decided to move when you did. The sky was completely black outside; you couldn’t see the water at all. You couldn’t see anything. The only information you had about the outside storm was from sound; the howling of the wind, the vicious sound of rain lashing against your windows, and the faint crashing of the sea in the distance.

Your sleep was fitful that night. You would like to blame it on the noise of the storm, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Because when you finally were able to fall asleep, all you could see were the deep eyes of your water angel, widened in something that looked like…fear.

-

The sun was scarcely revealed by the clearing thunderclouds before you were up and running down to the beach.

The light glittered on the ocean, highlighting its calm cerulean surface. As if that same ocean wasn’t tearing at the shore mere hours ago in the middle of the storm.  

The beach was covered in driftwood and drying seaweed, remnants of what the turbulent waves cast up the night before. You picked your way across the debris, making your way closer to the water’s edge. It was a bit of a futile task; you hadn’t seen your water angel when you scanned the ocean earlier, and it wasn’t as if getting a few feet closer to the water was going to make any difference. Yet you still kept walking towards the ocean.

It was only when you were nearly stepping into the sea that you saw it. A flicker of blue in amongst the piles of wood.

Could it be?...

It was likely it was just a rock or a piece of sea glass, but you had to check. So, you went to take a closer look.

Up close, it was clear that what you saw was a patch of blue scales, buried under a pile of wood and matted seaweed. Your heart was beating a staccato rhythm in your chest. It could be just a fish, you told yourself. It might not be him.

But you worked quickly in removing the debris all the same. The seaweed was slimy and unpleasant feeling against your hands, but any thoughts of disgust flew out of your head when you saw what you had uncovered.

It was him. Your water angel.

Spread out on the damp sand, he looked considerably less ethereal than the night you met. He was rag-dolled across the ground in what looked to be an uncomfortable position. His eyes were closed, as if he was simply sleeping; but the dried blood painting half of his face told a different story.

You kneeled next to him, uncaring of the sand on your clothes. Up close, it was clear he was still alive; his chest rose and fell, if shallowly. Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his head. His hair was soft, even when dry and tangled, but you were much more concerned with looking for the source of the blood.

It appeared to be coming from a gash on his head, mostly hidden by his hair. It was nasty, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. From just looking over him, he didn’t seem to have any other injuries, other than minor scrapes and bruises, so it was likely he had hit his head on something and been knocked unconscious.

You…weren’t entirely sure what to do, but there was no way you were just leaving him here. He could clearly breath out of the water, but he was an ocean creature, so he probably shouldn’t be kept out of the water too long, lest his skin…or scales… dry out. And it couldn’t hurt to clean the gash on his head, either.

Mind made up; you stalked off to seek supplies.

-

You made your way back with a garden cart full of first aid supplies and a rough plan you had cooked up on the walk. The first order of business would be to at least clean his wounds. Typically, you would bandage them as well, but…that would require keeping the bandages dry. And that would be virtually impossible while also trying to keep his skin from drying out, so a simple cleaning it was. The second step would be to somehow get him into the garden cart and haul him off to one of the larger tide pools a little farther down the shore. Your first thought was to bring him to your home and place him in your bathtub, so you could monitor him, but that wouldn’t work. Though his torso was about average sized for a human man, his tail made him somewhere around seven feet from the top of his head to the trailing tips of his tailfins. There was no way you could fit him comfortably in the tub, and you weren’t sure about putting a sea creature in a bathtub with fresh water. From what little you knew of fish, which he about half resembled, it could be deadly to shift the salinity of the water they were in. You could be wrong, but you didn’t want to take any chances. With the tidepool, it would be filled with the very same salt water you saw him swim in before, but even at high tide it would be shallow and calm.

Plan in place, it was now just executing it.

You started with his head wound first. First, you rubbed the dried blood off his face, revealing his delicate visage. You still stood by your first assessment of him; he did look angelic. The perfect symmetry of his face, the elegant line of his nose and the sooty brush of his eyelashes…it was all so well put together it became inhuman. His skin was cool and slightly clammy to the touch, and you wondered if that’s what it always felt like. The fins on the side of his face felt surprisingly delicate, and you made sure to be extra careful in wiping them clean. His hair was soft, a lot softer than you would have assumed; your hair always turned unpleasantly crunchy after drying from salt water.

You did your best to clean the dried blood from his skin and detangle it from his hair. There was still some left, around the area of the gash, but you were too nervous to scrub at it lest the scab come off and continue bleeding again.

You moved on to the rest of his body. There wasn’t much you could do about the bruises, but you could at least wipe down the scrapes and cuts. The rest of his skin felt similarly clammy, but the patches of scales littering his body were smooth and dry. They were small and scattered, until about his waist level, where they slowly faded into larger and harder scales at his tail. Even just lightly brushing down his body, you could feel the muscle beneath skin and scales. He must be a powerful swimmer, you mused.

Then you were faced with what would be your most difficult task yet: getting him into the cart.

You didn’t consider yourself a weak person, but there was a clear difference between being weak and not being able to lift a probably almost two-hundred-pound sea creature gently into a rickety cart.

You sighed. This would be quite an ordeal.

-

It took the better part of an hour, but finally he was settled into the tide pool. He looked perfectly angelic floating a few inches beneath the water’s surface, head cushioned on a seaweed-covered rock while his hair floated out in a halo around him. He looked much better when he was clean of blood and back under the water. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of you.

 You were caked with sand, from kneeling to tend to his wounds and from flailing around trying to lift him. You were also soaked from sea water and no small amount of sweat. Overall, you were a complete mess in desperate need of a shower. However reluctant you were to simply leave your water angel to float in his pool, you needed to clean yourself. And to get some food.

Your eyes lingered on the creature once more before you left. Maybe you could make yourself another picnic. And maybe you should bring some extra food for him. You probably couldn’t go wrong with some fish, right?

-

It was strange sitting next to the creature while you ate your meal. It felt like sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for a coma patient to wake up, and a little bit like having lunch by a corpse. Not exactly the most appetizing, but your struggles getting him over into the tide pool had generated enough hunger to override the slight morbidity.

You began to wonder if you would need to bring out a blanket and camp out overnight, because who knew when your creature would wake up. Or even if he would at all, you thought, and the idea sent a strange pang through your chest.

Your gaze drifted to the sand. You didn’t know him at all, and yet your life was connected to his. And if he lived, his to yours.

Your musings were broken by a splashing noise.

The creature was upright now, partially. He was facing you, head and shoulders above the water and webbed hands gripping the rock. His wide blue eyes bored into yours. He looked stunned; there was also an edge of fear in his gaze.

He was finally awake.

-

You were the first to break the silent staring contest you both were stuck in ever since he awoke.

“Hi,” you said, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. It was you, right?”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, and you didn’t know if this was an acknowledgement of what you’re saying or not.

You continued anyway. “I found you on the beach. I…didn’t really know what to do, so I cleaned you off and brought you here, so you would hopefully be safer than where you were.”

His face was still blank as he watched yours. Finally, he reached one pale hand out towards you, like he was asking for something. You thought he was asking for some of the fish you brought out for him, and moved to give it to him. That wasn’t the right answer, apparently, as he let out a low hissing sound that caused you to startle and drop the food into the sand.

He held his hand out again, looking at you expectantly. You didn’t have anything else you could hand him, so you just looked at him in confusion.

He let out another noise, this one more of a low coaxing churr. His eyes glanced down towards your hand, then back up to your face. He repeated the churr.

Oh, you realized. He wanted your hand. You’re a bit hesitant, because the black claws on the tips of his fingers look wickedly sharp. But he looked so earnest…so you placed your hand in his.

You immediately regretted it.

Quick as lightning, he used his iron grip on your hand to yank you forward, until you tumbled into the tidal pool with him.

Your face went under the water for what was probably only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to ratchet your heartrate up to a dangerous speed. You had still not completely forgotten drowning.

Luckily for you, the creature took mercy on you and hauled you up until you were sitting up, half out of the water and balanced on the thick width of his tail. Still, you were once again soaking and spluttering, and you tried to yank your hand out of his grip again.

“What was that!?” you screeched at him, not expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry.”

You were left gaping at him. His mouth hadn’t opened at all, but you heard a voice, clear as crystal. “…What?”

“I’m sorry for pulling you into the water like that. I didn’t know how to get you into the water with me otherwise…” He let go of your hand, and moved that arm to rest behind your back, supporting you so you didn’t tumble back into the water. “You see, I can only speak to you when you are in the same water as me. I wanted to thank you. For taking me off of the beach, and for making sure I was safer. I probably would have been fine, but…it was nice. Of you. To do that. So thank you.”

Your mouth was dry. You had no idea what you were supposed to do or say now. “It was nothing. I just couldn’t stand to leave you there if I could help it. Anyway, it was the least I could do in return for you saving me, even if I don’t know why you did it.”

“You were scared. I could feel it. You were scared, and you were dying.  It’s as you said before – I couldn’t leave you there if I could help it.” He sounded so earnest, and all of a sudden you were so so grateful that he happened to be there at the right moment to help you.

Overwhelmed, you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He was stiff and cold under you, arms hovering awkwardly behind your back like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Ah…you’re welcome.” One hand came down to gently pat you on the back. You found yourself smiling at his small attempt at comforting you.

You pulled back, noticing how he shivered lightly at the brush of your fingertips on his shoulders as your arms retreated.

Your mood sunk a bit when your attention dropped back to the light scrapes and bruises decorating his skin, multicolored splatters on the pale canvas of his torso. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? When I hugged you? I should have been gentler, you’re injured still –”

“It’s okay,” he said, placatingly. “I barely feel them.”

You pursed your lips together. “What about your head?”

At this, he winced. “Sore.”

“What even happened to you?”

He broke eye contact with you, for the first time. His face was still blank, but you thought you could see a flicker of something akin to embarrassment in the tidal depths of his blue eyes. “I got caught up in the storm…I should have gone farther out to deeper water, but I didn’t think about it. I’m not used to the shallows. The last thing I remember was getting swept up in a wave, and then I woke up here. I think I must have hit my head on a rock.”

Your lips tilted down even further, now a full frown. “Why were you in the shallows, then, if you aren’t used to them? I thought fish species typically stayed around the same ocean depth their whole lives?” It took you a second to realize what you said, and then you could feel yourself flush. “I mean I wasn’t comparing you to a fish! You’re clearly much more advanced than that! Much smarter. And better. Um.”

He seemed amused by your floundering. “It’s okay. I know what you meant; I’m not offended. I’m glad you think I’m better than a fish.”

You realized he was teasing you, if lightly, and you felt yourself flush even more. “Well, Mr. Better-than-Fish, what were you doing in the shallows?”

He broke eye contact again. He was embarrassed, it was clearer to you now. “…I wanted to check on you. To make sure you were alive.” He paused, drawing his eyes back from the horizon to your face. “You weren’t on the beach anymore, but I couldn’t see you for several days. I didn’t know if you lived somewhere else, and had already gone home, or if something had happened to you. I was hoping to see you on the beach again, just so I would know you were safe. And then I did see you.  But I never meant for you to see me again.”

“Why did you stick around?” you said softly. “You saw me. You could have left then, and I would have never seen you again.”

“Maybe I liked seeing you. Maybe I liked watching you look for me, every day.”

Your breath hitched. “You could have come to me before now.”

“My kind aren’t supposed to interact with humans.”

“Your kind?”

“Mer, I suppose, is what humans call us.”

Ah. That makes sense, you thought. Mer. “I thought of you as an angel. A water angel.”

“Why?” He asked. There was the lightest dusting of cherry-blossom pink over the tops of his cheekbones.

“Because you appeared to me when I was on the brink of death.” You paused, debating on whether or not you should elaborate. “And because you were beautiful. Are beautiful.”

The pink on his cheeks deepened to a shade of rose. He was, in fact, still beautiful. Especially with that blush. You were glad you had chosen to speak your mind, if only so you got to see his cheeks darkening prettily like that.

“Sorry, I don’t think I ever introduced myself,” you said, sheepishly. You told him your name.

He repeated it, and you felt a tingle go down your spine at hearing it in his voice. “My name is Giyuu.”

“Giyuu.” You repeated. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Giyuu.”

He gave you a small smile. “Likewise.”

Giyuu then turned, looking back out into the sea. “I suppose I should go now that I’m awake.”

A bolt of fear went through you, more severe than you ever would have expected. You found you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go and possibly never seeing him again; not after you had just found him. “You should stay here,” you blurted out. “To heal, I mean. I can bring you food, and whatever you need. But you need rest.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, hesitantly. “I don’t want to cause you trouble.” A flicker of what almost looked like relief flashed through his eyes. Maybe he also did not want to leave you. This was the same Giyuu who stuck lingered for days just to watch you…perhaps he really did wish to spend more time with you. You could only hope he felt a sliver of the desire to remain as you felt to keep him with you.

“Positive.”

“Okay,” he replied softly.

-

The rest of your next week was spent with Giyuu. Every day, you would wake up, prepare breakfast for the both of you, and set off towards the tidal pool.

You would arrive to him doing slow laps around the pool; he would immediately swim over to the edge of the water to greet you, his ebony hair dripping water down his shoulders and across his torso. He didn’t ever pull you into the water anymore, and instead you would remove your shoes and socks and dangle your feet into the water while the rest of you stayed safe and dry on the rocks. And the two of you would just eat, and talk.

You would only really leave him to go retrieve more food, get a few restless hours of sleep, or to get human objects to bring down and show him. A majority of the time you spent soaking in his presence; your feet were almost permanently pruned at this point, but you wanted to hear him speak, so at least one limb was partially submerged at all times.

Likewise, he would never be anywhere else; when you were gone, you assumed he slept and swam in circles around the pool, but he abandoned whatever he was doing the second you showed up to talk with you.

You talked about anything and everything under the sun. You did not feel any reluctance in telling him all about your life, more than you think you’ve ever told one person. He was fascinated not just by the human world you described, but with you. You had never talked so much about yourself, but you didn’t feel self-conscious. Even talking about your greatest regrets, your deepest anxieties and fears…you found yourself spilling them to him and receiving soft reassurances in return. Even when he was awkward, and clearly didn’t know what to say, he tried his best, and he was earnest in his attempts to make you feel better. That alone was always enough to lift your mood.

Of course, you asked him about his life as well. You learned about what life was like as a mer, and what his family was like, before their passing. He told you about the other mer he met later on, about how they weren’t cruel to him, but they weren’t always kind, either. He said it was his fault, simply because he was hard to talk to. He confessed to you that he believed they all hated him, even though he did not want them too. He just didn’t know how to get close to anyone, not anymore. He even told you, in the softest of whispers, how he wondered sometimes if everyone hated him, and he would never again have the kind of love that he had with his family. You tried your best to console him, telling him you couldn’t imagine anyone hating him. “And if they do,” you added, “Which I’m sure they don’t, you always have me.”

He gave you another one of his small, but genuine, smiles, and replied, “Maybe I should just stay here with you forever.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you said, and the subject was dropped. But you didn’t forget it. You only hoped that he was genuine…because you truly wouldn’t mind him staying by you forever.

But deep in your heart, you knew he couldn’t stay in that small pool indefinitely. You were already sure he was completely healed; most of his scrapes had faded to white lines by now, and the bruises were gone. Even the gash on his head was more than halfway healed, and he didn’t give any indication of having headaches or anything of the sort. And you saw him looking out, into the ocean…he needed the space.

You would just savor the time you did have; savor the talks, savor the sight of his elegant face covered in rice crumbs from messily eating the sushi you provided him, savor the sight of his powerful body gliding through the water effortlessly. You would make the most of your time before his inevitable departure; you would make enough memories with him to last you his impending absence.

-

It only took until you were used to your new routine for something drastic to occur.

You began your day as normal, making the short trip down to the tidal pools with a spring in your step. You had made a new type of food for Giyuu to try, and you were excited to see his reaction. You noticed that your overall mood had improved ever since he became a regular fixture in your life. Maybe you were lonelier than you thought, living in your remote little cabin by the sea.

However, once you arrived, you were greeted with a seemingly empty pool. No sign of Giyuu anywhere.

Your hands tightened on your picnic basket. Could he have slipped back out into the sea overnight? There was quite the expanse of rocks separating the pool from the main body of the sea, but it could be possible… You just didn’t know why he would leave you without even a goodbye.

Your heart clenched uncomfortably in your chest. Perhaps he really didn’t care for you as much as he seemed to…or as much as you cared for him. Perhaps he just needed the food, and had to keep the one giving it to him happy…

You crept closer to the pool, peering in from the edge. Finally, you saw something.

You exhaled in relief, shoulders untensing. He hadn’t left; instead, he was lying on the bottom of the pool. At first you thought he was sleeping, but his eyes were open, and he was flicking his tail back and forth like he couldn’t get comfortable.

You sat down, setting your basket aside. You gently patted the surface of the water a few times, creating small ripples that echoed out from where your hand touched. You saw Giyuu freeze suddenly.

In a second, his head was poking up over the water. Only his head breached the water, however, and he remained outside of reach from where you sat on the rocks.

Not only was his behavior that day strange, but he looked…sick. His face was flushed red, as if he was fevered, and his eyes were blown wide. He was breathing heavily as well, too heavily for how little he was moving.

“Are you okay?” you asked, brows furrowed.

He nodded jerkily, obviously lying. “I’m fine. You should just go back up to your cabin.”

“No!” you said, incredulously. “You look sick. I’m not leaving you here when something is obviously wrong.”

He let out a low rasping sound, almost a growl, startling you. You had never heard anything like that from him…it was deep, aggressive, and animal.

“No. You need to leave. Now.”

You scowled. “I refuse. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He dove back under the water in lieu of replying.

“Hey!” you yelled. Normally, you wouldn’t push him if he said he wanted space. But it was clear that something was wrong with him, and he was hiding it from you. What if you could help, and things just got worse because he was too stubborn to get your help?

You stood up, and made to start wading deeper into the pool, uncaring about how your clothes were getting soaked. If he was going to be like that, you would just have to chase him down.

It wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan; he was a much better and faster swimmer than you, built for the water while you were built for dry terrain. The pool wasn’t large, but it was big enough for Giyuu to swim around comfortably, meaning he could feasibly stay out of your reach by just swimming away. He could also stay under the water indefinitely, a skill you sadly lacked. It didn’t help that you were still hesitant to submerge yourself, your mind still lingering on its vivid memories of drowning.

Yet you didn’t think about any of this, your mind clouded with annoyance, and more prominently, worry.

You were nearly all the way submerged. The water was lapping gently at the dip of your collar bone, and your heartbeat had kicked up against your will. Your breaths were shallower than normal, dormant anxiety forming iron bands around your lungs, but you pushed past it. You were in no danger; there were no waves, the water wasn’t deep, and you were a reasonably competent swimmer. You were just about to dive into the water when he reappeared.

Unlike before, this time he was close. Close enough for your slightly gasping breaths to shift his wet hair. Up close, his condition seemed even more severe. His eyes were nearly all black now, deep blue covered by the spreading inkblots of his pupils. He was still red and panting, mouth open, revealing long, needle-like teeth.

“Why don’t you just leave?!” he said. His voice was deeper than usual, rough. You could hear a low growl starting up in his chest again, so low you could almost feel it through the water. “Don’t you understand how hard you’re making this for me? I’m trying so hard…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, almost pleadingly. “I don’t understand. You just look like you’re in pain. You can’t expect me to ignore that!”

He bared his teeth, growling getting louder. “I’m not sick. I’m not hurt. But you need to leave. So you don’t get hurt. So I don’t hurt you.”

Your gaze softened. “Oh, Giyuu…I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me. I just want to help you. Let me help you.” Impulsively, you reached one hand out to graze your fingers over his cheek.

He let out a full-body shudder at your touch, eyes slipping shut. When he reopened them, there was something dark in their depths.

“Do you really want to know what’s wrong with me?” Deceptively strong hands grabbed onto your waist, pulling you until your body was flush with his. You let out a gasp.

Through your wet clothes, you could feel the ridges of his muscles, the light pinch of his claws on your hips…and something else, against your front. Something large, and stiff, pressed between your bodies.

Your breath hitched. Was that…?

“I don’t think I told you before…” he purred, “But Mer have mating seasons…where all we want to do is fuck…and breed. Normally, I would just hide away, ride it out on my own…But then you had to come here, tempting me. How am I supposed to resist such a lovely creature bringing me food…taking care of me…acting like they want to be my mate? Offering to ‘help me’ with my rut? Don’t you realize what you do to me, baby?” He pulled you close again, grinding against your stomach almost unconsciously.

You could not even speak, only letting out a small squeaking noise as he rubbed against you. Mate? Breed? You knew he wasn’t human, but this…you should have been repulsed, or at the very least offput by this information. Instead, you could feel liquid heat pooling in your abdomen like molten lava.

His hands flexed on your hips, claws ripping through your clothes and scratching your bare skin. Then he let you go, leaving you to quickly flounder to keep your face above water. He looked like it physically hurt him to tear himself away from you, teeth clenching and muscles flexing as he hovered an arm’s length away from you.

“You need to leave if you don’t want this,” he said, panting heavily. “Because I won’t be able to hold myself back if you stay.”

The obvious answer was to take the chance and run. To not agree to get fucked by a sea creature. Go back and hide in your cabin until this was all over, and then continue as you were until Giyuu inevitably left you and all of this faded away like a dream.

And yet…he was beautiful. Ethereal, strong, and even caring…the thought of being bred by him was intoxicating.

You didn’t leave. “Fuck me,” you said, voice a little shaky, yet confident in your decision.

With those two words, he was on you.

Giyuu’s claws were back, this time ripping your clothes right off you. Soon, you both were surrounded by a halo of floating fabric scraps; even your underwear was not spared.

Divested of this one last barrier between you, hands on your hips yanked you back against him. He resumed grinding on you, frantically; you couldn’t see much of him because of the water, but you could feel him. His cock was thick, with ridges running along the length of it; you couldn’t get a good judge of his length with his movements, but you knew it would reach deep inside of you.

He wasn’t providing you any sort of real stimulation, humping your body like a dog in heat but missing where you were hottest. The water was disguising the wetness that you knew would otherwise be dripping down your thighs. He hadn’t even done anything, but you were more aroused than you could ever remember being, just hearing his panting in your ear as he chased his own pleasure, feeling the strange clicking, purring sound vibrating in his chest.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

He let go of your waist just to swim under you and hook his arms under your knees, lifting you up out of the water only to pull you back down so your exposed pussy rubbed directly against his cock.

You let out an embarrassing whine as you felt the ridges on his dick slide against your clit. You threw your arms around his neck to grip on his hair, pulling a light rolling growl out of him.

He ground against you a few times, fucking his cock between the swollen folds of your labia. You couldn’t hold back your own noises when you felt him nudge against the little nub at the apex of your sex, sending little electric jolts of pleasure up your spine.

And then the pointed tip of his cock caught against your entrance.

Giyuu froze for a second, wide, black eyes gazing into yours as you panted into each other’s mouths. You became hyper-aware of every sensation. You could feel the flutter of his gills tickling your forearms; the sensation of his damp hair tangled up in between your clenched hands; his webbed hands braced on your back, claws definitely leaving thin scratch mark in your flesh.

And then your focus was drawn back to a single point as he thrust his cock fully into your soaking pussy.

You let out a shriek. You weren’t exaggerating about his size earlier; you felt completely split open. Your poor cunt was trying valiantly to clench around him, but he had you gaping so much you couldn’t do more than lightly flutter your inner walls around his length. He was long, reaching up all the way to prod at the entrance of your womb. You could have sworn you could taste him in your throat, he was so deep.

He let out his own moan. “I’m so deep in you baby,” he said, almost deliriously. “I can feel it--uh--can’t you? I’m filling up your whole pussy.”

You moaned. “Yesss…can barely fit you…so big…”

He thrust into you, slowly, only once, like he was trying to get you used to it. You could almost count all of the strange ridges lining his cock as they ground against every sensitive spot inside of you, making you let out another gush of fluid to get washed away by the gently lapping water.

You clenched on him again, tugging at his hair. This seemed to rip away the last of his restraint.

He started thrusting into you rapidly, pulling you almost completely off of his cock only to force you back down as he simultaneously flexed his tail up, impaling you onto his thick length. It was like he was carving the perfect space for himself into your pussy, ridges sawing against your walls, making them even more sensitive. His tip slammed perfectly against your cervix, as if begging entrance to your womb, so he could breed you more directly.

The sheer overwhelming sensation of having all the nerves in your soft, wet cunt pressed and scraped against by his massive cock caused you to come almost immediately. Your head lolled back as you rode out your orgasm, waves of electric heat pulsing through you like waves crashing against the shore. You clenched down hard on Giyuu’s still-moving length, your pussy gripping every bump like it was trying to seal him inside you.

“Ohh, baby, so perfect for me…” he slurred. “Perfect mate, made just for me—”

You could do nothing more than whine, as he continued to abuse your pussy at the same frantic pace as before, almost ignoring your pathetic attempts to squeeze around him as you were pushed into overstimulation.

-

Your mind was starting to drift…after around the third time, you lost count of how many times you had come. It didn’t matter anyway, because no matter how many times you clenched around him and cried your way through orgasm, he never let up his tempo, continuing to fuck you as if it was the only thing keeping him sane. You would have thought he was completely in his own mind, unaware of the delicious damage he was doing to your body, if it wasn’t for the intermittent churrs of praise he panted into your ringing ears. These were interspersed by nips and bites to your neck and shoulders; you were so deep in pleasure that his needle-sharp teeth burned in a good way as they repeatedly pierced your spin, leaving bleeding marks decorating your skin red.

You were nearly unconscious by the time his rhythm finally faltered, his strokes turning harder and sloppier, no longer with the perfect staccato tempo of before. You would think your nerves would be too worn out to feel anything, but he still managed to hit your cervix hard enough to send an almost painful shock of pure sensation through you.

“M’gonna breed you now,” he whined, sounding absolutely wrecked, even though, by your count, he was the one wrecking you. “Gonna fill you up so good--my pretty mate—"

“Please,” you managed to eek out, tongue heavy in your mouth.

He thrust into you one last time, hitting the tip of his cock against the entrance to your womb as he came.

You could tell when he was about to come because his whole cock seemed to twitch inside you, and the ridges swelled up even more, until he was completely plugging your pussy, with no chance of pulling out. Then, he filled you with his come.

But…it wasn’t come, your orgasm-drunk mind realized after a minute. Your pussy was being filled to bursting with what felt like small, jelly-like spheres…

You let out a broken moan. He was breeding you. He was filling you with his eggs.

The steady pulse of eggs seemed to go on for eternity; the sensation of being filled so much caused you to orgasm again, more of a dry shudder at this point than anything else, but it caused Giyuu to coo at you and stroke his cool, sticky tongue over your lips in a mockery of a first kiss.

You let him lap fully into your mouth, closer to a proper kiss, even if it was messy and dripping…you tried to suck on his tongue, but it was too long, and he ended up fucking it in and out of your throat instead.

Once the eggs finally stopped, Giyuu gently ground into your throbbing pussy until he filled you even more, this time with a warm pulse of thick, sticky liquid that spread out in between what little gaps were left by his eggs. You could feel his whine vibrating up though his mouth into yours and he stilled completely for the first time in ages.

He pulled his tongue out of your throat to roughly whisper praise to you, but you barely heard any of it as your body slipped into blissful unconsciousness, its ordeal finally over.

-

You awoke to Giyuu cradling you in his arms, gently licking at the bite marks that scattered your neck and shoulders. He had pulled out, leaving your full cunt to drip his come slowly into the water. You felt bloated, and sore, and your neck stung, but you also felt a bone deep satisfaction.

“You’re awake,” he turned your head so he could look into your eyes. His pupils had shrunk back down to normal, revealing the deep ocean blue once more. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, stroking a fingertip lightly along the red and inflamed puncture wound he had caused, eyes drifting to them, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t hold myself back…”

“It’s okay,” you said, voice raspy from screaming. “It felt good.”

He didn’t seem convinced; his face was back to its normal blankness, but you could see the faint furrow between his brows.

Seeing his distress, you lifted an arm up to pull his head towards you, pressing your lips together softly. This kiss, unlike your first, was chaste, just a brief meeting of lips, but it was enough to relax him. You gave him a small smile. “You’re so sweet, taking care of me,” you cooed, only slightly teasing him. It was amusing to see the creature who had just fucked your brains out mere hours ago blush prettily at being called ‘sweet’.

You would miss him dearly when he left you. He must have seen your face drop, because his mood shifted towards the melancholy as well.

“Still…I should have held back. I didn’t want it to happen like that.” He murmured, tucking his face into your neck, still ashamed.

You froze, hand mid-way through stroking his hair. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to make you my mate before this,” he replied, “I had a plan…I was going to court you, once I was well enough to leave. Mer court their mates with gifts, and I have nothing here, even though you bring me things every day. But I had forgotten about my cycle, and here we are.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. “You want me to be your mate?”

He pulled back to look at your face quizzically. “I thought I had made that clear before.”

“No,” you squeaked.

His face dropped. “I thought my intentions were obvious…I thought you reciprocated, but it’s okay if you don’t. I thank you for your help anyways. I can leave whenever you want.”

“No!” you blurted again. If you knew nothing else, you knew you wanted him to stay. “Mates, that’s like marriage, right? We’ll be each other’s?”

He nodded, face still carefully empty.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him until your noses brushed. “That sounds wonderful. You being mine, me being yours…I don’t mind it if you leave when you want, as long as you remember to come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back for you baby,” he said, smiling softly as he kissed you lovingly. “My lovely mate.”

You had known him only a few days, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him anymore. He lit up your days, just with his presence; he made you happier than you had been in a very long time. You should have been more cautious, instead of immediately promising yourself to him, but the soft, syrupy warmth you felt as he kissed you was intoxicating. You only hoped that this sensation would never go away.

#giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu smut #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu #kny smut #kny #mdni #kny x reader #monster-october-kny-2023 #writing tags like i'm throwing spaghetti at the wall #romy can write #strange lovers event #afab reader

[stargirlrchive]

folklore: this is me trying ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ folklore masterlist

summary: widowed!jake sully x female!reader, no use of y/n, angst, marriage of convenience, jake being mean? but he is a grieving boy!, mentions of death, TW!! it is not explicitly mentioned in this chapter but in this series it is eluded to death during childbirth, it might be mentioned later on, but i will do my best to not go into too much detail

word count: 1,898

sempul (n) - father ; sa’nok (n) - mother

‘ite (n) - daughter ; ‘itan (n) - son

comments: hi honeys, i am really excited about this series, i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. that being said, with what i mentioned in the summary, if anything seems like it will be too hard of a read, pls skip past this, your mental health is far more important! but i will do my best to not dive deep into the topic. but ok tysm, love you all!! byeeee mwaaaah ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

next ✩

- pandora, omitikaya forest, 2162 -

You swallowed roughly when you felt a lump form at your throat, desperately trying not to cry as the tears swelled your eyes. How did you end up in this situation? Why was Eywa punishing you this way? “When we mate-I do not wish to create Tsaheylu. That was reserved for Neytiri and I.”

Jake’s words continued to echo in your mind, “What?”

You could feel the frustration seeping out of him, tense and angry, as if what he said made perfect sense and you just didn’t understand. It was not fair, not to you and he knew it. “You-that is taking so much from me.” Your bottom lip quivered, it felt like someone had shoved a piping hot metal down your throat. “I understand we do not love each other, but-but this is something we look forward to our whole life and you will not even give me the courtesy of mating with me properly? Hold no true loyalty to me, nor I to you?”

Your tears began to fall in the next instant, bursting out as you refrained from holding back and sobbing loudly. Mo’at had come to both of you separately, informing you that Eywa had called upon her after the passing of Neytiri. The Great Mother wanted your path to cross with the Olo’eyktan.

Jake’s ears felt hot as they pressed down flat against his head, he was angry. Angry that the world had taken his mate from him, angry that the clan was forcing him to move on, angry that you did not understand where he was coming from. Besides his four children, there would never be anyone he loved more than Neytiri.

The thought of bearing his soul to you was too much, he would not risk his heart again. “I love Neytiri, you and I-we don't love each other, you said it yourself. I would never disrespect her by giving that part of myself to anyone else.”

He was being mean, he knew it too. “Many words have been used to describe you, but no one ever said you were mean. You are being cruel.”

Jake let out a deep breath, eyes starting to leak tears of frustration as he watched you cave in on yourself. You were mourning your future, what could have been for you, what you were never going to have.

“I had to let you know before this continued any further. Eywa has given us signs, I will respect her wishes and treat you with dignity as my wife, the kids-they love you. Neytiri loved you. And I am sorry I cannot give you a life filled with love but I can protect you. I will stand beside you through every moment.”

You said nothing, heart heavy with grief. “I know it is a lot to ask, but I need your help. Please.”

Your eyes caught Jake’s, tear stains down his face and as he pleaded with you, begging you. “You understand I will be giving my life to you. Depriving myself to find someone who loves me?”

Jake’s ears turned downwards, still pressed tightly against his head and he felt the guilt web it’s way through his entire body. He felt the rejection coming and he did not blame you. It was not a fair trade, he got a wife to look over his kids, care for him and his family and you got a love-less union, being upheld for appearance sake only.

Your throat dried up as he stayed silent, tears never ending from your eyes as they flowed down to your neck and chest.

“I’m trying, look-I cannot do that to Neytiri. I have never loved someone so deeply, when she and I promised ourselves to each other it was because we both knew that was right. We both knew we were meant to be by one another’s side-and creating Tsaheylu with you, it would rob the sentiment because we do not love each other, you said it yourself. I-I do not know how to phrase that gently, I do not wish to hurt you, only to be honest.”

There was a beat of silence, it was so defining that Jake's ears started to ring uncomfortably. You owed so much of the person you were to Neytiri and because of that you would not let her children suffer, “I will do it.”

Jake’s head snapped up, fear and gratitude on full display for you to see, your eyes had concealed themselves, your stare was cold and devoid, resignation as you came to terms with your future. “How will we go about this? I-” You paused and let out a breath through your nose, “I cannot stand in front of the clan and lie, celebrate as if this is normal, or joyous.”

You grumbled out quietly, “Feels like a death sentence.”

If Jake heard your last comment, he said nothing. His brain was still trying to process you agreeing to do this, why you would, he does not know.

It was as if you were reading his mind, “I am doing this for the children only. I know Neytiri would want someone to raise her kids, she would never want them to lack the love of a mother. And although I am not one, I loved Neytiri as if she were my sister, and for that the kids will never not know kindness from me.”

Jake’s shoulder sagged with relief, the last few months had been so very hard. He was trying to be a good father and help his oldest three process their grief while trying to not let his own swallow him whole.

You felt so nauseous, something swirling in the pit of your stomach trying to force its way up your throat. This was too much, too raw for you to accept. You pitied yourself but pitied the man before you even more. Jake’s throat felt rough, as if someone had forced sand down his mouth, “I will announce that we have mated at tomorrow's feast, that it happened the night prior.”

Your eyes dilated in fear, “You want me to leave with you tonight?”

“It is the only way I can think of to get Mo’at to stop pressing us. If they know we plan to mate, then they will watch our every move.”

Jake was trying to be sympathetic, trying not to be mean but he needed everyone to get off his case. He needed to start healing from the pain that leaked into every aspect of his life from the second Neytiri was taken from him. And he was right, you were tired of the sympathetic looks being sent your way as you walked by.

Everyone in the clan knew of the love Neytiri and Jake held for each other, you never stood a chance. The whispers were the worst of it, and at times you wondered if it was true. You wondered if Eywa had truly turned her back on you.

“Fine. I wish to let my parents know, they will not expect my sudden departure.”

Your voice and face were void of any emotion, cold as if the flicker within you had died, Jake felt the guilt embed into his soul. Everything he touched burnt out, fizzled and turned to ash. But he would not let that happen to his children, he would not let them feel the loss of a mother and your love for Neytiri drove the both of you to put your feelings aside.

Jake was about to thank you, as much as he did not want this he knew this was a larger sacrifice for you. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he watched your body go rigid as the tent entrance was thrown open. Your mother and father had walked in, followed by all of your younger siblings. The happy chatter died as they saw their oldest daughter and the Olo’ekytan in their family home.

Small streaks of tears down your face instantly put your parents on edge but your father turned to Jake to greet him properly. “Olo’eyktan Sully, how are you?”

Jake's fingers reached his forehead, head tilted downward as his hand extended forward, “I am doing well, and yourself?”

The small talk ensued as you stood by the corner of your home, trying your best to avoid your mother’s concerned gaze. “‘Ite, what is the Olo’eyktan doing in our hut?”

Jake tensed up, fear gripping at his throat as he watched you with careful eyes, he was not sure if you would be able to do it. Lie to your family, from what he had gathered from Neytiri you all had a close bond, even more so after your sister Zewlay was killed by the RDA.

“Sempul-Sa’nok, Jake and I-” You paused, trying to force the words out of your mouth. Jake cut in quickly as he saw your form begin to shake, his legs making quick work as he crossed the tent to you, stiffly wrapping an arm around you to keep you up.

“Your daughter and I have mated before Eywa.”

Those eight words sealed your future and it was deathly quiet besides the gasp that left your mothers mouth as your eyes pooled with tears. “Oh ‘ite! I am very happy for you both.”

The tears fell from your eyes instantly, “Thank you, Sa’nok.”

Your mother instantly pulled you out of Jake’s hold, engulfing her arms around you as your body shook, “Why the tears my sweet girl?” Her voice dropped quietly as she whispered into your ear, “Are you not happy with the union?”

You pulled away from her, eyes jumping to your fathers as she wiped at the tear stains. Confusion evident in his gaze,“No-no I am just sad to be leaving you all. I just do not wish for you or Ma’Sempul to be angry with me.”

Your father said nothing, still trying to process what your mate had said. After a short while he slowly made his way to Jake, your fathers head was held high as he kept eye contact with him. Jake would not be shocked if your father would have strangled him, he was eerily quiet as he approached him, “Take care of my daughter, ‘itan.”

Relief flooded your system, eyes drifting towards Jake’s and you gave him a small nod, reassuring him all was well. “We must celebrate! Let me call on Mo’at and begin the preparations.”

“No!”

Your mother stilled and confusion littered her features, “Sorry Ma’, Jake and I do not want such a fuss over us. That is why our union was kept for just the two of us. He will announce it during tomorrow's communal feast and that is all.”

Your mother was about to protest but your father removed her from you, “If that is what you wish ‘ite.”

You nodded swiftly, moving towards Jake as you refrained from tensing up again, “Yes-I will pack some things and leave tonight.”

Your family was happy for you, they knew with the Olo’eyktan by your side you will always be loved and protected by the clan. “May your union prosper against all odds. Though we know the Great Mother makes no mistakes.” They could not have wanted anyone better to love you, oh how wrong they were.

“Thank you, Sa’nok.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #avatar jake sully x reader #folklore: jake sully ୨୧ #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #jake sully smut #neteyam sully #loak sully #kiri sully #avatar #atwow #atwow x reader #neytiri #avatar 2009 #avatar 2022 #avatar 1 #avatar 2

[searchingforserendipity25]

@finweanladiesweek. day 4. finduilas & idril

1.

finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive.

it is a hard lesson for a young maiden to learn, but on the burning shores of the sirion she learned it all through the long retreat. the smoke moved like a living creature, and the fire was nothing so much as garthour's will extended. the air smoked of blood, bone-ash, dying grass, groaning stones.

orodreth held the tower as long as he could, but his daughter was sent away with the first refugees. because the way to nargothrond was long and winding, and the pursuit relentless, finduilas' guards took many days to find shelter.

she looked backwards many times, over hill and crag, riding through the aspen country, ever-fearful. it was because she looked back that she saw them. fair and golden, vaster than even the songs had told, the great eagles of manwë crossed the very edge of the horizon.

finduilas' heart leapt, for a moment, high enough that she could taste her own hope. had improbable rescue not come before already to the noldor, at the time of greatest despair? had not the princes of her people been brought to salvation unlooked for? orodreth might live; her people might leave, the tower might be retaken, the crops sown once again, the rot sang out of the land --

the eagles crossed the very edge of the horizon. they took the high roads of the sky, where the wind was fiercest. their great wings cut the sick yellow of the smoke clouds like knifes. they flew past it, and did not look back.

this, then, was the doom of the noldor, as much as the great battlefields, the poisoning cold, the impossibly crowded barracks of melkor's thralls.

this: the rider clad in grey linens and black soot, the lady all lonesome on the crest of the hill. finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive; maidens who look back never do.

2.

they waited as long as they could. the tower faced the sea, was built to enlarge its echoes. tuor could not sleep, now, without that song to lull him, and even his dreams were dark, damp, blue-lit.

silver found its way to his beard, the fur of his chest, the back of his clever hands; then his temples. some days he woke coughing, spitting out mouthfuls of salt.

they waited as long as they could: until idril said, enough. said: we with our backs to the sea are as the hare against the fence. said: i will have you dead of ancient age or a bad plague or morgoth's spears, but not this.

'no hope have we here; westwards i shall go, and make the speeches my father lent his mariners,' idril said.

she stood in the fullness of her height, hair braided for ruling, her bare hands upon the maps laid out on her great table. all the rings she owned were the ones she had worn on the feast that became gondolin's wake; all of them she had passed, one after another, to her son and her son's wife; to her vassals.

they stood also, the last lords of the white city. legolas pressed his palms together in prayer, rog was very still, dangerous contention barely at bay.

her husband looked at her, and the relief in his eyes was dearer to her than all the feasting and treasures lost to the balrogs and the dragons.

her son alone of all the gathered wept. but her son always wept a great deal. at times ulmondil's son seemed to his mother made up of water as much as flesh. for him too idril built the ship, and for the sake of young elwing's fledgling queenship.

tuor embraced all his friends; idril blessed all her servants. their son sang over the tiller, and elwing raised high the farewell pennants.

they went west. the west would not have them.

adrift, their vessel wandered from strange island to strange island. foul fogs trapped them; ossë's whims overtook them, his queer jealousy of ulmo's friends won over only over many a swell and many a quest. becalming days kept them trapped for fortnights with no wind to stir the sails.

and none of it mattered, none of it - for tuor's voice sang salt out of the water, tuor's webs caught fish often, tuor slept well on the berth under the stars, tuor's cough grew even and faded.

tuor's silver hairs shone under the pitiless sun, marvelous to idril's eyes, wondrous under her hands; petulant ossë dragged their ship away from the doldrums whenever they started to enjoy each other's closeness too much, spraying them for their laughter.

longing wounded sharply, fear clogged the hours of uncertain charting. the sea was their friend; but the sea was not an easy friend to have, not constant in its mood or reliable in its boons.

they traded stories, sang together, crafted little things to gift each other, engraved the walls of their cabins and the pantry and the mast, too: chased each other like trapped cats, at times, imprisoned together without relief. old griefs rose; harsh words caught the edge of the wind and cut close to the skin.

it was never long, before they reconciled; but it was never simple to sit down, hold a hand, weep for the pain they shared and the children left behind, their maddening odyssey and its mad estel.

all the same. tuor grew old, not ill. away from shore, caught between worlds, idril did laugh: at night, when the rigging was set, and there were new sun-spots to count on tuor's cheeks, idril did not think of gondolin.

westwards, always. their course was set to hope most necessary, hope most dire, hope unanswered. in urgency they had sought to evade grief and disaster from their kin, and grief and disaster came, on swords raised by their own kin.

idril and tuor know this not. none can say where they sail still; but ëarendil in his far journeys to give guidance to lost sailors peers often downwards into the wide sea, seeking for a glimmer of fair braids, an old man's silver head.

#finweanladiesweek #finduilas #orodreth #idril #tuor #my fics #the silm #the house of finwe #earendil

[ilynpilled]

due the recent discussion about the ancestral connection between these two I wanted to say something about their thematic overlaps. Brienne and Dany, among other female characters, and how their stories is in vague conversation with each other is something I really love because I do think there are a lot of parallels ingrained into their narratives. I adore how they are thrust into, or in a lot of ways choose to embody, “traditionally masculine” roles. In the meta sense too, like their narratives are about filling the role reserved for male fantasy protagonists. Brienne is the Protector and the Knight. Dany is the Conqueror and the Savior. They are a deconstruction and reconstruction of these tropes. They also have a lot of differences too, which just elevates the whole thing in my eyes because it really hones in on what it is to be gender nonconforming and how fluid that whole idea is.

Brienne’s role exploration is so clearly delineated, but it is still about duality:

“It was the gods who neglected to give you a cock, not me."

"Lady Brienne?" She looked so uncomfortable that Jaime sensed a weakness. "Or would Ser Brienne be more to your taste?"

"Give me the sword, Kingslayer." "Oh, I will."

bound them face-to-face. “The lovers," Shagwell sighed loudly, "and what a lovely sight they are. "Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady." Then he laughed that high shrill laugh of his, and said, "Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"

but the faint light revealed only Brienne of Tarth, her hands bound in heavy chains. "I swore to keep you safe," the wench said stubbornly. "I swore an oath." Naked, she raised her hands to Jaime. "Ser. Please. If you would be so good." The steel links parted like silk. "A sword,"

In this light she could almost be a beauty, he thought. In this light she could almost be a knight. Brienne's sword took flame as well, burning silvery blue. The darkness retreated a little more.

"Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called.

"I will ask after her. What is this woman to you?" “My protector."

It is still about this idea that you are not really restricted by gendered tropes. (This duality is also present in the Bear and the Maiden fair, and the BaTB reconstruction. The point is that they are both simultaneously.) She has a complicated web of motivations: love, trust (a lot on gender constructs here too), and her own altruism. You can be the romantic heroine, as well as the knight: the protector. Same with Dany. She can be conqueror, savior, and mother. The whole point is the taking apart these dichotomies and constructs.

Dany echoing Rhaegar: “I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. “The last dragon,” Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. “The last, the last.” Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

Dany takes up Viserys’s role, she takes up Rhaegar’s role, she takes up Drogo’s role. But she is still the mother of dragons. I think what George wants to emphasize with a lot of these characters is that gender and the constructs around it are very complex and you are not gonna neatly fit into the strict boxes that society forces you into. When that happens, characters often end up in ruin. People are not meant to fit into these rigid boxes. Anyways, Dany’s story is filled to the brim with this duality as well: it is present in the sun and moon symbolism (lol also Brienne’s sigil), as well as the AA prophecy subversion. The flaming swords are forged with the burning of her husband etc, again the genders become switched. But it is not about one or the other. I think really it is like: Dany must become the conqueror, the warrior, the executioner even, the butcher, because she is a mother & savior. Because she is also a protector, nurturer, and planter. For her children. Also, how “the children” represent the self for her. Like they are/were her. But she has power now. A sword/dragons. It is such a large weight on her shoulders. What does her inaction mean? What is her obligation with that kind of power? She must get blood on her hands to save her children, and to in some form save herself. What does “better to be the butcher than the meat” really mean? I read Brienne the same way. She is not a knight for glory and empty chivalry. She has some vindictive tendencies rooted in her trauma, but at the end it hurts. She is a knight to protect. It is rooted in the fact that she is a lover. They are both so selfless, they are both so strong. But their fight is also ultimately a fight for themselves too.

And to finish my little mwuah love note about my two favorite female characters in the series, this is such a cute little romantic parallel, even though they are filling opposite roles in it:

#brienne of tarth #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Favourite Female Tolkien Character Poll - Round 1, Match 1

Character information behind the cut! Add your own advocacy for your fave in reblogs!

Míriel Therindë

The greatest fabric artist and innovator among the Noldor, and the mother of Fëanor. Her death from overwhelming weariness shortly after Fëanor’s birth leaves her husband Finwë distraught. When she chooses to never return from the Halls, Finwë remarries - much to Fëanor’s discontent, as it means Míriel’s decision not to return will be irrevocable. After Finwë’s death and her reunion with him in the Halls of Mandos, she wishes to return to life, and Finwë chooses to remain dead to allow her to do so. She is grieved by what has passed since her death, and rather than return among the Noldor, she enters the house of Vairë the Weaver, and weaves tapestries of all the history of the Noldor.

She was a Noldorin Elda of slender and graceful form, and of gentle disposition, though as was later discovered in matters far more grave, she could show an ultimate obstinacy that counsel or command would only make more obdurate. She had a beautiful voice and a delicate and clear enunciation, though she spoke swiftly and took pride in this skill. Her chief talent, however, was a marvellous dexterity of hand. This she employed in embroidery, which though achieved in what even the Eldar thought a speed of haste was finer and more intricate than any that had before been seen. She was therefore called ‘Therindë’ (Needlewoman).

[After her return from the Halls of Mandos.] Míriel was accepted by Vairë and became her chief handmaid; and all tidings of the Noldor down the years from their beginning were brought to her, and she wove them in webs historical, so fair and skilled that they seemed to live, imperishable, shining with a light of many hues fairer than are known in Middle-earth.

Nerdanel

A great sculptor, and the wife of Fëanor and mother of seven sons. She is known as Nerdanel the Wise, and is the only person whose counsel Fëanor ever took, but later in his life during the Unrest of the Noldor his deeds grieve her and they become estranged; she does not go with him when he is exiled from Tirion, nor when he leaves Valinor, and instead lives with Indis, whom she is friends with. During the Flight of the Noldor she pleads with him to leave at least some of their sons in Valinor, but he rebuffs her.

While still in early youth Fëanor wedded Nerdanel, a maiden of the Noldor; at which many wondered, for she was not among the fairest of her people. But she was strong, and free of mind, and filled with the desire of knowledge. In her youth she loved to wander far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the long shores of the Sea or in the hills; and this she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys.

Her father, Mahtan, was a great smith, and among those of the Noldor most dear to the heart of Aulë. Of Mahtan Nerdanel learned much of crafts that women of the Noldor seldom used: the making of things of metal and stone. She made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and others of men and women of the Eldar, and these were so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes strong and strange but beautiful.

#favourite female tolkien character poll #miriel #nerdanel #the silmarillion #tolkien #history of middle earth #i may have gone overboard on the info! #two artistic geniuses! #I CAN ADD CUTS IN THE APP NOW THANK YOU TUMBLR STAFF!! 👏

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies

AO3 - Masterlist

“This is a bad, bad idea,” Jelissa said with a quivering voice filled with anxiety, her hands twisting in distress as she paced back and forth, wearing a visible path into the stone floor. Unlike her companion, Daenera, who appeared calm and composed, Jelissa was a bundle of nerves. 

Meanwhile, Daenera sat upon the settee, attempting to stitch an intricate design of various plants. Her attempts proved futile, as the tansy resembled nothing more than a simple yellow circle, the bird’s-foot trefoil failed to portray its climbing nature and lay lifeless on the canvas, and even the coriander flower, while the most successful of her stitching attempts, left much to be desired. 

Jelissa’s apprehension echoed in her voice as she reiterated her concerns. “This is a very bad idea.”

“Yes, thank you for your assessment. I will take it into consideration,” Daenera replied dismissively, eyes never leaving her embroidery. Jelissa wasn’t the only one who gave voice to her apprehension, Joyce had also expressed her reluctance, but Daenera knew she would ultimately follow through with the plan, as she always did.

Jelissa’s worry persisted. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught, but he will know.”

“And what if it goes wrong?”

“Then we’re sure to be ostracized,” Daenera answered simply. 

Jelissa came with a feeble, mousy sound, beginning to further wear a path in the stone floor. How could Daenera be so nonchalant about it? 

As the doors swung open, the three hooded figures made their entrance. Fenrick hastened to shut the doors behind them, visibly uneasy as he removed his own hood, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He had been adamantly opposed to the plan from the very start. 

Joyce followed suit, removing her hood and the figure beside her did the same. A cascade of dark curls spilled around the woman’s shoulders, thick and lush, slightly shorter and more coiled than Daenera’s own tresses. A faint, uneasy smile played upon the woman’s lips as she stood before Daenera, hands folded in front of her, a display of nervousness that contradicted the flicker of deception in her eyes. 

Rising from the settee, Daenera carefully placed her unfinished embroidery on the table, her gaze fixed upon the woman. Slowly, she circled her, observing the woman’s figure and features with keen eyes, lips pursing in contemplation. 

The room was charged with tension, the air heavy and warm. 

The woman’s complexion was fair and unblemished, her face round and plump with youthful features There was a striking resemblance between the two of them, and in dim light, Daenera believed they could easily be mistaken for one another. However, the woman stood slightly taller and broader than Daenera, and the most distinctive difference lay in their eyes. 

While Daenera possessed cornflower blue eyes, the woman’s eyes were a deep shade of gray. 

Nevertheless, Daenera’s expression conveyed her approval to Joyce, a silent affirmation of her satisfaction with the woman standing before them. 

“What is your name?” Daenera inquired.

“Selma, misstre-my lady,” The young woman answered and made a sweet, albeit, clumsy curtsy. 

“And how old are you?”

“Nine and ten.”

“How long have you been in this profession?” 

Selma released a burst of air that could have turned into laughter, her body assuming the coy posture that mirrored Daenera’s own. Coy, yet sly. The similarity between them was not lost on the princess. 

“So, you’re asking how long I’ve been a whore?” Semla surmised, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. “Since I was two and ten, princess.”

“Would you prefer to be called a whore or a mistress of the night?” Daenera’s question seemed to puzzle Selma, as if she had never been given the voice of how she preferred to be addressed. Her wide gray eyes scanned Daenera, eyes flickering as she tried to decipher the situation. 

Daenera didn’t mind the skepticism, in fact, she expected it. It would be unusual for a woman in Selma’s line of work not to be wary of any given situation, considering the risk involved. 

“You can call me whatever you please, though ‘whore’ is the most common term used for what I am called,” Selma replied, her voice calm and measured. 

She began moving around in the room slowly, her eyes darting over the surroundings, keen to gather as much information as possible about the situation she found herself in. Daenera understood as much. 

Fenrick was less allowing, positioned near the door, and shifting uncomfortably, clearly unsettled by Selma’s ease in making herself at home. His scowl deepened, resembling someone bothered by a pebble in their shoe. 

Joyce was more relaxed in posture, but her eyes never left the girl. And Jelissa was standing in a corner, swaying from one foot to another, wringing her hands in front of her, shoulders up to her ears. 

“It is not often I am invited to The Red Keep,” Selma mused, running a finger over a table as if looking for dust. “Why am I here?”

“I have a task that requires someone of your profession .”

Selma’s clips curled into a playful, if not insolent, smile and plucked one of the berries from the array of fruits, savoring its taste behind her painted lips. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “Obviously. I assume it requires deceit, deception and above all discretion.”

“Indeed, those are the key elements.” Daenera nodded, acknowledging Selma’s astute observation. “And what do you know about Prince Aemond?”

Daenera noticed Selma’s sudden shift in demeanor as her full attention was captured by the mention of Prince Aemond. The young woman’s eyes widened, her eyebrows rising and her lips parting in surprise. It was evident that this went beyond the usual encounters within the walls of the Keep. While whores were often sneaked in for the pleasure of lustful lords seeking refuge from the outside world, involving oneself with a prince was an entirely different matter. The stakes were higher, and the risk greater. 

“He’s the one-eyed prince,” Selma replied, her filled with apprehension. “I’ve heard rumors about him… and how he lost his eye.”

Daenera leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. “Tell me, Selma, what else have you heard about the prince?”

“He’s… unlike his brother. That the prince, Aemond, is restrained, a skilled fighter, fearsome and cold. One could almost call him frigid,” Selma revealed, hesitant and cautious. 

Daenera nodded in agreement. “Yes, he possesses all those qualities. But he also possesses a sense of moral superiority and smugness. It infuriates me. Aemond carries himself with an air of righteousness, believing himself above the same vices that inflict his brother. I intend to expose his hypocrisy.”

Understanding dawned on Selma’s face. “You wish to humiliate him.”

Daenera’s eyes gleamed with mischief and she made an upside down smirk. “Exactly. Aegon is known for his indulgences in pleasure, he visits the brothels often and has a reputation of being a pervert. The Queen must be disappointed with her firstborn. I want to show her that her other son is no different.”

Selma’s eyes fixated on the heavy coin purse Joyce pressed into the palm of Daenera, greed flickering in the whores eyes. 

“And what is the task you require of me?”

“I want you to surprise Aemond in his chambers, to be discovered in a compromising situation,” Daenera informed, head tilting to the side as she observed the woman. “I want you to make a scene when he tries to remove you from his chambers.”

“What if he does not try to throw me out? What if he takes my presence as a gift?” Selma posed a valid concern, her eyes glimmering with as much curiosity as the did caution.

Daenera’s mind briefly faltered at the thought. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Aemond might not react as she expected him to do. The notion grated on her. It felt like an itch she could not scratch. Bothersome, uncomfortable and confusing. After all, Aemond was a man, and men were weak to the desires of the flesh.

But Aemond was also a man of steel and ice, a complex puzzle of conflicting traits. Daenera regained her composure and spoke with certainty. “If he chooses to take pleasure in your company, that will be your decision. However, your primary task is for you to cause a scene that will be heard throughout the Red Keep. I want to embarrass and humiliate him.”

Selma’s eyes flickered with caution. “Men can become dangerous when they’re humiliated. They may lash out, leaving marks or worse.”

Daenera met Selma’s gaze and said with assurance. “Aemond may threaten you, he may corner you, but he will not harm you. He considered himself above such acts.”

“Many men do, princess. It doesn’t always stop them.”

The assurance Daenera had given wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t entirely true either, and a whore knew that well. Daenera also knew the fierce look that had once glickered in Aemond’s eyes, the moment he had contemplated violence, where he had picked up a rock and prepared to swing it, or more recently, in the sept when he had burned her hand. Instinctively she brushed a thumb over the healed skin. She could never be certain of his limits, nor assured by his restraint. “He may tighten his grip on you, but he would not take your life.”

“And what of the Queen?” Selma continued. 

Daenera’s expression softened slightly as she considered the Queen’s potential reaction. “The Queen will likely want you to leave discreetly. She may even offer compensation to ensure your silence, along with a threat.” Daenera took Selma’s hand and pressed the heavy coin purse into her palm. “And if not, this should be sufficient to secure your discretion.”

A mischievous smile played across Selma’s lips as she closed her fingers around the coins. “Discretion is a whore’s most precious trait.”

With grace and precision, Aemond skilfully evaded Ser Criston Cole’s sword swipe, his silver hair swishing with each nimble movement. He dove and spun, his sword pointing at the Kingsguard as if daring him to strike again. The exhilaration of combat coursed through Aemond’s veins, his muscles primed and tingling with anticipation. Training made him feel alive, much like riding Vhagar, his heart pounding within his chest.

Ser Criston pressed forward, their swords colliding with the intent on winning. Aemond absorbed the impact of each blow, skillfully redirecting the force while yielding ground. The vibrations reverberated through his hands, arms, and shoulders, a familiar ache that no longer caused him to drop his weapon.

“I heard about the incident with the princess,” Ser Criston commented, his dark eyes intently focused on Aemond’s every move. 

Aemond pressed on, annoyance gripping his lungs tightly at the mere mention of Daenera. Ser Criston met each swing of the sword with practiced ease. 

“It was unbecoming of someone of her status to even consider something as… indecent as that. I suppose she takes after her mother in that regard,” Ser Criston sneered. His disdain for Rhaenyra and her children was no secret, even if he attempted to withhold the bitterness from his words. It seemed as though their very existence repulsed him to his core. 

Silent determination etched across Aemond’s features as he deflected Ser Criston’s sword and delivered a powerful kick to the Kingsguard’s chest, causing him to stumble backward. Aemond continued his assault, landing blows upon Ser Criston’s padded form. 

“Good,” Ser Criston complimented as Aemond pressed the tip of his sword against the Kingsguard’s chest, signaling the end of their practice round. 

A smug smile curved Aemond’s lips as Ser Criston clapped him on the shoulder, both of them breathing heavily from their intense training session. They made their way towards the benches, seeking respite from the intense training. 

“The princess has always thought herself better than everyone. It wouldn’t hurt to take her down a notch or two,” Ser Criston continued, grabbing a ladle to fill with water and lifting it to his lips. “ Once, she kicked me in the ribs. She’s always been insolent. Women shouldn’t act in such a manner.”

Irritation stiffened Aemonds movements as he began to undo the leather straps around the grip of his sword so that he could redo it again. “After you were attacked by Ser Harwin Strong.”

“Yes,” Ser Criston replied, his voice dripping with loathing. “That man had no honor. He was a meddlesome cunt.”

The vivid memory of Ser Harwin Strong overpowering Ser Criston, sending him crashing to the ground, flashed in Aemond’s mind. It had been a display of pure brute strength, each strike capable of killing a lesser man. Yet, Ser Criston had endured with a resilience bestowed by the gods, aided by the intervention of four Kingsguard members and his own stubbornness. Ser Harwin had earned his epithet, ‘Breakbones,’ for a good reason. 

And Ser Criston possessed a thick skull.

Aemond also recalled the events that led to the fight. 

“And it would seem his… offspring are much the same,” Ser Criston lowered his voice, recognizing the sensitivity of calling the princess a bastard. 

Aemond felt a twinge of annoyance at the lack of respect the Kingsguard showed Daenera, despite him calling her much worse. She may be a bastard, but she was a royal bastard, and one not to be trifled with so easily.

“She appears to be a whore, much like her mother. It is fortunate that the court is now aware of her nature.”

“Ser Criston,” Aemond interjected, his tone stern. “I understand you hold them in low opinion, but do not forget yourself.” 

“Of course, my apologies, my prince,” Ser Criston conceded, though his emotions often overwhelmed him. “Aegon should be careful, she’s sure to retaliate.”

“I am sure she will,” Aemond agreed, wrapping the leather strap tightly around the hilt of his sword, the leather groaning as it was pulled. 

Underestimating Daenera and her capabilities would be foolish. Aemond made that mistake before and vowed never to repeat it. However, he couldn’t shake the belief that any damage she could inflict would be limited. He did not have a salacious letter and his reputation would not be easily damaged. 

He had burned her hand, and in retaliation, she had poisoned his sword, causing his hands to burn and itch. 

Now, he humiliated her publicly, and he knew she’d attempt to do the same. What he couldn’t figure out was how, or when. 

Daenera had shown herself to be petty and resourceful, something was bound to happen, and while he felt apprehensive there was also a peculiar intrigue growing within him. 

As the sky turned orange and a chill descended upon the air, Aemond and Ser Criston persisted with their practice in the tiltyard. When the session drew to a close, Aemond bid Ser Criston a goodnight and made his way into the Keep. 

He followed the corridor that led to Maegor’s Holdfast, where his apartments awaited, fatigue hummed through his weary muscles. 

Aches lingered in his limbs, while the tips of his fingers had gone numb from the repeated strikes his sword had endured. His hair clung to the nape of his neck and his undershirt seemed to stick to his skin. Crossing the threshold of his chambers, he found solace in the small sitting area positioned before the crackling fire where he took his meals. Adjacent to the hearth were his bedchamber, the canopy bed itself adorned with heavy curtains that was tied to the posts. 

Books lay strewn around the floor beside the hearth, a testament to his voracious appetite for knowledge. 

Kicking off his boots upon entry, Aemond unfastened his sword belt and laid it alongside them. With a satisfying stretch and a roll of his neck, he proceeded to undo his doublet, casually tossing it over the armrest of a nearby chair. 

The hearth cast its warmth and radiance throughout the room. Typically dimly lit by candles, the heavy curtains by the windows limited the ingress of light, creating an atmosphere of seclusion seldom found elsewhere. Here, he could relish in solitude, free from the weight of expectations, surrounded only by his books. 

Lifting the flagon of wine, Aemond poured himself a cup, the bitter liquid meeting his lips as he took a prolonged swig. As he turned his gaze, his eyes were drawn to the entrance of his bedchamber, his bed more specifically. In that moment he froze, brows drawing down in a confused frown. 

There, a woman leisurely sprawled out across his bed. With her back turned to him, her dark, cascading hair adorned her bare shoulders and fell like a river of black silk down her back. The pale, smooth expanse of her skin stretched over plump yet delicate curves, the flames licking across it with wicked intent, an invitation to be touched, to be claimed. 

Perplexity held Aemond captive as he stared, his heart thrumming within his chest as a fervent fire kindled in the deepest pit of his stomach, spreading warmth through his veins. It was as if his senses struggled to reconcile what lay before him with the familiar reality he had always known. 

“Daenera?” He muttered the name, soft, gentle, confused. 

Aemond’s eye darted over the woman’s enticing figure as she sat up, her back still partially turned to him. Her hand traced the contours of her hip, causing his breath to hitch. With deliberate slowness, she rotated her body to face him fully, her voluptuous breasts captivating his attention, her abdomen smooth and alluring, and a hint of curls nestled between her thighs. 

Aemond blinked, his mind struggling to process what was before him and a fist seemed to tighten around his stomach. 

As her face came into view, he scrutinized her features. It was her face that betrayed her, with its rounded shape, the subtle shadows that emphasized her cheekbones. Her lips possessed a sharpness he didn’t anticipate, her nose slightly more prominent. Yet, it was her eyes, deep gray and distinctly different from the ones that haunted him, that confirmed the truth. 

A smile played upon her lips, a mischievous tilt of her head indicating amusement. She remained on her knees on his bed. 

Aemond snapped out of his stupor, his confusion transforming into a surge of indignation that radiated through his body like icy tendrils

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He sneered at the unfamiliar woman who was distinctly not Daenera. The deception festered in his stomach, a churning of rage and… bitter, awful disappointment . 

“I’m here for you, of course, my prince ,” the woman purred, her voice shrouded in playful sensuality. It was a voice that didn’t belong to Daenera, and it’s very sound grated against Aemond’s core as a dull blade trying to cut wood.

“Get out,” Aemond breathed in anger and disbelief, an underlying reverberation of frustration making its mark on his tone. 

“My prince?” 

“Get out!” Aemond’s shout echoed through the room, his cup of wine abandoned on a shelf as he stormed towards the woman on the bed. It felt like a violation, and intrusion of his space. With rough force, he grabbed her arm, causing her to cry out in shock and pain. His voice trembled as he spoke, “Who put you up to this?! Aegon?”

“Please, you’re hurting me,” the woman yelped, attempting to pry his hand from her arm. Fear and confusion contorted her face, her gray eyes, so unlike the ones he desired, only added to the dissonance of the moment. 

“Who sent you?!” Aemond yelled, shaking her vigorously, his grip tightening.

“Aegon! Aegon sent me,” she yelled back, her flustered cheek and downturned lips betraying her distress. “Aegon sent me. He thought you would enjoy my company, my prince.”

“You’re one of his whores,” Aemond concluded, seething with contempt. It was utterly characteristic of his brother to do something like this. It was never enough to ruin his own reputation, he also wished to ruin Aemonds. And Aemond had been foolish to believe Aegon would have ceased to bring whores into the Keep after the last time Aemond had caught him. It seemed his brother couldn’t help himself, wholly unable to resist his own vices. 

It disgusted him, and now Aegon wanted to ensnare Aemond into his sordid affairs. 

“Please,” the whore pleaded, attempting to quell the tension by placing her hand on his chest, the thin fabric barely separating her touch from his skin. Her distressed expression shifted into a mask of seduction, with a false innocence. “Let me please you.”

She pressed herself against his body and murmured, “I can be whatever you want. Whomever you want.”

Aemond’s lip curled in disgust as a wave of revulsion washed over him at her touch, her hand sliding up his chest and grazing the tips of his hair. The audacity of her presumption made his blood boil. He recoiled, his body instinctively rejecting the woman’s advances. 

Her eyes, once filled with fiery desire, now flickered with a dull gray, lacking the unique depth of the eyes that haunted his dreams. Aemond knew all too well the truth behind those whores eyes, they were nothing more than a facade, lacking the spark of intellect and captivating mystery that had drawn him to Daenera in the first place. 

He hated the whores eyes for not being Daenera, and he hated Daenera’s eyes for being the way they were. 

“I can be Daenera if it pleases you,” she whispered sweetly.

Aemond steadied himself and met her gaze with unwavering coldness. The corners of his mouth curled into a disdainful sneer, his voice dripping with contempt. “ I will not be deceived by some cheap imitation. Aegon may find amusement in pretense, but I will not be so easily corrupted. You disgust me.”

Something snapped within Aemond, shattering the barriers that had held him back. In an instant, his demeanor had transformed from a controlled facade to a maelstrom of repulsion and fury. His eye blazed with an intensity that seemed to consume the very air around him. How dare she presume to know his desires, to imitate Daenera, the very thought twisted his features into a snarl of disgust. 

Without hesitation, Aemond seized her, his grip firm and unyielding, and forcefully pulled her off the bed. In one swift motion, he propelled her towards the arch that marked the barrier between his bedchamber and sitting room. The woman collided with the stone column, her body staggering, her hands scrambling for purchase on the cold stone. She glanced back at him with fear and confusion etched upon her face. 

Aemond was upon her in an instant, closing the distance between them. His hand found its place around her throat, pressing her back against the unforgiving stone, denying her a chance of escape. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, the same color of dirty water, so far from the elusive, unfathomable blue that haunted him. 

A grim satisfaction filled Aemond as he gazed into those gray eyes, words spoken with disdain. “You are nothing more than a repugnant creature.” 

The tension seemed palpable as Aemond held her captive, the air between them filled with fear and raw loathing. She had clearly been sent to his chambers due to her resemblance to the princess solely for the purpose of taunting him. She had wished to deceive him, to lure him into bed with the batting of her eyes, to taint and shame him. 

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh, as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with venom. “You mistake me for my brother if you think I would lower myself by fucking a whore.”

“Aemond-,” she choked out.

“Do not call me that,” Aemond seethed, his face twisted with anger. “I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, and you will address me as such.”

“Please, my prince,” she stammered, her breaths coming out in panicked gasps. 

Aemond gritted his teeth and forcibly disengaged himself from her, prying his hand from her neck to snatch up her scattered garments and thrusting them into her arms. The woman stumbled as he dragged her towards the door, unable to match his long strides while clutching her clothes and trying to cover herself, teetering on the verge of dropping them all together. 

He swung the doors to his chambers open and flung her out into the hallway, with little thought on anything else that removing her from his apartments. The girl stumped and a sock fell from the bundle of clothes that she used to cover her exposed body. 

It was only then he had realized his mistake as loud gasps echoed in the hall, and he froze. 

Queen Alicent’s eyes were wide, darting between the naked girl, her face flushed and tear-streaked, and Aemond’s furious expression, his ears visibly crimson. The silence grew uncomfortable, punctuated only by the sniffs of the disheveled girl desperately attempting to shield her nudity. Her legs, shoulders, and entire backside were exposed, while her dark, tangled curls resembled more a bird's nest than what he had previously noticed. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed. 

In the light of the hallway, the semblance between the whore and Daenera dissipated like the morning mist, and the differences became evident. The whore stood taller, broader, with faint lines etching across her face as a testimony to the years she had spent in her profession. 

“Mother…” Aemond’s voice faltered as Queen Alicent raised a commanding hand, silencing him with a single gesture. 

Standing behind the Queen was lady Talya, her lips pressed into a thin line, fully aware that this was not the opportune moment to interject. To Alicent’s left stood lady Merryweather, lady Caswell, and, to Aemond’s detriment, Princess Daenera herself, her eyes widened with shock and something else. The remaining ladies either wore expressions of surprise or maintained tight-lipped composure, but Daenera’s lips held an unmistakable quirk, as if she found the situation somewhat amusing. 

Alicent directed her eyes towards the disheveled girl, naked and still recovering from her undignified expulsion from Aemond’s chambers. The Queen’s demeanor remained poised and composed, seemingly unfazed by the scandalous scene before her, though her clasped hands betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. 

With regal grace she addressed the girl. “What is your name?”

“S-selma, Your Grace,” the girl answered, voice quivering as much as her body was. Selma attempted a curtsy, but dropped more of her clothes. 

“Selma,” Alicent spoke with an air of authority, her tone belying the underlying anger she undoubtedly felt. “May I inquire as to what is transpiring here?”

“I… I was keeping the prince company, Your Grace,” Selma replied, her brows lifting in an attempt at honesty. She dared not meet Aemond’s incensed eye, the glare sharpening as she spoke. 

“We… We were…” Selma hesitated, leaving the unspoken words to hang in the air, allowing the audience to fill in the blanks. 

Aemond’s eyes snapped back to her, ablaze with accusation and bitter at the insinuation that something had transpired between them when it was wholly false. He clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists.

“We were in bed together, and I must have… I must have said something that offended the good prince… for he… he…” She trailed off, her hands tracing the cold skin of her arm, precisely where he had forcefully grabbed her. A bruise had formed, a visible mark of aggression. Then, her trembling hand moved to push a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the redness and bruising around her throat and eye, a testament to an act of violence. The bruises were a deep purple, and stark against the pale of her skin. 

The accusation of violence lingered heavily in the air. Aemond knew that his grip had not been strong enough to cause such bruising, and he had certainly not hit her. The accusation was a blatant lie, but why would she?

“I beg your forgiveness, my prince, if I said something-,” the whore whimpered, tentatively approaching him.

Aemond loomed over her, his face a mask of icy indifference, unyielding and unrepentant. She reached out for him, but the clenching of his jaw seemed to deter her. 

Lady Merryweather gasped, her face flushing bright red as her eyes averted to the ceiling after having caught a glimpse of the whore’s buttock marked with red and purple handprints. 

Aemond glared coldly at each and every one of them, daring them to say anything. His eye flickered to Daenera and grazed over the sly quirk of her lips, almost forming a smirk. At that moment, he understood. 

That wretched fucking bastard. 

“Please, my prince. Please forgive me!” Selma the whore pleaded, playing her role with skilled ease, understanding just how to make the performance believable. She knew precisely when to turn, when to raise her voice, when to appear pitiful and sympathetic. “I have done nothing wrong, you must believe me.”

“Hush now,” the Queen cooed, attempting to calm the sobbing whore. She shot her son a piercing glare, conveying her disappointment and disapproval. “Talya, would you kindly see to it that this girl is dressed and quietly escorted out of the Keep?”

The request was short but firm, and lady Talya nodded, gracefully moving towards Selma. She picked up the garments the whore had dropped and gestured for her to follow. Lady Talya knew exactly how to handle such delicate matters with discretion, armed with a pouch of coins and an unspoken threat. It was after all not the first time she had to deal with something like this. He supposed she never expected he would be involved. 

The Queen then turned her attention to the other ladies, offering them a tight, apologetic smile. “Please forgive me, it appears there are matters I must attend to. I kindly request your discretion. It would not serve anyone well if it were to become a point of discussion.”

The ladies all bowed to the Queen, assuming the facade of innocent, virtuous girls who would never dream of spreading such scandalous gossip. Yet, they all knew that the whole castle would know by supper. 

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the intensity of his glare cutting through the air like a dagger. Daenera’s mask of false innocence only fueled his anger and contempt. She was a wretched, spiteful cunt, who had caused all of this. And he had played right into her hands. The realization burned bitter at the back of his throat. 

“I never thought Prince Aemond would…” Lady Merryweather whispered as she turned the corner with the other ladies, leaving Aemond behind with his mother. The whisper only confirmed that the incident was beginning to circulate. It wouldn’t be long before it had spread to every corner and crevice of the Red Keep. 

Aemond and the Queen retreated into his chambers, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. As his mother faced him, her expression contorted with disapproval and concern, and Aemond knew he was about to face the consequences of what had transpired. 

“Aemond,” his mother said, her tone stern. Her green skirts swirled around her as she moved, her hair pinned up in a net of gold string and pearls. “Explain.”

Aemond swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth, this tongue gliding over the back of his teeth. His voice was strained as he spoke. “It’s not as it seems.”

“So you did not create a spectacle by exposing a naked and distressed whore in the halls?” Alicent interjected furiously. “And you did not lay with her or put your hands on her?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his body coiled like a tightly wound spring. “I was framed.”

“Framed,” Alicent repeated, tasting the word. She shook her head in confusion. “Why and by who?”

“Daenera,” Aemond answered, unable to hide the resentment and disdain in his voice. “It is retaliation for humiliating her.” 

“The letter,” Alicent assumed. “I thought it was Aegon who humiliated her.”

“He did but I was the one who gave him the letter,” Aemond admitted. Of course, his mother had heard about the incident, he assumed it was the Lord Confessor who had brought her the news. 

Alicent stepped back, her astonishment bleeding into disappointment. She had warned him about Daenera’s scheming nature, but he had failed to heed her advice. “And now she humiliates you.” 

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “It appears so.”

“I warned you to exercise caution around her,” Alicent retorted sharply, pacing back and forth on his rug, unable to keep still. “I specifically requested that you keep an eye on her to prevent her from causing any trouble, and yet you choose to provoke trouble instead.”

“I thought hurting her reputation would send her fleeing back to Dragonstone,” Aemond said, his contempt seeping through his words. The idea of humiliation had worked in the past, so why shouldn’t it now? Rhaenyra had fled to Dragonstone when the rumors of her indiscretion nibbed at her heels. Why shouldn’t Daenera’s indiscretion cause the same reaction?

Alicent’s brown eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a strand of silver hair away from her son's face. Her eyes lingered on his eyepatch, and guilt and shame bloomed on her face as it always did when she looked at it. “You mustn't be so careless with your own honor by risking it to humiliate Daenera. It is clear that she is more poisonous than her mother, like Daemon. We cannot afford to act recklessly. We do not possess the same security that they do. We must be better than them, and I believe that justice will be served in the end.” 

He understood her implication, acknowledging her belief that justice would eventually prevail for what he had endured. However, Aemond harbored doubt, for he had never witnessed justice being served for the loss of his eye. If justice were to be achieved, he knew he would have to take matters into his own hands. 

He hated being reminded of it. 

And he hated Daenera for humiliating him. He felt it burn within him, gnawing at his senses, eating away at him and festering in him. 

“We must endure her presence and minimize the damage she may cause,” Alicent continued, regaining her regal composure. “Do not let her get under your skin.”

How could he not let her get under his skin? She was everything that infuriated him, everything that he resented, everything he was haunted by. Her mere presence was a nuisance. 

The desire to ruin her coursed through his veins like poison.

#aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #A Vow of Blood #my fanfiction

[illicitlamb]

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈: 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭/𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝟑𝟎-𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

SUMMARY | After working on a group project multiple nights in a row, Enid finally has a free night to herself. When a thunderstorm ruins her plans of relaxation and peace, she is forced to spend her night differently. . . and Wednesday is in the perfect position for her wandering thoughts to take action.

p.s. | please excuse any grammar errors, speech errors, etc. - I'm posting this late at night, my brain has already checked out & I have to be up at 6:00am so I'm not in the right headspace to read everything over XD

Another clash of thunder had Enid jumping in her skin, despite being given a warning by the lightening flash that struck the room with a white flicker.

“Ugh, will this storm ever end?” It was seeming to last forever as the clock struck 9:45, and she was over it. “It’s almost 10:00, and it doesn’t seem like it’s letting up at all,” she added before leaning her jaw against her palm while she propped her elbow on her knee. “This sucks.”

From across the way, the clicking of Wednesday’s typewriter only continued without any input from its owner. She was not bothered by the thunder, let alone the rain pattering out on their balcony. It served more as a fair concentration ambience for her rather than a pestering distraction.

Sighing, the she-wolf went back to her phone, scrolling through her social media in hopes for any source of excitement to occupy herself with. It was not long before a text notification dropped down from the top of her screen.

Ajax: yo, just got news from Kent that the storm’s gonna last until like 2:00 in the morning

“Great,” she muttered with gritted teeth and passed the message on to her roommate. “Ajax just said that the storm is going to last until about 2:00 in the morning.”

Addams paused, then replied with a nonchalant “Perfect” and slid the machine’s roller back to the far left.

But the other disagreed. “Are you kidding? This is my only night to relax and enjoy myself, but this stupid weather is ruining it.” Since mid-terms were coming up, she had been assigned a group project instead of an exam and had been working on it every night with her team members. As all of them have different schedules, they had been working on it in the evening given that the night hours were their only free hours. “Is it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet?”

This caught the raven’s attention. “Since when do you require time to unwind?”

“Since I was assigned to a science project that makes me actually want to rip my hair out and scream bloody murder.”

This almost brought a slight smirk to the other’s face. “I see you’ve picked up on more than just my deviousness. I’m flattered.”

Sinclair beamed for her. “We’re roomies. It’s what we do. We’re supposed to flatter each other.”

“Some more than others.”

Shaking her head, she looked back to her cell phone, letting the psychic have the last word of the conversation.

A few more minutes passed without talk except for the weather’s wrath wagering with thunderclaps and lightning strikes, before the dorm’s electricity began to be tested.

The first flicker had both outcasts freezing in their places. Wednesday kept her hands on her keyboard while her mocha orbs glanced around, awaiting the malfunction. The blonde, on the other hand, acted as if Mother Nature was listening.

“No.”

Another flicker.

She looked to the web-designed window. “You better not.” With her crystal orbs glued, she heard the familiar clicking of typewriter keys resume and sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

Third time was a charm. A flash. A clash. And then the room went black.

“Seriously?!”

A nasal sigh came from Addams. “Wonderful.” She reached down to retrieve a flashlight from her desk drawer and adjusted her handle on it for her left hand to hold it up while she used her right to type.

“Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” grumbled Enid. When she picked up her device, that put the icing on the cake. “And now I don’t even have Wi-Fi!”

“Hence why I invest my time in obsolescent technology. Modern technology is only reliable in a number of situations and is completely useless in times such as this.”

The werewolf was not in the mood for her friend’s advice and jabbed back. “So, you prefer typing with one hand while holding a flashlight in the other? Doesn’t seem like the ideal circumstance if you ask me.”

But the raven bit harder. “Says the person who about had a conniption over losing her only source to the outside world.”

“At least I have a 2-in-1 deal with a phone,” Sinclair shrugged before adding on to her argument, “And your flashlight relies on batteries.”

“Beats having to rely solely on electricity to charge it,” snapped the other, pulling out her finished page to replace it with a fresh one.

At this point, the blonde had enough and just expressed an irked growl and tossed her “useless” phone on her bed before her. She began tracing various shapes and lines upon her comforter, thumbing through her thoughts to figure out something to occupy her time with. But the longer she sat, the more her time slipped away from her grasp.

Giving Addams a subtle glare, she studied her backside, still hot from their little verbal spar.

Then an idea sparked within her boredom-wrapped mind that had her pink lips pulling with mischief. Slipping off of her mattress, she stalked up behind her roomie like a lioness on the prowl.

Usually, Wednesday could hear her coming up from behind or just had a feeling of something crowding her, but it was only when she was writing was when she could be caught off-guard. So just had to take this was a chance.

Keeping her breathing from hitting the psychic’s eardrums, her sights were set on her left side left unguarded by her arm due to supporting the flashlight. But as soon as her fingertips brushed the other’s flank, a quick twist took place and black eyes were charmed with a cold tongue.

“What are you doing?”

But Enid just played it off. “I’m curious about something.”

“Curiosity killed that cat,” responded Addams, looking the she-wolf up and down and added, “I can only imagine how it would go about a curious dog.” She watched her roomie cock her head.

“I think I can handle it.”

The raven’s eye twitched. Sinclair’s playfulness was no match for her. Whatever she was planning, she would not get very far…

Or would she?

“What do you want?”

The blonde carried on casually with a flip of her hair. “I told you, I’m just curious about something.” But instead of going with her original plan, she took a detour. “Do you think we could do another shopping spree soon?” Wednesday just stared at her. “It’s already spring, and summer is just around the corner. It would be nice to get some new clothes for the new season. You know, the super cute ones that sell out within the first three days.”

From being so focused on her novel, the other’s mind dropped most of her concern as she replied as usual, turning back to her writing machine. “If you can guarantee that I won’t break out into hives as soon as I set foot into one of those gaudy, overpriced emporiums, I’ll consider it.”

“’Kay. I’ll make sure you don’t.”

After waiting a few moments for her roommate to resituate, Enid took her shot and let her digits glide down the other outcast’s side, earning a sensitive jerk.

“Enid?”

“What?” She repeated the action, receiving the same reply but now with a glare over her shoulder.

“Stop doing that.”

Sinclair smirked. “Why?” She was pushed deeper into her toying when the psychic just let her unfazed expression burn her face. “Don’t tell me Wednesday Addams is ticklish?”

Wednesday was not the type to deny, deny, deny. But she certainly was not the type to let anyone get away with insulting her nerves in such a triggering way either. “Are you asking to lose a finger?”

“Come on, it’s just a question,” urged the other with her signature friendly countenance. “Everyone’s ticklish. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it.”

This had the raven’s irritation growing. “Then there’s no reason for you to pester me about things you already know the answer to.” But she was threatened with her roomie’s pastel nails.

“So, you’re saying you are ticklish?”

“I’m saying your ignorant questions are wasting my time and interrupting my writing,” Addams sighed and pushed herself up from her desk to pace over to her bed.

The werewolf followed her. “You know you’re deflecting.” It was night, the lights were out, and there was really nothing else to do. She was not going to let her roommate out of this one.

“And you know that you’re testing my ability to restrain myself from doing something I’ll regret.” She kept a close eye on her approaching partner.

“Like what? Letting your guard down and laughing?”

“Breaking each of your fingers and ripping them off.”

Sinclair loved how witty the psychic was, even if her responses were not empty words. That was only one of the many things she liked about her…

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she questioned with a light-hearted note. Each step she took closer had Wednesday casually stepping back.

“It should.” She glanced at the she-wolf’s claws, raising her bar higher with the next remark. “You know that playing around is a pet-peeve of mine, and you’re terrible at it.”

“Really?”

“Completely.”

Halting in her path, Enid kept still. Her arms were at her sides, and she maintained an innocent face. This had the psychic stopping in her tracks as well. A moment of silence overtook the dorm. Only darkness remained.

And then it was over.

“Rah~!” The blonde lunged at her roomie with her hands curled like claws.

This had Wednesday jumping back. But that one step sent her hitting her bed and falling back onto the mattress. In a white flash, blonde hair dangled down above her as she was pinned to her comforter beneath. She looked up to see ocean eyes shimmering down on her. Her heart pounded on hearing her roommate’s colorful claws unsheathe.

“You can’t always win, Wednesday,” smiled Sinclair, the light of the window highlighting the subtle shock painting the other’s expression.

The other just glared up at her, preparing herself for her next move which would be more than extremely uncomfortable. But she was wrong again.

Instead of playing with her fire, the she-wolf leaned in closer… and closer… and closer… until her lips fell on the raven’s. It was a test, yes, but it was about trust rather than a simple sneak attack. She never knew she would fall for her gothic roommate until it was too late. She would say they were just friends and move on. She was good at that. She knew her likes, dislikes, dreams, and limits.

So, was she always this risky when coaxing Wednesday Addams? No, not particularly… she knew better than that.

But did she know exactly what she was getting into when testing her nerves and cornering her into disclosure? Yes… yes, she did.

Pulling away, she could hear her own heart beating inside her chest as dark orbs peered up at her. Regret threatened to puncture her brain, but her mouth was quicker. “It’s kind of embarrassing how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” With Wednesday still speechless, she knew she had scarred their relationship permanently within seconds. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, removing her grip on the other outcast’s wrists. “I didn’t mean to–” was all she could get out before being caught in another kiss.

This time, the raven had initiated the affectionate gesture, completely blindsiding Enid. And when they parted a second time, the she-wolf was reassured by an unusual soft tone touching her voice.

“No…” she gently shook her head before finishing with, “you should’ve done that a lot sooner.” And so, it was proven true; she had fallen for her best friend as well, though she would never dare to speak a single word of intimate emotion about the blonde… at least, out load, she would never say that she was in love.

Sinclair could not help the relieved beam turning her lips once Addams sealed the deal with a subtle smirk. In the end, they had both caught feelings for each other. They had both started out as strangers, then opposites, then acquaintances, then friends, and now had confessed in secret. As the clock struck 10:00 during a blackout. They had shared their first kiss.

Another lightning bolt illuminated the night’s sky, highlighting the two outcasts’ silhouettes as they were lured into one more shared kiss, able to fall into each other and eliminate all chances of tearing up their relationship.

Now, they were only building onto it.

After having started it from the ground up.

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfiction #wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday tv series #wenclair #wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #writing challenge #ao3 writing #relationship

[notyour-valentine]

A Fair Exchange XXX ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader/OC (Angst)

[Navigation] [Moonboard Masterlist] [House of the Dragon Masterlist]

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Summary: Dorne and her dreams make her uneasy and unpleasant, but a new acquaintance changes everything

Warning: bullying, blood, mention and threat of violence and death, mutilation, mention of torture and death, childbirth, injury, misogyny. Expect canon conforming tone and language. (18/21+)

[Series Masterlist]

Previously

Part XXX

She only ever found little sleep in Dorne, which was cut short by the rising sun and rising Jaehaera.

The girl had become clingy to the point of impracticability, both when it came to her and Aemond, but when it came to early mornings, and privy breaks, it would be her she turned to.

Those things, unlike meals and playtimes, were not shared with Aemond, but rather female servants, her mother or grandmother.

And it seemed she was the closest thing to that now and more often than not, she was woken by the sound of little feet, that belonged neither to Viserys nor Aegon.

Beyond that, she did better than one would have thought.

Once or twice a day she still cried, missing her home, her mother and twin, but overall she could be distracted well by the curiosities all around.

The orange trees were new, and she was delighted by the fact that she could pick the fruit from the tree, bring it to Aemond, who would slice or peel it and turn her plucking to a ready treat.

Unfortunately, Jaehaera had no intention of eating nearly a fraction of all the fruit she picked.

But there were also the springs and fountains, which many other children also bathed in.

At first she hadn’t liked the idea of a locked body of water, like a large bathtub without life or movement, instead of the sea or at least a river to swim in, but Jaehaera grew more and more curious and in the end they had relented.

Luke showed her how to make a little boat from scratch that floated, which delighted her.

But all in all, Jaehaera turned out to be a blessing.

Without her, they would have nothing to do throughout the day but worry.

That, and evade the Dornish, because if they were anything, they were a curiosity for children and old folk alike.

She felt their piercing stares, some curious, some openly hostile, even when no one was to be seen. Soon, she felt them even surrounded by walls.

And she could hear their whispers too, sometimes she could even read the words from their lips if they were beyond her hearing.

‘Eye’ was frequent, ‘Dragon’ too, but also ‘Storm’s End’.

If she had thought back on Dragonstone, that it would be easy for her to wear a pale dress and act the part, she had underestimated the weight of the stares and the constant rummaging of the whisper.

Some were almost afraid to approach her, as if her misfortune would rub off on them. Others tried more or less foolishly to satiate their curiosity in a different manner, joining her in the shade, sometimes bringing bribes in form of cooled drinks and treats and under the guise of polite conversation tried to breech the subject time and time again.

At first, she had feared saying something that might reflect poorly on her mother. After all, from Dragonstone they had decided not answering directly, and instead let rumours and talk weave their webs.

She hadn’t been sure she would withstand a thorough interrogation but she soon learned that they were not in search of the truth but a daring, gruesome tale they already were convinced they knew.

A few youngsters, of the age with Aliandra, tried their luck, but unlike the Princess, they were foolish with their attempts. An older woman attempted to pry it from her by protesting that having her so close to Aemond was cruelty.

Either way, her silence, or evading answers were taken as confirmation for whatever version they had chosen to believe.

It was as if they had begun to hover around her in a circle, only a few daring to come close, but none able to leave her be.

At every moment, she was watched. And even at night, she could feel their gaze until her nervousness melted into her dreams.

In some dreams, the good times, she was home.

Well, not home exactly, but on Dragonstone, with the familiar sight of the skies and the comforting shape of the isle around her, even if most her time, in which they weren’t hunting, was spent inside the rock and heat.

But she knew her family was close. She could smell them, both in the distance, but also on their mounts.

When these kinds of dreams had kept coming at first, she had been frightened by that, but now, she moved consciously closer to Vermax, or Syrax or even Caraxes, yearning for the presence of her family, even in her sleep.

Sometimes she could even see Jace or Baela come to fetch their dragons when it was their turn to patrol the skies.

That was always a comforting sight, that had her lift her head and watch closer, but it only came in her deep and calm sleep, which was scarce in Dorne.

Due to the heat, she thought, or due to the haunting of her other dreams, mere fragments of what she had already seen, of death, pain, ruin, of silver hair matted in blood, of dying and agony.

And of the old, tortured woman in her underground prison of stone and her desperate plea for her brother and sister.

Her desperate mumblings rang in her ear day and night and more than once she wondered if they were a sign of madness or the last thing holding her sanity together.

Either way, they were like a drum of war ringing deep inside her and keeping her alert at all times.

Lucerys was her constant companion.

It was funny in a way. In her dreams, she saw Arrax curled up close to Vermax or Syrax, while he stuck close to her side.

In her earliest childhood, she had shared a crib with Jace, when she wasn’t too ill for it. Then he had shared a room with Luke and she had gotten her own room.

For a while she had then shared with Baela and Rhaena, all three of them together, but with age that had shifted.

Sometimes, though, Jace and her still shared a bed, especially after troubled nights.

She had never shared with Luke, but now they gravitated towards each other day and night.

Aemond shared no such sentiment. He stuck only to his books, and to the shadows, his violet eye switching between the page and them, like a hawk, but his surveying presence offered little comfort, and only ever made Luke more uneasy.

And how would she find peace when her own brother was uneasy?

Only Jaehaera was immune to it, at least while she could still run and play in the ponds, splashing around with her boats, and the occasional Dornish child.

Lord Dayne had a little granddaughter called Dyanna, who got along well with Jaehaera. Both girls, curiously, had violet eyes.

There was something soothing about watching these children at play, like any other children in any other part of the world, with no sword dangling over their heads with a dozen serpents beneath their feet.

Like she had once been, during those happiest of years on Dragonstone, collecting stones and shells, building little fortresses of sand and seaweed, playing chase and hide and seek, or drawing patterns in the sand.

Now, all that seemed as distant as a stranger’s dream. Not her own. Those were…stranger.

She flinched from her thoughts, blinking a few times and reminding herself that it was a dangerous thing to subcome to her daydreams, especially in the unrelenting heat of Dorne.

“Jaehaera, Dyanna, come into the shade.”, she asked.

“In a bit!”, Jaehaera asked.

‘A bit’ she decided to give her, just enough time to walk over to the station under the arches to retrieve something cool to drink for them all.

She asked for three cups, one for her and two for the girls, and the servant eagerly provided, but the goblets were difficult to carry.

While she was still considering how best to carry them, when she felt a shadow fall over her and turned.

Behind her stood a handsome man, dark curls framing his face with warm eyes, and a mischievous smile as if he had not a care in the world.

If she had met him on Dragonstone or Driftmark, his sight would be one she greatly enjoyed - and she would have lobbied to sit next to him at dinner, but they were in Dorne, and he was a member of House Uller.

And that, handsome or not, made him a presence she was rather keen to avoid.

He greeted her by her name, with every courtesy every knight would have shown her.

“We haven’t been properly introduced.”, he continued. “I am Ulyver, son of Lord Uther.”

She gave a single, cold nod that would have earned her a scolding back home.

But she wasn’t home and he wasn’t an honoured guest.

Well, he wasn’t her enemy either. And had done nothing to cause her harm. Could she really hold him accountable for the deeds of long-dead ancestors?

If the Dornish did that, she’d be in trouble indeed.

“Indeed.”, she said, not managing more as she squinted, raking her eyes over him for any sign of betrayal, any hidden knife of weapon.

But when their gazes crossed, she realised in the smirk he wore that he knew exactly what she was doing.

Her cheeks flushed bright red and she quickly looked away, but he only chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I quite understand.”, he said, reaching over her to take the two goblets for the children in his hand.

She had no other option but to take the remaining one and follow.

He was a tall man, whose frame threw shade, but he slowed his steps for her.

“I did not know what to think when I heard we would once again have dragons in Dorne.”, he admitted.

The last time there were dragons in Dorne we came with fire and blood, she thought, as the absence of Tyseleys felt like a shard in her heart.

He was a part of her and missing him was infinitely worse than missing her eye.

He was more than her sight.

“This seems to be a mutual sensation.”, she grumbled.

To her surprise, the man laughed. It was a warm sound that came easy to him.

And it was an honest laugh to that made wrinkles appear in the corner of his eyes.

“You are not glad to be here then, Princess?”, he asked, almost teasing as he watched her with a wide smile.

“It is a great honour to be invited here.”, the Princess answered, the diplomat, the daughter of a queen.

He tilted his head, humming.

“And an honour you’d clearly have passed on.”

It was not a question, and so she did not answer.

She had no intention of playing this game of halftruths with Ulyver Uller in the gardens of Sunspear.

He, however, was not dissuaded in the slightest, even if his smile fell.

“Which makes your presence here ever more commendable.”

“Commendable?”, she asked sharply.

He nodded.

“It is one thing to ask a man to face his enemy, but another entirely for a woman, to ask her to risk herself for a greater cause and yet here you are.”

His eyes, like so many others, flickered to her amber one, but unlike those before her, he wasn’t caught out, no. He was looking at it, truly looking at it, with a mixture of curiosity and even a hint of admiration.

Or was she seeing only what she wanted to see?

“You make me sound as if I accomplished some great feat.”, she said dryly.

“Didn’t you?”, he asked, looking between her two eyes.

She answered him in silence, but he did not take it as an insult.

“You northerners.”, he said, shaking his head.

“Northener? I was born in King’s Landing!”

“Which is north of Dorne.”, Ulyver quipped, unable to hide a cheeky smile. “But what I intended to say, Princess, is that you Northeners have always had trouble handling women who are more than wives or mothers.”

Her brows furrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, she asked sharply.

“You know what I mean. When Nymeria came across the sea, she united herself with the last King of Dorne. They married and married their names and traditions. Princes, not kings, like the Rhoynar, and House Martell became House Nymeros Martell. They were equals. But even your great Aegon - singers, historians, even you Targaryens, you talk of Aegon and his wives, or Aegon and his sisters. Not even Aegon and his Queens. Why is that?”

Why indeed, when everyone knew that Aegon for all his courage was a scholar more than a warrior, only on Balerion.

Visenya was the warrior and strategist, Aegon the student and scholar and Rhaenys the charmer. Visenya defeated hosts, and Rhaenys conquered hearts.

For the first time since he had approached her, Ulyver Uller’s gaze drifted away from her to something behind her.

“I don’t blame you.”, he said, as she turned to follow his gaze. “It seems the problem lies more with your men. Targaryen or not, you Northerners are incapable of giving your women your just returns.”

Just as he put the childrens’ water down, she followed his gaze and saw what he had been looking at. Under the arches, in the shade on the other side of the garden, Aemond had looked up from his book, a single piercing eye like an orb in the sky never leaving them.

“You wear the evidence of your courage with pride.”, he said.

“I wear it. I doubt it is done with pride.”, she argued. In truth it had little to do with pride, but with love and need for Tyseleys presence.

“Any man would be called fierce for it. Why should a woman be denied the same honour?”

With that question he left her.

For a moment, all she could do was inhale deeply to calm herself. Then she called out to Jaehaera and Dyanna, demanding they drink.

They ran over, hair and skirts flattering behind them and began to gulp down the water.

“Not so fast!”, she warned. “You’ll get the hiccups.”

They slowed only little and ran off again, barefeeted and happy.

As children should be.

And her mind once more travelled to her siblings, to little Aegon and Viserys. Were they playing right in this moment? Were they happy? And safe?

Did they even miss her?

She didn’t want them to feel the same heartache she did, but a little wouldn’t hurt, right? They had two other sisters with them, one kinder, one bolder. It would be an easy thing for little minds to forget her, she feared, although she knew it was an irrational fear.

“Don’t you think it a little undignified?”, a voice behind her asked, making her flinch.

“Her running around barefoot in her smallclothes - “

She turned, giving Aemond a hard look.

“Like a child you mean?”, she asked. “What would you rather have her do? Sit in the shade and think of how much she misses her mother and brother?”

His jaw clenched as he tilted her head from side to side.

“Not that, but…we are representing something.”

She scoffed and shook her head.

“We are bonds, not ambassadors.”

His face darkened.

“And yet here you are entertaining Lord Uller’s son.”

She sneered at him.

“If walking twenty paces is entertainment to you I wonder how you haven’t long died of boredom or died of shock after viewing the beyond thrilling passtime called dancing.”

“Do not mock me!”, he sneered, shaking his head.

“Anyhow - I doubt that we’d get anywhere with an Uller. You should try a Dayne or a Dalt, perhaps.”

“I don’t try anything!”, she snapped. “With anyone. All I want is to be left in peace by him and you and Aliandra and everyone else until we can go home. As should you!”, she snapped.

Aemond glared at her as if she had just dared to insult him.

“I will not sit here, do nothing and wait out my time without at least a semblance of purpose. Acting responsible and representative is the very least that can be expected of us.”

She watched him as he curled and uncurled his hand.

“You act the ambassador then, please the Prince and enchant the Princess, and tend to your niece in the process if you are able to do it so much better than me. After all, isn’t she your responsibility and not mine?”, she snapped. “Mayhaps you would try your hand at child rearing? I’m sure you’d make a right spectacle of it.”

That underlying nervousness that had bubbled under the surface broke forth, making her words sound harsher than she had intended.

Frustrated and angry at him, Dorne, the heat, Aegon, his fraud of a mother and everything in between, made her turn her back.

His hands closed around her wrist, turning her back to him.

“I’m not saying that!”, he argued. “I’m not, I’m just…”

He glanced off into the distance.

“Don’t you want to do more than just sit here and wait it out?”, he asked under his breath.

“Of course I don’t want to sit here. I want to leave- I want to go home!”

She took a deep shuddering breath and stared at her feet, as her voice cracked on the final word.

How could he ask such a thing?

Wouldn’t anyone wish to be there? To support and protect their loved ones? Her mother and her twin? Or at least to be there and…know what was happening?

They could all be in trouble for all she knew, fallen right into a trap by the Greens…they could have suffered fates like the silver haired Targaryens in her dreams and she would be none the wiser.

Her fear bubbled up inside her once more as images of her nightmares came to her inner eye once more.

She tried to abandon him once more, but his hand remained where it was, locked around hers ad his gaze turned piercing.

“Aemond, let me go.”, she asked, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached for her face and turned it to meet his gaze.

A frown appeared on his face and she wondered if he noticed the circles that grew ever darker beneath her eyes, the one she shared with Tyseleys, and the one that burned with unshed tears.

“What are you not telling me?”, he asked.

“N-nothing.” she lied. What could she say? That she had dreams of unspoken horrors, including what may or may not be Rhaenys.

They were nightmares, they were all convinced of that. He’d think her a frightened fool for letting her nightmares terrify her so - like a weak and feeble old woman who was scared of shadows and ghosts.

No, she couldn’t tell him. Jace yes, and her other siblings too, but not Aemond.

She couldn’t ask the same compassion Jace showed her from him, the same understanding and lack of ridicule.

But at the same time could she blame him? What would she say if she was presented with the same tale?

Of course not.

“I thought we were allies in this.”, Aemond said, almost accusatory.

“Allies?”, she asked, her voice dropping dangerously. “So where you being my ally, Aemond, when you smirked and snickered while Aliandra tried to rile me against my brother?”

As soon as she had said it, she regretted it immediately. She had laid a new weakness bare for him to exploit, and knowing him, he surely would, especially since it included Luke.

Aemond stared at her in utter disbelief.

“That’s what you are so upset about?”, he asked, shaking his head.

She wanted to leave once more but he held her back.

“Did you honestly expect me to denounce Aegon in front of all of Dorne?”

She didn’t answer, feeling the bitterness rise in her mouth.

“No, tell me - would you do the same?”

“Of course not! My mother is the rightful queen, not a traitorous -”

“Stop right now!”, he hissed, heat beginning to rise in his neck to his face.

“Why?”, she snarled, stepping right up to Aemond, her voice as low as his.

“Because we both know where this leads.”

She did. Because he would not budge and neither would she, and every word would be another crack in the beams of the very thin bridge they had made between them, one that could very well break.

And so she did keep her silence, but to keep a shred of pride, she turned her back on him, not even bothering to walk away.

She wasn’t sure if Aemond was pleased or displeased at her attitude, but he sighed deeply.

“I will not denounce my brother for your sake.”, he said, as if he hadn’t already made that more than obvious, but his tone as gentle as it was determined.

“But either way, I consider you my responsibility, whether you like it or not.”

~

She contemplated his words, what they meant and what on this earth had moved him to say that.

At least she had, until she had drifted off to a blend of uneasy dreams, showing her flashes of her nightmares once more.

In the end there had been little sleep that night, and no chance to catch up to that later.

That all amounted to a rather poor sight in the mirror, with her unable to hide the dark shades under her eyes that had begun to form.

She wondered if the intricate hair and jewellery truly had a chance to distract from that. Her painted lip, perhaps, but she didn’t like it.

It made her look like a painted doll.

But she was fond of the pale blue gown she wore. It was flowy and soft, with long but airy sleeves that were clasped at the wrist.

It was a lovely dress to spin in, and for once in her life, she wasn’t looking forward to the idea of dancing. Not in Dorne.

But the Prince had organised a celebration of sorts, not in the hall, but in the gardens of the castle.

Already now she could see the glimmer of a thousand yellow gold orbs illuminating the skies.

They had made lamps of paper and string, which seemed rather foolish of her but somehow they were tied to lines high above the dancing.

She only hoped this wasn’t some elaborate plan that would result in the cutting of the strings, which would turn the round orbs into missiles, to rain down on them all.

Then again, it was a dangerously imprecise way of assassination.

No, she told herself, if they wanted them dead they could have a thousand better ways to do it. They could simply bar the door and set fire to their rooms, drag them to some dungeon and slice their throats, send archers, or throw them from the battlements, or slip poison in their food and drink.

In truth, if Qoren Martell wanted them dead, he’d have a thousand ways to do so that wouldn’t risk making a blaze of his gardens and his court.

But that was little comfort, as once more she felt beyond isolated and helpless.

As if she was on top of a pillar in a desert of venomous snakes, unable to climb down, vulnerable to the sun - like in her dreams…

By now they had become almost indistinguishable to her, what came when, who died where, but sometimes she saw flashes clear as day, but that never was the case when she thought of the old woman in the dungeons, her wounds, fresh and old, the way her face was fallen in, her hair fallen out.

And yet there was that determination, that last flicker of fire in her eyes burning as bright as any blaze.

A dream, she told herself. The Maester was sure of it, her mother too and Jace. Nightmares, conjured up by her mind when her body was weakest.

Nightmares, that weren’t real, ghosts not around her but in her head. So to the back of that, she banished them.

Tonight, she’d have to put up appearances once more.

It was selfish, really, she thought as she stepped out into the gardens, to consider such a objectively beautiful thing a chore.

The lamps shone high in the skies like golden stars or tiny suns, strung to pillars and windows and ropes that lay between them.

It was as if looking upon the stars from dragonback, if a dragon in flight stayed still.

There were other lights too, but only at a distance, dousing the gardens in a strange glow, like a shore had just before the sun would rise.

The glow of the light was enough to make out frames, movement and even dresses but the further one tried to look, the more the people turned to shapes, then shadows and then melted into the darkness.

She tried to etch down the looks and outlay of this celebration to memory. Such a beautiful thing shouldn’t remain locked in Dorne.

Unlike the previous feasts, there was no heavy meal or set tables, but rather smaller collections of low benches, sitting pillows, blankets and cushioned chairs.

People were served wine and smaller offerings of food from trays servants carried around on silver platters, no more than a bite.

Myrish tunes were playing from the arches where the musicians lay hidden, as people were encouraged to mingle amongst themselves, moving around the chairs and the dancers.

Lyseni by the looks of them, who in groups of three or four performed on set platforms, were less like the dances of the court where one had one partner only.

Instead they moved as if they were one, a tangle of arms and legs, slithering like a snake, spreading out like a bird, twisting and turning in a slow, sensual way.

It didn’t help propriety to see they were all rather scantily clad. Indeed, the men wore little more than adorned loincloths, with beads catching the gold light, as did their skin and hair which had been oiled like so many Essosi did.

The women wore little more, although made up for that in strings of beads that ran along their arms, or brushed along their thighs.

Somehow they as well as the beads were part of this dance.

Daemon had told them tales of such dances, popular in Old Valyria, where such more sensual dances were considered entertainment, nothing out of the ordinary, but they had only truly survived in the Empire’s most beautiful daughter - in Lys.

And while the dancers were a mix of kinsmen, some having the darker skin of the Summer Isles, others the brown tan and small curls of Meeren, many had the pale silver gold hair of old Valyria, the pale skin and purple eyes.

There was something fascinating about watching these dancers do anything but dance in any way she had ever seen before. For that they were more touching than moving, more tracing each other's bodies and working together than adhering to the commands of age old steps.

Baela would have enjoyed this, as would Daemon, her mother maybe even too, but she would consider Joff and the others too young.

And Alyn, well, he would have laughed his head off at the thought of wearing a beaded loincloth.

Many of the Dornish women had succumbed to the Essosi fashion of more bare gowns, although they had forgone the Quartheen tradition of leaving one breast exposed.

Still, she saw the dies of Tyrosh, the sheer lace of Myr and the long deep cuts of Lys wherever she looked.

In her own gown with although a little more neckline than the one she had worn to the welcome feast, and flowy sleeves that were clasped only at the shoulder and the wrist, she looked rather dull in comparison.

Old Lady Dalt was a grandmother thrice over and dressed more daring than she was.

Baela would have carried these dresses with confidence and Rhaena with grace, no matter what, but she somehow managed to feel both exposed and too prudish for this occasion.

Luke had busied himself with talking to Dyanna’s elderly uncle whose hair had turned from silver to white, but only after she had followed his gaze and caught him watching the dancers.

The poor boy had felt caught, although he had no need to be. She wouldn’t twist it into something it wasn’t to stir up trouble with Rhaena. All he did was look.

And Aemond, well, he was standing with his hands crossed behind his back facing anything but the dancers.

The only thing easing her misery, she realised as her lips curled into an unwilling smile, was seeing Aemond’s was worse.

She decided to approach him from his blind side, although it was her own too, to startle him more.

He flinched, and because he had done for no reason at all, blushed as his jaw tightened.

“Do you not enjoy the dancers, Aemond?”, she asked. “They are old Valyrian in tradition and typically Lyseni in features.”

Both things which he had used against her in their youth. Her lack of Valyrian features made her as ugly as she was stupid for not knowing of the traditions of Old Valyria, he had made her know.

And back then she had taken comfort in knowing that she had fulfilled the highest of Valyrian traditions with Tyseleys, and by now she had long forgone placing high hopes on her appearance.

“Such a wanton display of depravity would not be tolerated in King’s Landing.”, he sneered through clenched teeth, so low only she would hear.

It made her chuckle.

“Wasn’t it you who lectured us on being ambassadorial? Doesn’t that include being open to customs and traditions?”

“Do you hear me protesting?”

She considered his description anything but complementary but decided to keep that against that.

“I don’t see you appreciating. Who knows, perhaps the Prince arranged it specifically for you.”

Blind terror shone in Aemond’s violet eye for but a moment.

Smirking she turned back to survey the others here.

Many were familiar to her by now.

“Have you spoken to Princess Aliandra yet?”, she wondered.

“No.”, was all the reply she got, although wrapped in a sigh.

“Why not? She looks positively tantalizing, doesn’t she?”

She certainly once more left little to the imagination in a deep purple gown adorned with clasps in the shape of golden dragons.

Aemond only huffed, preferring to stay in the shadows and at her back.

“You’ll have more luck than I will at enchanting our hosts.”, she commented as they were passed by one of the Qorgyle women, yellowish silk flattering behind her and exposing her leg up to the thigh thanks to the cut of the gown.

“Although the fact that no one will look twice at me with such competition is a comforting one.”

Aemond’s head snapped around.

“Why would you say that?”, he asked.

“Because, dear uncle,”, she mocked, “you and eye not only lack in completion when it comes to appearance, I am also entirely incompatible with the Dornish fashion.”

But compared to her biting tone, Aemond’s was as soft as silk, although laced with a hint of confusion, as if he couldn’t understand where her words were coming from.

“You are - you look…”

He broke off and shook his head.

“You are,”, he shook his head, averting his eyes, “you are as a Princess should be.”

“Oh really?”, she asked. “How many songs do you know of Princesses with one eye?”

“That’s not…that’s not what I mean.”, he mumbled, still not looking at her.

Whatever was going on with him was driving her impatience. The goal of agitating him had busied her nerves so far but somehow along the course he seemed to have strayed away from the argument, but in its replacement he offered her nothing but confusion.

And since he intended on doing nothing more, since he fell back to silence, she decided to continue on.

Despite her general unease, it wouldn’t do to remain standing here with Aemond in the shadows.

And so she continued to wander, watching the dancers and holding a drink only to ensure no one offered her another.

She watched Prince Qyle and a group of peers, men and women alike, all engaged in laughter and drinking.

Princess Aliandra, after exchanging a few words with Aemond and receiving as much distraction as she had, had turned away to other older warriors.

The Prince was sitting and surveying it all with a soothing, calm expression on his face.

“Princess.”, she heard, making her turn.

There was Ulyver Uller once more, smiling as he saw her as if she was an old friend, with no trace of unease anywhere near him, indeed he looked as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘worry’.

“Blue suits you well.”, he complimented with a smirk. “Brings out the gold in both your eyes.”

There was something about the way he was undeterred when it came to addressing and acknowledging her eye head on, instead treating it as a part of her, one he could look at without staring, and even compliment made it hard to dislike him.

That alone set him apart from all the other Dornish she had encountered.

He had a goblet of wine in his hand and an old man at his side.

His face was cut in a similar way, broad jaws, sharp eyes, black hair that was beginning to fade to white.

“May I present my father, Lord Uther Uller of Hellholt.”

The man stretched out his hand and took hers, pressing a kiss to her ring.

It was a simple thing, a band of silver and a pale turquoise stone their grandfather had brought back from his travels. Baela and Rhaena had the same, and their grandmother had a necklace.

But as he pulled his hand back, she could see the ring he wore on the second finger of his hand, and as she saw it, her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t set in silver, like her ring, or gold like that of Princess Aliandra.

Instead, it was a warmer, softer material most were unfamiliar with, but she knew it by sight, by feel, by smell.

She had seen it on necklaces, on hilts of swords, on carvings on Dragonstone and on the skeletons deep down in the dragonmont when she saw through Tyseleys eyes.

Dragonbone.

In it were set two rectangular stones, one paler than the other.

There was only little light, but she knew one would be yellow, and the other would be red, the very same shade so that a drop of blood could go unnoticed until it began to drip.

And she knew she had seen that ring before.

~

Part XXXI is coming soon

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

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[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The thing about Vitani from Lion King 2 is

she’s

Detached.

Like, in the spider's web of love and vows of vengeance that drive both Lion King movies along, pushing characters to do all sorts of things, Vitani... sits somewhere outside of it.

If she has personal motivation for any of the things she does, it must be VERY personal, because it sure as hell isn't tied to anyone else.

As in, not even her own family changes what she does.

She’s protective and supportive of Kovu as their future king, sure…

...up until he turns traitor on the Outlanders, at which point Vitani has zero hesitation reporting this to Zira, confirming it, being part of a frame-up for him, knocking him out of a fight, and watching her mother scar and drive her little brother away.

When Kovu is furthering the goals of the Outlanders, Vitani helps him. When he fails in his mission to win back the Pridelands, she instantly turns against him.

Until Kiara comes back with Kovu in tow, with a new plan that would let the Outlanders rejoin the pride at Pride Rock. Then Vianti goes to stand by Kovu again- supporting him for supporting Kiara and Kiara’s offer of peace.

But Kovu on his own? Standing between the two prides, crouching down, ready to fight to protect Kiara and Simba?

That gets exactly no reaction from his big sister.

None.

And suddenly all the support and protectiveness she showed for him earlier seems very pragmatic, very empty.

She was a fan of Chosen One Kovu, not the lion that decided he didn't want to do murder.

Then Nuka- Vitani’s attitude towards Nuka is more easily understood as affectionate, for all her eye-rolling, since Nuka, unlike Kovu, isn’t expected to contribute much to the Outlander’s goals. He isn’t the chosen one.

So when Nuka leaves Kovu alone and Vitani warns him their mother will be mad, the focus is on what will happen to Nuka rather than what kind of danger Kovu might get into.

Similarly, despite Nuka being a typical teasing older brother and messing with Vitani several times as cubs, she still takes charge of him while they light the fire trap for Kiara and physically drags him away at the end of it. When Nuka dies later on, Vitani joins her mother in mourning him.

But the fact that Nuka died while trying to kill Simba, and that Simba’s weight on the logs caused them to fall, crushing her older brother, isn’t brought up during the fight between the Outlanders and the Pridelanders.

Her only confrontation is with Nala, centering on taunting Nala about Kiara’s absence form the battle.

At no point does Nuka’s death or any idea of blame or vengeance give Vitani pause when she decides to give up on murdering Simba and help end the war.

Even though she clearly cared for him and took his death badly, she still goes to stand with the lions that her own mother blames for Nuka’s death. Her feelings for him don't stop her. They don't even get mentioned.

Maybe she’s just more willing to accept Nuka’s death as an accident. Maybe she feels it’s sad but fair, considering they were trying to kill Simba at the time. Maybe she holds her mother partly responsible for what happened but doesn’t feel that’s worth jeopardizing all their years of planning and the future of the Outlander lions.

Nuka's death had no tangible impact on her.

It enraged Zira, pushing her to attack the pride lands right then, while Simba was weak, so the it would be that last time she was hurt by him.

The guilt of being even vaguely involved in his brother's death, and then having Zira blame him for it, is so terrible that Kovu pulls a Simba and runs from his family and home.

And Vitani?

Despite Zira throwing out a paw as if to stop Vitani chasing after Kovu, Vitani made no move to do so. Her reaction to all this is the same as all the other Outlander lionesses, aside from the fact that she gets to look sadly down at her brother's body and softy say his name.

But her following actions never reflect or reference his death. Not once.

Wait what about when she says "No, mother" and "Enough"? Couldn't she have been thinking of Nuka and his death then???

Sure, I suppose.

Except that the lion she mentions in that moment isn't Nuka. It's Kiara.

"No, mother... Kiara's right. Enough."

That doesn't sound like someone thinking about her dead brother. It's vague and broad, could mean enough fighting in general or enough with the personal vendettas, and it only relies on Kiara as support for it's argument of stopping the battle.

So while you can certainly choose to fit Nuka between the words of her little declaration, he isn't, text-wise, there in the script. He's not, at any time, cited as a reason for what Vitani is doing.

Then there's fact is she IS the first lion to completely understand and accept Kiara’s idea.

Even Kovu was more interested in being with Kiara than stopping the war.

He was happy with the thought of them running away and starting their own pride. Kiara's amused explanation that they have to go back gets a literal "you're kidding" from him.

And even though he does follow her back, he’s own words at the battle show he’s there just to protect Kiara and Simba, not to build a peace or help the Outlanders. He says nothing to his family or former pride other than warn them they'll have to go though him first.

(i don't blame him. Kiara and Simba are the first lions in his life who were kind to him without wanting something from him in return)

But Vitani, who has no personal connection to Kiara and plenty of reasons not to listen to her, Vitani is the one to step between the two prides and tell her mother “Enough”.

Why?

This is after an ENTIRE MOVIE spent showing how loyal and dependable Vitani is to her mother and her cause!

Ah, but that's the thing isn't it.

It wasn't blind loyalty to her mother. It wasn't even loyalty to her mother's motivations.

It was for the cause.

While Nuka spends the song “My Lullaby” trying to ingratiate himself to Zira and slipping in little insults to Kovu, Vitani earnestly cheers for Kovu, affirms the plan, and protects Kovu from Nuka’s pestering.

Nuka, desperate for Zira's attention, mimes Simba dying in that song.

Vitani only unwillingly plays the part of Kiara squirming in someone's claws. Her only parts are to boost Kovu, their best chance, and the only time she sings back to her mother is in answer to "The thrill of Kovu's mighty roar!"

Nuka shouts back "The joy of vengeance!" mirroring his mother.

Vitani's answer is a perfectly enthusiastic and bland "Testify!", basically just saying 'heck yeah!' right before her little chant of "Kovu, what a guy!"

Thing is, later on, as noted above, she pretty clearly isn't that interested or loyal to Kovu himself.

So it seems it was what he represented in that song that she cheered for- life outside of the outlands. The comfort and safety of the pride lands.

She was never loyal to any of her family. Not even Zira.

And Zira had no idea.

When Vitani’s the one sent to make the fire trap for Kiara- with Nuka tagging along- and the one sent to spy on Pride Rock, the one who brings back news of his betrayal- even though Zira roars in fury at hearing it and needs to have Vitani confirm her report, this is played as shock and anger aimed at Kovu, not doubt in Vitani’s words.

Zira, a clever and calculating lioness, trusted Vitani completely.

And like Vitani, when this lion she trusted turned against her, she didn’t hesitate to cut all ties with them.

She’s as quick to threaten Vitani with death as Vitani was to report Kovu’s betrayal to Zira herself. In fact, Zira only shows real distress when the OTHER lionesses follow Vitani's lead and also abandon her. She's upset when she loses her soldiers. But Vitani’s betrayal? Gets no reaction at all. Except a bloodthirsty grin.

And that's why.

That's how Vitani could be the first to abandon the old plan, the old hatred, and listen to Kiara.

Vitani and Zira are very similar in how they view and interact with the world. Both set a goal and pursue it unwaveringly, letting nothing and no one shake them from their chosen path.

Between them, the only real difference is what goal they were after.

Revenge, in Zira’s case.

A better life, in Vitani’s.

So when getting the Outlanders out of the dry, empty, land of starvation meant joining up with the very lions she’d been told sent them there in the first place, Vitani had no issue doing so. When given a chance to escape the outlands without more loss of life, she took it, her own personal hypothetical pride or losses be damned.  

And when getting revenge on Simba meant disowning her remaining son and preparing to murder her daughter, Zira showed herself more than happy to accept that.

Revenge on Simba. Revenge for Scar.

These are all motivations connected to her feelings towards other characters.

So I would say that Vitani is even MORE detached than Zira.

Zira at least had her loss and her thirst for revenge, a whole song of how she wants to hurt the lion she holds responsible for her own pain, and destroy everything and everyone he loves.

Whereas Vitani…

Vitani is shown with no such personal links driving her actions.

You might think, well she must at least care about the other Outlander lionesses very much, she must be doing all this for them-

But there’s never one moment to base that on.

For their own part the Outlanders might care about Vitani. They abandon Zira after the threat against Vitani, after all.

True, it might just have been disgust that Zira would be ready to kill her own daughter. Or maybe it had something to do with how their expressions of anger changed to shock and confusion when Kiara spoke of Pridelanders and Outlanders being one.

Equally possible is the first idea- that Vitani’s real loyalty has been to them this whole time, perhaps while Zira was off giving Kovu special training, while Kovu was with her getting trained, and Nuka was busy chasing desperately after his mother’s tail. That might have left Vitani as the one taking up the lead of the Outlander lionesses on a daily basis. She might have the one that the lionesses knew best and relied on most, more so even than Zira herself, in the end.

That, however, is nothing more than an idea. And it still wouldn’t show any hint of Vitani having personal feelings for the Outlanders herself.

She is, of all the characters in the movie, the only one who’s actions are not linked to any personal relationship at all.

Vitani is practical. She is reasonable.

She has no problem with ambush or murder or lies or deceit, chucking and grinning evilly right along with Zira and Nuka as they chase down an isolated and outnumbered Simba.

And yet there is nothing personal in her delight for violence. There is no motivation of spite, jealousy, revenge, or even just rage.

And she wants peace.

What a strange character they ended up making, in Lion King 2.

I’m sure she was just put in to add more female characters and moments when two lionesses were talking to each other, since there would be almost no such scenes at all if it wasn’t for her.

Honestly, everything she does, all her actions are ones either Nuka, Kovu, or Zira could have filled in for instead- Nuka lighting the fire trap, Nuka telling on Kovu’s betrayal, Zira fighting with Nala, Kovu telling his mother “enough” and the Outlander’s being disgusted because scarring and yelling at your son is one this but threatening to kill him…

...all of these substitutions would have worked plot-wise and made sense for the characters.

But Vitani gets them instead.

She's stretched out across plot points and character moments like a piece of yarn, not enough in herself to have much of a pattern, but still making an interesting if very minimal shape.

And she must have been a rushed or half hearted addition, considering her adult design has some of the worst consistency in the movie and no one remembered or felt bothered to show even one frame of her in the final epilogue scenes of the movie. I’ve stared at the group shot of the lionesses all sitting together, not one of them looks like her. Her head tuft, likely given specifically to make her noticeable, is nowhere in sight.  

So it really does seem Vitani was created and shoved into the movie because it would be a bit strange to have a girl main character and yet little to no other girls with speaking roles outside of the villain. 

Intentional or not, the result of Vitani existing is she’s a very unusual character.

Her lack of depth circles around somehow to become full of implications, most ironic of all being that SHE is the most ruthless and uncaring lion in the movies.

Even Scar had his murderous jealousy over his brother and his twisted glee at telling his nephew the truth of how Mufasa died, just to hurt him more.

But Vitani? She doesn’t even have a negative personal bond tying her to anyone.

Well. Unless you want to call her and Nala's odd little spat a 'personal bond'. At the very least it proves Nala knows Vitani's name...

(so have they had an off-screen feud this whole time or did Nala know her from before the Outlander's were exiled and somehow developed a grudge against this one tiny cub in particular?)

(yes I know the fan theories about her and cub Vitani. Ignoring them though, it's just all very weird)

(tama and tojo were vitani's parents and nala took her in fight me)

... but the animation in that scene wasn't even updated to match Vitani's final name, so, clearly, it wasn't a very important moment to the makers of the movie.

It's safer to assume they just needed to show Nala fight someone, and Vitani existed, and had already been characterized as a bit snide and sneering. Bam, perfect fit. Nala gets to fight a named character and Vitani talks to another girl again.

Anyway.

Outside of vast and world-building speculation, Vitani just... doesn't have meaningful emotions towards anyone.

Even her desire for peace can be read as completely devoid of emotion. The outlands suck. There’s hardly anything to eat or drink. Moving back to the pride lands by whatever means possible has clear and immediate benefits to Vitani, like not starving constantly.

And a rouge lion striking out on their own is vulnerable. Kovu is proof of how easily they can be kicked out.

Meanwhile, a lion with a pride of other lions at their back has power, and the more lions in that pride, the more power they all have, no matter where they go.

Taking the peaceful way out could simply be the easiest way to safeguard Vitani’s own future.

OR,

you can read her as being the only one out of her family to really CARE about the welfare of the Outlanders themselves, instead of ignoring them (Nuka), abandoning them (Kovu), or only seeing them as tool for revenge (Zira).

So does your version of Vitani heed Kiara's wisdom because she cares about others a lot?

Or is she able to listen because she cares so little she has no bitterness at all?

Or is your idea of her somewhere in the middle??

It’s fun to think about.

She's a good example of why, sometimes, a character who didn’t Need to be in a story at all can still be a wonderful addition to it.

and if they’re also are part of baby gay me’s slow walk towards realizing Girls are Hot, well, that’s fine too

#Lion King 2 #Vitani #Kovu #Kiara #Zira #Nuka #speculation #character thoughts #vitani i don't understand you and that's cool #just like your little mane tuft~

[lynxindisguise]

Oooh I love these asks. 🤣 and 😍 please!

😂 a funny or crack WIP snippet

shockingly, I don't think I actually have anything?? (sorry cursed adventures). but there is a moment in the dorian gray au coming up that feels like crack:

His eyes swept over Sirius as he lowered her hand, almost appraising, before he broke into a grin—not jealous then. “I take it this is Lord Black.”

“Indeed.” Sirius offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Goodman. That was splendid, truly.”

Rather than shaking it, the playwright brought Sirius’s hand to his lips as well, grin widening right along with Sirius’s eyes. “Perhaps we could all share a drink back at my flat. I was gifted a lovely bottle of brandy.”

Miss Selwyn looked to him hopefully. Of course—this would be the only acceptable way for the pair of them to slip away together. He’d been planning to use the [redacted] as soon as possible, but perhaps it couldn’t hurt to wait a bit longer if it meant further strengthening his alibi. And if Miss Selwyn were to serve as his alibi, even unknowingly, it was only fair that he helped her in return.

“By all means,” he said, offering her a wink.

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

ooh okay I had so much fun with all of pride and prejudice and werewolves, but my favourite part is:

From the scraps of information he manages to wrench from Sirius as they assess the tangled web of curses afflicting the entryway alone, it would seem that he only learned of his mother’s death and consequent ownership of the estate this morning. And while he feels ‘nothing but unbridled joy at the old bat’s death,’ he’s now hell-bent on stripping the entire mansion to the bone in the course of one night.

This process involves manually ripping up the carpets, tearing down the curtains—apparently Remus is here on the basis of his height despite the fact that they’re both literal wizards—incinerating troll leg umbrella stands and shrunken elf heads, and transfiguring all the furniture to make it as ridiculously whimsical as possible. 

A process that Sirius is now doing shirtless after peeling off his shirt and chucking it at a horrified elf—an interaction that Remus is still struggling to make sense of, especially since all of his mental space is currently being occupied by the tattoos littering Sirius’s lightly toned torso.

"Damn I look hot here, don't I?" 

"W-what?" Remus stammers, following Sirius's finger to a giant scorch mark on the drawing room wallpaper.

snippet ask game

#ask game #dorian gray au #k tag #p&p&w

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 40: The Web Tightens

Spoiler alert: The main character's hair is not anywhere near so dull a color. This post and the whole reread has all kinds of big, terrible spoilers for this book and every other book. Okay, maybe just The Wheel of Time ones. But that's still a lot of spoilers, so if you don't want those you need to be elsewhere. I recommend this great little hole in the wall in Bologna, best Italian food you'll ever have.

Anyway, this chapter has a Flame of Tar Valon symbol, in part because of the Andorian royalty's association with Tar Valon (the imminent tutoring of the kids is discussed) but also because Elaida is here and she is spitting... well, not fire. Acid. But the weak kind.

When he looked back to the table, Moiraine and Logain had vanished, and Ba’alzamon sat there instead.

I assume that this is the moment when Ba'alsy narrows down his candidates definitively. He's using Moiraine and Logain's behaviors as the evidence he needs. Lucky for Rand, he's only mildly concussed so he doesn't stick around for the dream!

She was completely different from Egwene in height and face and body, but every bit as beautiful. He felt a twinge of guilt, but told himself that denying what his eyes saw would not bring Egwene safely to Caemlyn one whit faster.

It sure won't. In fact, the laws of dramatic irony say that if you kiss Elayne right now, Egwene will be safe and sound and right behind you.

“Be quiet, Gawyn.” She was clearly the younger of the two, but she spoke as though she took it for granted that he would obey. The boy’s face struggled as if he had more to say, but to Rand’s surprise he held his peace.

Even now Gawyn is not down for his assigned role in life. Really both he and Elayne are already chafing against the expectations upon them - that's why Elayne is off ruining her dresses climbing trees and carrying medical bags in said ruined dresses. Frankly I think the gap year she takes after going to Tar Valon was quite good for her; she'd be a good queen regardless but without a chance to get to know herself outside of her mother's oversight she wouldn't have been able to get great.

Rand looked at Gawyn. “Does she always expect everybody to do what she tells them?” A flash of surprise crossed the young man’s face, and his mouth tightened with amusement. “Most of the time she does. And most of the time they do.”

Gawyn relaxes a lot around Rand once he realizes how clueless he is. I'm surprised he didn't try the usual gag of keeping him clueless to laugh about it, but honestly it shows that he's not bad at heart. Stupid maybe, but not bad.

Elayne is too busy being a doctor to notice though.

“Not even Mother,” Elayne said, bending her head back over Rand’s hands. “She makes suggestions, and he always does what she suggests, but I’ve never heard her give him a command.” She shook her head.

Oh hey, earlier I was talking about Jordan loving "women are effectively in charge of a relationship because of soft power" and here we have another example of its inversion. Bryne though is pulling this off by seniority - he's been Captain-General and First Prince of the Sword to one woman or another since his mid-20s. Which makes him another fascinating figure, since most armies don't tend to put dudes who aren't in their 30s in charge. As ever, there's all these crazy people who we don't get to know much about.

Looking longingly at the wall, Rand gave his right name before he thought what he was doing, and even added, “From Emond’s Field, in the Two Rivers.” ... Rand stared at him. Elayne was staring, too. Gawyn looked as much under control as ever, but he was babbling. Why?

Once again Rand's ta'veren seems to be a little more fair at this point. Usually Rand doesn't babble half as much. Is it just getting turned on or something. (Also it's hilarious that Gawyn all but says, "You two should fuck" when he learns where Rand's from.)

“I am aware of your fondness for strays, Elayne,” the slender man said reasonably...

It's an interesting contrast between the two brothers that Gawyn kind-of almost suggests he thinks of Rand in such terms and then quickly clarifies that he definitely does not while Galad just does not give a fuck. Always the right thing, no matter who it hurts.

Also is this the only time the two half-bros are ever close to being in the same place? I think it might be and I'm too lazy to check. I guess maybe they're together at the big pre-TG tent meeting? Seems like everyone still alive but Mat, Seanchan, and the Darkfriends are at that one.

“You say I am fond of giving orders. Well, I command you to let nothing happen to you. I command you to be my First Prince of the Sword when I take the throne—the light send that day is far off!—and to lead the armies of Andor with the sort of honor Galad cannot dream of.” “As you command, my Lady.” Gawyn laughed, his bow a parody of Galad’s.

And again the contrast. Galad doesn't like following Elayne's orders but it's proper and he takes it seriously and he does it - then finds ways to work around them for the greater good. Gawyn doesn't take it seriously and so when the time comes to obey he does everything but.

Elayne growled an oath, and Rand’s eyebrows shot up. He had heard that one from the stablemen at The Queen’s Blessing and had been shocked then.

Elayne's first on-page swear. <3

I can't wait for her to learn the real curse words!

Despite her outstretched arms Elayne drew herself up regally. “You dare to bring bare steel into my presence, Tallanvor? Gareth Bryne will have you mucking stables with the meanest trooper for this, if you are lucky!”

One rather gets the impression that Elayne has been practicing this since a young age. "You dare to carry me to the bathtub, [name of generic servant who is helping poor Lini]?" Also dang, I forgot we got Tallanvor this early! This chapter is just filled with introductions - this is the most characters I've had to tag so far and all of them bar Rand, Ishamael and Elayne first appear in this chapter (and her in the last sentences of the previous one).

“You will conduct all three of us to my mother,” Elayne announced suddenly. A grin bloomed on Gawyn’s face.

They give Galad a lot of shit for being hard to have as a sibling, but frankly I expect Galad is very tired of having Elayne as a sibling too.

“The Queen, your lady mother,” Tallanvor announced, “commands me to bring the intruder to her immediately. It is also the Queen’s command that my Lady Elayne and my Lord Gawyn attend her. Also immediately.”

Sorry Elayne, but the Pattern demands Rand and Elaida meet, so there's no way to stop Tallanvor.

“It is not right,” Elayne said. “She asked if I wanted to pick out the one farm she could do the same for, while all around it the crops still failed, but it still isn’t right for us to have flowers when there are people who do not have enough to eat.”

And here we see why Elayne is a good ruler and Elaida is a terrible one - frankly, why the White Tower is a failed institution. If it were worth a damn, after a winter like this one they'd be sending women out across the known world helping what farms they could on the grounds that something was better than nothing. Instead, only the royalty benefit, and it's a meaningless affectation. You can't live off of a palace garden and Elaida's shamelessness is terrible.

And sadly, her ability at ratting is going to go in sharp decline too.

“First rank to accompany me,” Tallanvor commanded. “Announce the Lady Elayne and the Lord Gawyn to Her Majesty,” he told the doorkeepers. “Also Guardsman-Lieutenant Tallanvor, at Her Majesty’s command, with the intruder under guard.”

Good work Tallanvor, you did just defy the word of the Lady Elayne. It's a good thing you leave the palace before she gets crowned or she'd have every right to fire you.

Rand was just congratulating himself on getting it right when he noticed Tallanvor, his head still bent, glaring sideways at him from behind his face-guard. Was I supposed to do something else? He was suddenly angry that Tallanvor expected him to know what to do when no one had told him.

Gawyn is Elayne's First Prince and everyone else is a sworn guard, Rand. They're pissed that you're bowing as if you're Morgase's servant and protector instead of one of her subjects. But again, since you're the Dragon Reborn, you're really probably bowing in the only appropriate way to the woman who is currently your metaphorical wife.

If she had been a widow in Emond’s Field, she would have had a line of suitors outside her door even if she was the worst cook and most slovenly house keeper in the Two Rivers. He saw her studying him and ducked his head, afraid she might be able to tell his thoughts from his face. Light, thinking about the Queen like she was a village woman! You fool!

This is almost foreshadowing, except for the part where she only has the one suitor.

Gawyn, I have thought better of you. You must learn not only to obey your sister, but at the same time to be counterweight for her against disaster.

Don't worry Morgase, Gawyn will put equal effort into both of those endeavors!

But my sisters will keep you away from the unbeliever. That sort of thing is not for you, not yet.

Elaida is quite the fool if she thinks that anything about how she's behaved would bring Elayne to the Red Ajah. That's what she means here, that she thinks Elayne will mature into a hunter of male channelers. Well, she's not entirely wrong.

“A loyal subject from the Two Rivers.” Morgase sighed. “My child, you should pay more heed to those books. The Two Rivers has not seen a tax collector in six generations, nor the Queen’s Guards in seven. I daresay they seldom even think to remember they are part of the Realm.”

Assuming that they measure generations on about the same scale we do (20-30 years), this means that the last tax collector went to the Two Rivers no sooner than 120 years ago, the last guard 140. Possibly as much as 200 years back! The Two Rivers is not part of the Realm! They have as much in common with the average subject of the Lion Throne as a Saldaean!

Sanderson keeping them part of the same kingdom when Perrin's only note was "king" is nothing short of inappropriately inserting his bizarre political beliefs into the story. The man is completely opposed to actual revolution of any kind and Perrin suffered for it. Jordan had damn well been setting up this separation since the beginning, and he was right to do so.

It was his sword she touched, not him, her hand closing around the hilt at the very top. Her fingers tightened and her eyes opened wide with surprise. “A shepherd from the Two Rivers,” she said softly, a whisper meant to be heard by all, “with a heron-mark sword.”

Fain really fucked Elaida up, you know? Here she is, keeping all of the Dark One's eyes out of the palace and being the only person who can see what's right in front of her. None of the guards noticed how terrifying Rand's blade is. Gawyn didn't. Elaida's the only one who sees just how big a threat Rand might be. Sadly, she's going to go completely crazy.

“. . . with a story calculated to entice Elayne and bearing a heron-mark blade. He does not wear an armband or a cockade to proclaim his allegiance, but wrappings that carefully conceal the heron from inquisitive eyes. What chance this, Morgase?”

See what I mean? And worst of all, she only crafts this story because Rand lies and says he arrived that day. Elaida's quite right to object that's an absurd coincidence because even in this world, it is. It's complete bullshit. But now that she's drawn her false conclusion she only wants to damage with it.

She spoke again, barely moving her lips, so softly that he could barely hear her less than an arm’s length away. “This, too, I Foretell. Pain and division come to the whole world, and this man stands at the heart of it. I obey the Queen,” she whispered, “and speak it clearly.”

Elaida loves her some loopholes too. She spoke clearly but inaudibly. Watch for her abuse of loopholes later. I suppose she might have withheld this from everyone because of Rand's ta'veren, but I think it's just her glory hound nature coming out. If Rand's imprisoned or found out here, it's by Queen Morgase. If she hunts him down privately, without orders, it's Elaida doing it and it'll look great on her CV when she runs for usurper in Tar Valon.

First, because I have the advantage of Elaida and Gareth in having heard Two Rivers speech when I was young. You have not the look, but if a dim memory can serve me you have the Two Rivers on your tongue.

I wonder if Morgase and Tam crossed paths while he was on his way to Illian and she was on her way to train at the White Tower.

Elaida was only half attending what the Queen was saying; he could feel her eyes on his back. What would have happened if Morgase had not kept the Aes Sedai with her? 

Another bit of ta'veren luck in this chapter, the final tightening of the web that will set Rand's course for the final act of the book.

“Wrap a shoufa around your head, Rand, and you would be the image of an Aielman. Odd, since Mother seems to think you sound like a Two Rivers man, at least. I wish we could have come to know one another, Rand al’Thor. Fare you well.”

And so ends Rand and Gawyn's only moment around each other, again barring the huge group at Merrilor. This certainly ends whatever friendliness Gawyn has to Rand, from here on out it's hostility and nothing else.

Oh well. This also pretty much ends the chapter, with all that's left being Rand running back to the inn in terror. Who can blame him?

Next time: The party finally reunites (except Thom, who is still pretending to be dead)! Everyone realizes they're screwed!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #ishamael #elayne trakand #gawyn trakand #galad damodred #martyn tallanvor #morgase trakand #gareth bryne #elaida do avriny a'roihan

[childishillustrator]

Things I’ve noticed while watching coralline for the 1000th time

im gonna reboot and finish this tomorrow since i only got about halfway through the movie tonight  :)

1- the cat always responds non-verbally to what's going on in the 'real world'

2- there is a mushroom circle about the old well. mushroom circles are often associated with the fair folk, in past times, the Fae were thought to kidnap children from their homes

3- the seeds that coraline puts in the scene where it's raining outside are all amped up and used to lure her in, in the other world

4- while coraline is exploring the house there is a newly opened neck brace in her parents room

5- again while she's exploring, the only snow globe that's snowing is the one that her parents are later trapped in

6- in the room that has the tiny door, the wallpaper looks like it has a print resembling bugs/beetles

7- the way the two other parents harmonize when they say “see you soon” sounds oddly creepy(im sure it’s supposed to i just hadn't noticed it before)

8- the writing on the outside of the boxes outside of bobinsky’s door are in Russian 

9- bobinsky’s name is Bob-In-Sky, and hes also the person highest in the pink palace, as well as having a hot air ballon in the circus mice performance 

10- the pathway to the other mother’s house seems to get longer every time coralline goes through it

11- the outside in the other mother’s world looks more like a stage set than any other part of the movie

12- when coralline asks the other whybie if it hurt when the other mother took away his voice, he cuts her off and directs her towards the ballon in the sky

13- while coralline and her mom are out buying clothes they are by a store that has a sign reading “i (heart) mulch”, her mother usually drinking her coffee out of a mug reading the same thing and another mug, being seen on the drying rack in the kitchen 

14- her mother says “wont be long” and then proceeds to get kidnapped by a giant spider woman

15- there are three of those shadow side-view portraits in the background in the dining room in the other world, and they look suspiciously like the lost children

16- the curtains in the room with the little door chance to resemble beetles during the scene where the other mother gets mad at her and throws her in the mirror right after

17- there are spider webs e v e r y w h e r e .

#Coraline #coraline jones #Coraline theories #neil gaiman #laika films #Fuck i love this movie #movies #movie theory

[redolentgrove]

[@ask-north - Wisteria @ Loki] Wisteria gleefully approached Loki with North not far behind her, She however quickly began to stare in awe at the taur just as she did the first time they met. The tiny ghost didn't look like she did before, but she acted all the same. "Your dress is sooo pretty!!" She suddenly shouted before lowering her voice in embarrassment, "Oh… Uhm. Do you remember me?" She asked, The ghost sounded a bit sad and worried but her happiness quickly returned.

"Wait!! Did you come here to have fun too!? Oh! Oh! Did you bring any friends? Can I meet them? I brought my friend too! See? See?" She proudly gestured to North. "We didn't have any pretty dresses though…" She trailed off, before giving Loki a nervous smile. "… Can I still meet them even if I don't have a pretty dress too?"

Loki had been enjoying a small glass of sparkling wine, when Wisteria appeared in front of her. The not-ghost's voice seemed so familiar as she spoke all excitedly. She couldn't quite place it right away, but after looking into the child's eyes for a moment… she nodded. It was immediately clear; this was the same ghost that had adopted her as a mother. Once again, the eyes didn't lie; even disguised as a human, Wisteria's identity couldn't escape Loki's keep senses. And that attitude… the sheer excitement and awe were undeniable.

"Ah…" she mused, striding up to Wisteria and ruffling the hair on her head. "How could a mom ever forget her little girl? You know… I don't even think you told me your name when you 'adopted' me, did you? Did I even tell you mine? I'm Jolokia. Jolokia Capsicum Aniseed… or just Loki works, too!" She chuckled softly at that, turning her head to spot North when the younger 'ghost' pointed her out. "I see! It's good that you have a friend here to keep you company. Don't worry; you don't need a giant dress like mine to meet my friends and family."

Just then, Bijoux padded alongside her mother, headtilting at the pair of humans. She looked over at Wisteria specifically, noticing the more ghostly features on her body. The Cinccino-taur waved shyly at both her and North, letting out a soft squeak in greetings.

"Hello, little ones," she offered, despite being only slightly taller than North herself. The normal-type's tail swayed in rhythm, and she looked over at Loki. "I hope Mom hasn't given you any trouble."

"Speak of the family," Loki mused, gently patting Bijoux on her left shoulder. "This sweet bundle of fluff is my daughter, Bijoux Kylar Aniseed."

"Mom, sheesh, really? Whipping out the middle names in front of strangers?"

"Hey, we're at a nice event. It's okay to be a little more formal in introductions." The hybrid smirked and nodded toward the Cinccino-taur curtly. "And besides, one of these 'strangers' sees me as a mother figure. She's not always a human, either; she's, last I checked, a Misdreavus on most days. Though this other human, I can't recall meeting the last time I saw this ghost-but-not-currently…"

"Ugh, seriously, Mom, can you not go anywhere anymore without becoming someone's Mom or Aunt? The family tree already has enough tangled webs with me being like, half-sister to someone who has thirty-something generations of descendants…"

"To be fair," Loki quipped, "she asked me if I was like a mom from like the instant she saw me. I can't say no to such sweet, awestruck eyes! You know how weak I am to that! But anyway, Bijoux... shouldn't you be testing your harp to make sure it's ready for your performance? It's got to be coming up soon..."

( @ask-north )

((Mod Notes: Due to general burnout and a cramped RL work schedule, current asks in the inbox for the Gala event will be answered, but in a somewhat abbreviated style like this. A final post with Bijoux's musical act will be put up toward the final days, but our active participation in the Gala has come to a close. Apologies to all who hoped to see more of Loki and company, but I don't feel it's fair to everyone to not be able to give everything my fullest attention at an event like this. And certainly not so with anyone who has our asks in their inbox and might have wanted a more fleshed-out interaction...))

#sinsibgala #ask-north #north farron #wisteria ferus #loki leafmintaur #bijoux cinccinotaur

[nebulablakemurphy]

What line about some of the people in twelve thinking the capital took mc soul

This is a GOOD ONE!

Ok so Y/N is the Mayor’s daughter, she grows up reasonably well off anyway. Before getting reaped, her main concerns are her mother’s Morphling addiction and basically parenting Madge (her sister, who is 6 years younger.) Her mother developed this addiction as a coping mechanism after not volunteering for her own little sister who then died in the second quarter quell. It’s a very tangled web, but Maysilee, Haymitch’s ally from the games is reader’s material aunt.

Y/N going into the games, on top of the existing trauma is something her mother can never seem to overcome and the addiction becomes worse from there. There’s a lot of parallels throughout the series if you pick up on it. (I.E. this is what happens when survivors guilt consumes you. The Capitol’s exploitation of Y/N and Haymitch is almost the blueprint for Peeta and Katniss after they win the games and we can assume that their lives would’ve looked very similar if not for the revolution.)

So without much of a support system, Y/N has a hard time coping with the reality of her role as a victor and mentor. Everything she does is public, nothing is her’s and nobody understands this..except other victors. A couple years later she meets Cashmere who is honestly the sweetest person and Y/N maintains a friendship with her throughout the length of this series.

During the time between her win and the start of her relationship with Haymitch, the only non victors/Capitol citizens that get to know her are her tributes. They’re literally taking every nice and kind thing about her to their grave. She does write to the families but they are dealing with the loss of their children and aren’t really concerned with singing her praises, nor would she want them to.

Who is openly talking about her? The capitol, she’s becoming their victor, not the people’s. This is solidified once she becomes romantically involved with Haymitch. People in the Capitol are in love with the idea of love, they literally ate up the idea that the games could not only bring honor, fortune, etc. but now love as well. In their eyes, the games is what brought them this great love story. (This is probably true in some messed up way. If Snow hadn’t wiped out Haymitch’s family and gf, he probably would’ve been a married man if and when their paths ever crossed.)

As Haymitch and Y/N are now on this fast track to ‘happily ever after’ district twelve is being blanketed with media coverage. Their wedding is huge, televised. Their first child (and when Snow asks them to do these things, he’s not asking) televised, second kid, televised. Glorifying it to a degree that rubs people the wrong way.

What no one knows and for good reason, is that Y/N’s victor’s salary funnels through Madge who uses it to fund a fair portion of district twelve’s black market. Where Katniss is eventually given the gold mockingjay pin.

So while the Capitol is watching their beloved Abernathy family, Y/N is trying to keep people from starving and Haymitch is helping to plan an uprising against the Capitol. All while taking no credit for either. So if you didn’t know any better, you’d have every reason to believe they are soulless puppets dancing on a string while people around them suffer and die. It’s all about perspective.

#haymitch abernathy fanfic #moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x y/n

[nerdypuddincup]

Perhaps it would finally be time. After months of being her Angel of Music, the man not the Ghost had wanted to be more. He wanted to reach out, to feel her, to know her, to...love her. But Erik knew better. A lifetime of hatred and repulsion at his very presence had taught him that there was nothing for him but that. Christine Daee, so young, so beautiful, so pure, and oh so enthralling was forever going to be out of reach for him.

If the pursuit was indeed for not, then why continue the charade? Why continue on, building her up? He knew the reason why. Because she had the potential for greatness, an adoration and fame that Erik could never know himself despite his many talents and skills. If the world could not love him, then perhaps they could love the peerless instrument that he had fine-tuned. Oh it was all too much. Feelings and emotions that he had long thought buried within were rising to the surface. He desired something to take the edge off but he had sworn off opium for the sake of his voice.

Erik fell to the floor. It was cold and very wet but his body was unusually heated at the moment. His glazed over yellow eyes slowly focused onto Otto, the spider that he had discovered days earlier. There had been a few flies that had foolishly found their way to being ensnared by Otto’s craftsmanship. But, there was more now. There was another spider on the web. It was beautiful with blues and oranges ordaining its body, warning off any that she was clearly not to be messed with lest you risk a poison bite.

The two spiders sat side by side on the web. Erik rose slightly and crawled over slowly as not to startle the two arachnids. He watched the two and he couldn’t help but smile. “Now...Monsieur, I don’t mind you having a guest.” He whispered faintly, “But I would appreciate it in the future if you would let me know first.” He shook his head at how childish he was being right now. A part of him wanted to just reach out and gently stroke his tiny companion. But this was no pet to do that. It was a predator just like him.

But not like him at the same time. For this spider had found the one thing that Erik could never have. A companion, a mate. He was unsure how loving a spider couple could be but it hardly mattered. He looked upon the web and where once he had seen himself he now saw a stranger. His hand clenched as he began to feel tears well up in his fiery eyes. “Not fair...not fair...not fair…” Erik whispered to himself, turning over on his side, clutching his chest in his arms, and rocking himself back and forth like an infant.

No.

No! Of course, this was a sign! If Otto a creature that seemed so repulsive could find a mate then he would as well. Proof that he should go against all logic and pursue the Swedish girl. The one who haunted his dreams, the one who’s voice invaded his music. He knew that he was in love with Christine and he would have her!

A new sense of determination began to grow within him. He rose up to his feet and fetched his things. His hat, cloak, and most importantly his intricate ornate bone white mask. As his thumb moved over the raised silver etchings he recalled his mother for only the briefest of moments. And the monster that he had seen in the mirror all those years ago. His delicate hands still held the scars of that day as he had tried to smash the beast away.

No time to focus on that of course. His beloved awaited, and she would know him. Finally at long last she would see that her beloved Angel of Music was not the unattainable divine being, but a true creature of flesh and blood that she could have and hold.

He took his boat across the lake and began to ascend up through the bowels until finally reaching back into the inner-walls of the Opera House. He knew the way to Christine’s dressing room by heart now, he could do it blindfolded and spun about. The mirror awaited, the single pane of glass that separated his world from her’s.

He was about to activate the contraption to open it when suddenly he was stopped by the sound of voices. He raised a brow beneath his mask and began to approach the mirror. He could see into the room but she could not see him.

There sat Christine in her chair, but she wasn’t alone. There was a man with her. What was this about? His Christine was not the kind of girl who would invite a man alone into her dressing room. He was taller than Christine but shorter than Erik. He was decently built, sandy blonde hair, and a small mustache. His clothes gave off the impression that he could be someone important. But, being at the Opera one needed to dress a certain way.

“Oh Raoul it is you!” Christine said with glee, raising herself up from her chair and embracing the man in a hug. Seeing the two of them hug sent an invisible knife plunging into Erik’s chest. He felt his breath escape him as he took a step back. The name was familiar to him. The Count de Chagny who was involved with the dancer La Sorelli had a younger brother by that name. But how could a Viscount know a poor orphaned Swedish Girl?

“ Little Lottie! Its is so good to see you again. You surely have grown since last I saw you.” Not only did they know one another, he even had a nickname for her as well. If there was truly a God then truly he hated Erik above any creature that walked upon the Earth. The longer he watched these two prattle on like long lost lovers the more his hatred for this young man began to grow.

In this Raoul de Chagny he saw everything that he found lacking in himself. He could see the effect that the Viscount was having upon his pupil and it made his stomach churn. Then, something unexpected. She began to talk about him...well her Angel of Music. Seeing the fondness in her eyes as she spoke about his guise suddenly warmed the heart that had momentarily been frozen. He remembered in that instant why he had fallen in love with this chorus girl.

And then Raoul spoke again and the illusion was broken. He insisted on taking her to supper. He would fetch his finest white horses and await for him. Erik was pleased when she turned him down. Even mentioning that her Angel was very strict. But, this impudent fool was persistent. He told her he’d come fetch her in five minutes time and with that he left the room.

Erik watched as Christine’s face had grown distraught. Her head fell into her hands as she said that things had changed. They had indeed, and they were about to change forever. For all the anger and hatred he had suddenly grown for this fashion slave were about to be unleashed. He called out to her, throwing his voice so that it swirled all around her within the room. She would know of his disapproval.

#phantom of the opera #gaston leroux #erik the phantom #christine daae #phanfic #raoul de chagny #leroux phantom #leroux erik #le fantome de l'opera #pixel art

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: AIC 33

Uchiha Kanna had been killed in action less than a month before the massacre. That meant that her records were the most recent Uchiha information that had not been buried in the political havoc and cover-up. The fact that she was one of Sasuke's more distant cousins didn't hurt, either. His memory of her would be vague and less detailed. Most importantly, she was the eldest sister of Fukiko's father. Surely she would have approved of Aiko's reason to borrow her image.

Aiko still felt dirty as sin when she pulled together a cloak of genjutsu to wear the dead woman's face and the unusual black flak jacket the chuunin had favored. It was an ugly deception, no matter how many children it would help.

Utakata seemed to notice her change in mood. He drew back, quiet. He kept watch from the hall when she went into the room. He was not particularly happy about being in Konoha General Hospital.

Sasuke looked so small in the hospital bed. He didn't look relaxed, either. It was obvious from his dry lips and sweaty skin that he was suffering, even if she hadn't been able to see the heart monitor jumping.

He was just a baby. She couldn't wrap her head around leaving someone to suffer like that, unless she really hated them. But Itachi supposedly loved Sasuke. No, be fair- he loved Sasuke.

'He was seriously twisted. This isn't love.'

It was starting to look like the genjutsu wasn't going to break on its own. So someone had to do it, and that someone might be her.

She was sure that she could do it. The genjutsu had been made by sharingan, and sharingan could unmake it. But Aiko still aimed a prayer at anyone who would care to help- her mother, Sasuke's parents, the god of children- and got to work. It might have been her extreme optimism, but she felt like someone might be listening. The belief strengthened her nerves.

She did not dare resort to the Rinnegan. She didn't have enough finesse to use that kind of power here- that was why her genjutsu had been overpowering before. So her sharingan spun. It was the only part of her that was not a Rinnegan illusion. Carefully, she plucked at the threads of Itachi's tsukiyomi.

The unraveling took time, an excruciating amount of time. She had definitely been right to think that it would be impossible to help Kakashi as well. She couldn't afford to spend that much time in his room. Someone would catch her, especially after they realized that Sasuke was awake and went to check Kakashi.

And Kakashi would not be fooled by a genjutsu of a dead relative or friend. If she woke him up, he would know who had done it. And that would tell Konoha that she had a sharingan. And that she was far too involved in their internal affairs. She was an international leader. She could not risk hurting Kiri in order to help a foreigner. Her duty had to be carried out in good faith, for the people she had sworn to safeguard.

The web that Itachi had spun was a glistening mess of knots and power. It spun chakra in a circuit. It was impossible for a system to run indefinitely, but she really couldn't see any weaknesses that would eventually break it down on its own.

The growl that her inner demon made shook her ribcage.

She was the last person to defend him, but… 'Surely Itachi did not intend for this to be indefinite.'

...The thing was, this genjutsu was so vicious that it didn't really make the situation much better. It was beyond irresponsible to use something of that power on people you supposedly loved. Aiko was a vicious bitch, but she knew she would never be capable of torturing Naruto like that. Itachi had been sick.

Loathing rose hotly in her chest. "He was despicable," Sanbi spat. It was hard to tell where her feelings ended and the bijuu's began. "Were he alive, I would instruct you to eat him."

Ew, but she agreed with the sentiment.

Of course, it was possible that Itachi had to manually end the genjutsu and had intended to do so. Since she'd killed him on the same day that he had cast it… Maybe he simply hadn't had an opportunity to end it.

The last threads began to unravel on their own, snapping and coiling faster than she had been able to do on her own. Aiko stood back and watched it happen.

Sasuke's eyes opened. He gave a full-bodied shudder. His mouth open, he looked at the ceiling blankly.

And then he noticed her. His face went slack. If he hadn't already been sickly and pale, he might have gone white with shock.

Oh, poor baby. Aiko felt her face soften. "Hello, cousin."

The whites around his eyes showed red strain from the nightmares. On an impulse that she didn't understand, Aiko bent to brush his hair back and kiss his forehead. It felt right. Sasuke jerked, but not in an attempt to stop her.

"You've done so well," she said. It was partly to disguise her voice, but the very low, airy tone she used also fit the situation. "Uchiha Sasuke, you bring us honor. I cannot linger, but I must give you a charge."

He made a whimper in the back of his throat. His skin was clammy and damp. His eyes were locked on hers. He managed just a flicker of sharingan, clearly trying to see if she was real. He didn't have the chakra to hold it for more than an instant. But it would have been enough to see that her sharingan was real. He wouldn't be able to see through her actual genjutsu.

She was relentless. "You are not the last Uchiha in Konoha." Aiko drew herself up to her full height, which was a little more impressive in her guise as Uchiha Kanna. "There is a girl, born from Uchiha Shion and a girl of the merchant class, four months after the bloodshed. She needs you. Find Fukiko." She stroked his hair one more time. "The Uchiha do not need to be avenged. They must be safeguarded. If she returns, seek out the Slug Sannin. You will need her guidance."

Sasuke still couldn't move, weak from his ordeal. But he seemed to be drinking her in with teary eyes. He was shaking.

'I need to get out of here asap. His heart monitor is going to be noticed soon.'

"Your parents are proud," Aiko promised, meaning it to be a comfort. But as she said it, she felt a disorienting double presence- yes, we are, a woman whispered in the dark. Listen, you called. She felt tears trickle down from her eyes. She drifted.

She shut her mouth. Why was it hanging open? Belatedly, Aiko processed that she had been saying something else. What? What had she been saying? She blinked, dizzy.

Sasuke was full-blown crying now. He rasped out one word through his abused throat. "Mother."

Aiko gave him a gentle smile and felt the last trace of something slip away. It was replaced by a chill awareness.

'Oh my god. Did I just channel an actual spirit? Did I invite an Uchiha in? Do- do the dead hear me if I call to them?'

"This is not free real estate," Sanbi hissed. He was curled up. "I did not like that woman. Keep her out. I require my space."

She felt a scream well up in her throat. Aiko took in a ragged breath and trapped it. She needed to keep it together.

'I'm a fucking monster and I'm barely keeping it together. I'm dead. I'm long-dead and the death god owns me and I need to kill Orochimaru for him. I need to kill him, soon. I don't know what I'm becoming.'

"Live well," Aiko said, because it was all that she could manage. She could not freak out poor Sasuke any more.

Sasuke managed to sit up, shaking. He reached an arm towards her. Desperation was painted onto his features- he could not bear to be alone. Please stay, please stay.

She felt her heart breaking. She couldn't stay. She gave him a sad smile and hiraishin'd out, but only to the hallway. She heard Sasuke make a low, pained cry.

Utakata materialized out of the shadows. He put a hand on her shoulder. She took them out of the hospital.

They stood in silence.

'This is for the best,' Aiko told herself. 'I can't help Sasuke or Fukiko myself. I can't let anyone know that I'm involved. And…' she felt sick guilt welling up, for another reason. She had chosen Sasuke over her teacher. This wasn't her Kakashi, but it still felt terrible to leave him in that waking nightmare when she technically had the power to free him.

'He would understand,' Aiko told herself. 'He would tell me to choose to save Sasuke. And someone will help him. Tsunade can do it. She did before.'

That had to be why Jiraiya was being recalled to Konoha. The Sandaime hoped that he could persuade Tsunade to come home. If anyone could do it, it would be him.

But it wouldn't hurt to put a little leverage on the situation as well. Another reason for Tsunade to return to Konoha and to power.

'I'm doing this to get rid of Danzo, cover my ass about Orochimaru, and destabilize Konoha,' Aiko reminded herself firmly. 'Getting Tsunade back to Konoha is a tertiary goal at best.'

Utakata put a hand on her shoulder. He moved directly in front of her and pulled a cloth from his pouch. Aiko stood still and let him dab at her cheeks. She was not entirely surprised when the cloth came away red. That seemed to happen when death things happened.

She needed to kill Orochimaru. She felt it pound in her chest. The order had sunk claws into her ribcage and it would not free her.

Tsunade was not exactly easy to track. But it wasn't impossible, either. She had her patterns and preferences. And Aiko had been able to find out where she had been three days before. She left Utakata in Kirigakure, because it would be better not to appear threatening. She made a costume change into a variation on her 'kage uniform', which had been viciously ripped out of Tsunade's own playbook. She took a moment to curse the annoyances of constantly changing clothes for the situation. It was so hard on her laundry schedule.

It took the better part of the evening to find a gambling hall that had been blessed by Tsunade's presence the day before. A hotel receptionist who had recently encountered a pet pig inadvertently confirmed Tsunade's stay.

She settled in a field nearby to wait, and set her chakra on a friendly low buzz. It was a beacon saying 'come here, come find me', essentially.

Aiko couldn't be certain that Tsunade or Shizune would come to see who it was, but it was worth a try. It was certainly better than seeking her out directly. That would seem aggressive. Aiko was not attempting to put Tsunade on edge or looking to get hit. She really, really, was not looking to get hit.

"You are sturdy," Sanbi scoffed.

Not that sturdy.

The turtle made a confused sound. Had he never heard her admit her own limits before? She was very capable, but she was not insane. She did not claim to be the best shinobi out there. She was, like, fifth, at the most optimistic assessment.

"Modest," Sanbi said wryly.

She found a relatively flat rock to perch on and absorbed the heat it was still holding from the fading sunlight. It was a nice day with a light breeze. A blue-bellied songbird was flirting overhead, cheerfully chasing a fluffy brown bird from branch to branch.

She watched the sun set behind pink clouds, and seethed. She had so much shit to do that she was double-booking raids of Orochimaru's bases and break-ins to four fucking countries, but here she was. Sitting on a grassy knoll, for an hour and a half. Fucking idyllic.

'I do not have time to sit around in the beauty of nature,' she thought resentfully.

"You are disturbed," Sanbi said. He rolled over onto his back, which was really fucking weird and unacceptable turtle behavior. She could not condone it. "You should savor this peaceful moment."

"I hate this peaceful moment," Aiko muttered vindictively. She scratched at the rock. Her nails scored lines down it. Huh. She perked up. That was new. Experimentally, she scratched her name into it. Human nails were not meant to be hard enough to scratch stone, unless it was, like, talc. This was her favorite bodily change so far. Was this because of Sanbi? How charming. Usually changes were horrible. It was a refreshing discovery.

The sun had long gone down when two familiar figures crested the hill. Her rock featured her best depiction of Sanbi cavorting in a field of flowers. Hastily, she shifted so that her ass was covering her artwork before the visitors could see what she had been doing. Neither of them had ever appreciated her doodles before, and now was probably not the time they would start to find it charming.

She gave them a mildly resentful look.

"Good evening," Shizune called from about three meters away. Because she was polite.

Aiko opened her mouth to respond, but Tsunade cut her off.

"Knock that off," Tsunade ordered. "What do you want?" She put a hand on her hip.

Shizune sighed. She looked down at Tonton.

"Good evening, Tsunade-sama, Shizune-san," Aiko said. She was unphased by Tsunade's Tsunade-ness. It was not new to her. It was actually a rather comforting familiarity. But she did let her chakra signal fade away. She inclined her head in greeting. "Uzumaki Aiko," she introduced lazily. Shizune's expression went tight. Unfortunate. "I found something that I think you might be interested in. I decided to hand it over, as a courtesy."

"I'm probably not interested," Tsunade said bluntly. "I'm not involved in politics."

"I know," Aiko said. It felt weird, though. Tsunade was very good at that game. "It's not particularly related to current affairs. One of my people happened upon some interesting documentation written by Orochimaru-san." She really valiantly resisted the urge to mention that his handwriting was beautiful. Tsunade already knew that, and it was not relevant.

That did the trick. Tsunade's casual mien dropped off in an instant. Her face went hard and unreadable. She looked almost as dangerous as she really was.

"Someone in Konoha has been engaging in a lot of bloodline theft and graverobbing," Aiko said. She was careful not to leave her tone too light. "Senju-sama, you may wish to have words with someone."

Tsunade's anger rose like a wave of heat. She stepped forward. "What are you talking about?" Her voice was low and incredibly dangerous.

"Oh," Sanbi said, pleasantly surprised. "This is a frightening woman. She is the one whose fashion you have stolen, yes? A good selection. We would do well to emulate this one."

With no flippancy or funny business at all, Aiko produced the folder. It had the two reports that were definitely about Danzo in the front, Fukiko's information buried at the very back to validate what she'd told Sasuke, and information about other surgeries and experiments in between. They were not all related, but they would all help form a picture that Tsunade would want to act on.

She handed it to Shizune, because it was safer not to get into punching range. Aiko was careful to move slowly, and did not try to stand up, because Tsunade would quickly move into punching range if Shizune seemed at all nervous.

"If you're lying, I will kill you." Tsunade said it without any menace at all. It was simply a promise. She did not seem to consider that this might be difficult, politically or otherwise.

"Could she and would she?" Sanbi asked, sounding fascinated. "You are durable and important."

'Probably and definitely. Tsunade is not to be fucked with.'

Sanbi made a delighted sound and hugged his tails to his belly.

She knew how he felt. Aiko nodded. "I'm aware. I'm not lying about this."

Tsunade shot her a sharp look at the specific wording, but didn't contest it. She gave the folder a hard look. "I've heard a lot about you," she said. Her tone didn't imply that she had been hearing nice things. "What is an Uzumaki doing in Kirigakure?"

There was a definite undertone of accusation. Aiko bristled, disliking the implication that she was some kind of traitor to her clan for winding up in the country that had destroyed it. Tsunade didn't know her story. She had no right to judge- and who was she to cast stones about loyalty, given the fact that she would have been considered a traitor to Konoha for desertion if her teacher wasn't the village leader? It was pretty fucking rich.

'Hypocrisy has always been one of Tsunade's uglier traits.'

Tonton completely missed all the tension. The pig darted forward and butted into Aiko's legs. Shizune closed her eyes and clearly resisted the desire to press a hand into her forehead.

Aiko glanced down at the pig, not particularly moved one way or the other. This seemed within the range of weird, undignified things that happened when she was trying to conduct business. At least Tonton wasn't leaving sand around, or dripping onto her floorboards, or leaving half-eaten pudding in her office. What the fuck ever. She decided not to take offense at Tsunade's rudeness. "The best that I can," Aiko answered honestly. She let her exhaustion show. "Protecting the people that I care about, trying to improve the world, keeping my promises, and hopefully finding that I can fit in somewhere by the end of it all."

Oh. Oh, no. There was something in the air next to Tsunade. Like a heatwave. She blinked and then it was gone.

Probably nothing. Probably just her failing eyesight, even though she usually had perfect vision when using Sharingan or Rinnegan. Wasn't some fucking Senju ancestor poking their nose around Tsunade's business. It wasn't, no matter that a sick chill in her gut told her that's exactly what it was.

'I'm being paranoid and insane,' Aiko told herself firmly. She flexed her foot, inadvertently stroking the pig. Tonton gave a delighted grunt and nuzzled the rock. 'I am totally fine.'

"What do you want from me?" Tsunade had crossed her arms sometime when Aiko wasn't looking.

"Nothing," Aiko answered honestly. If this had been her Tsunade, she would have begged for help with her eyes and possibly with her brain. But she didn't know this woman. She couldn't trust this Tsunade. Especially not since Tsunade knew Aiko only as a foreign politician. "This is a courtesy. These records don't do me any good, and keeping them would not be in the good faith of my relations with Konoha. But also." She glanced away. "I would want to know, if it was me." She stood up and turned away. She couldn't stand to look at Tsunade and the ghost that might be next to her. "Do what you will." She'd look arrogant as hell for turning her back on Tsunade, but, well, that was fine.

"Is that all?" Tsunade sounded unimpressed.

"Unless you have something to say, yes."

Aiko waited a moment. Shizune hissed something. It was equally likely to be directed at the Sannin or the pig.

"You were in Konoha when Orochimaru invaded." Tsunade's tone faltered. "They say that you revived the Yondaime. They say that Orochimaru..."

"He partially revived the first and second Hokage as his slaves," Aiko confirmed. She felt her body shudder. "It was a profane thing." She didn't know where those words came from, but they felt right. Oh, no. Oh, no no no. "He twists and steals fragments of souls, imprisoned in clay to his will. Until he is sent down to death, he will reuse those souls at his leisure." Her chin went up. "I will end it."

She heard Shizune coming cautiously around her side to get a visual on Aiko's face. The medic was too professional to startle, but Aiko knew what Shizune was seeing. And that it was not super normal. Medically speaking.

"Ah." Shizune lifted a hand uncertainly. "Mizukage-sama, you have something on your face."

'I should not have prayed to the dead to watch over Sasuke. I drew far too much attention. I reached across. I'm so fucked.'

Aiko stared blankly at her. The shimmer was following Shizune now, and it was gaining shape and opacity. It was a young man she had never seen before, so probably someone long-dead. He stood between her and Shizune in a futile attempt to keep her safe from the foreign kage. She thought she knew who might haunt those two particular people. "That happens sometimes."

When she returned, Utakata hissed out air between his teeth. "Again," he said softly. It wasn't a question. She let him clean the blood off her face once more, painfully gentle with a soft cloth. It was difficult to care about the blood from her poor stressed eyes when she had so much more to worry about. So she just didn't.

"Jiraiya," she said. "Tell Nishikawa that I'll see him tonight. I just want to get it over with." Utakata was not quite finished, but she pulled away and began striding into her house. "I'll go to his room. Have the message waiting there." But first. "Suigetsu, Karin, are you well?" she called.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs. Karin whirled into view, hair a cloud around her head from the humidity. "You're going to give him a legendary sword?" she demanded. "I want him to train me in that. I would be such a good legendary swordsman."

Aiko blinked at her cousin. She really didn't care one way or the other. "Ask him which one he wants, or what he trained in," she said. "We have all but one. He can use anything other than Chojuro's. Yes, training people will be part of his responsibilities." She drifted into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She was pretty dehydrated at this point.

Suigetsu slunk into view, not quite raising his eyes to look at her directly. He was still wearing the dead Sound-nin's pants, but Karin had clearly forced him into one of Gaara's shirts. It did not… Well. Gaara was really scrawny, alright? And rather small-boned.

In other words, he looked ridiculous. She was surprised that someone as fashion-forward as Suigetsu was tolerating that situation.

She seemed to remember him being a lot ruder. Perhaps that had developed while Orochimaru had been torturing him. Mm. That made sense. No one in Kirigakure could get away with that level of casual disrespect unless they were, say, the Mizukage.

"Is that why you took the job?" Sanbi teased. "Your natural qualities do not lend themselves to peaceful coexistence with any being possessing a sense of propriety."

See, that was exactly the kind of backtalk that Yagura probably would not have been chill with.

Sanbi cackled. It seemed to be in agreement. But he was a little shit and unpunishable, so that probably meant that he had been talking like that to Yagura as well.

'I like you. You're so awful.'

But anyway. Most people in a shinobi village were not an immortal turtle, immune to censure. She took a moment to imagine how Kisame, for example, would react to disrespect from an understudy.

A blood puddle. There would just be a blood puddle.

She realized that she was still looking at Suigetsu. He was very nervous. She finished her water. She washed the glass.

What else did she need to do?

She needed to get an apology from Minato, have someone sabotage Nagihara's most powerful rival in the Daimyo's court by intercepting a shipment, send payment to Iron for the hospital supplies, kill Orochimaru-

'I'm working on that,' she told herself. 'I'm going to, I'm going.'

Her body shook with the effort of resisting the need to go now. She couldn't wait for Konoha and Suna. The death god was going to tear her apart if she stalled. He had his eye on her and it burned, relentless and hot.

"Mizukage-sama?" Suigetsu was nearly against the wall.

She blinked at him. Ah. She probably did not look very stable. "Sorry, I'm not at my best," Aiko managed. She inhaled slowly. "What's the time?"

He averted his eyes. "About 7:30, I think."

"That's not so bad," Aiko murmured. She managed to straighten. "I might be able to finish my errands before midnight."

Okay, she had to concentrate on the small things she could accomplish immediately. First: visit Jiraiya. Next: kill Orochimaru. Then: start a load of laundry.

No. No. She roused herself and tried to reason with Death. If she went now, she would be defeated. She would fail. And then he would have no one to set against Orochimaru. He needed to let the living conduct the business of the living, she told him fiercely.

"You are not the living. You have two days."

Aiko winced, at the sound echoing in her head, and at the horrible confirmation that it brought.

But he subsided. It was only her in her skin again. Aiko leaned against the counter, feeling that it was cold and hard. The physical sensation helped to ground her.

Alright. So she knew a bit more now than she had before. Information was power, right?

'If I'm going to push the confrontation with Orochimaru ahead of schedule, I'll need a powerful voice in Konoha,' she told herself. 'I need to go to Jiraiya. He can help.'

With black humor, she noted that there was an upside to Kakashi being trapped in the torture of Tsukiyomi. No matter how he suffered, he was essentially safe there. If he was free, he would almost certainly be ordered to help Konoha's team catch Orochimaru. He was safer where he was.

'Get a deal with Jiraiya. Find at least 4 people to come with me. Kill Orochimaru, preferably tomorrow. Before the death god comes back.'

Doable. Plausible. She started walking. Lost in thought, she missed most of the journey between her house and Jiraiya's quarters. It wasn't far. Raidou skittered away when she came to the door, trying not to catch her eye. Jiraiya bounced into the living room- and stopped. She didn't know what he was seeing when he looked at her, but he decided not to play the idiot.

"Mizukage-sama. I didn't expect you until tomorrow."

She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry. "Let's make a deal," she said. No time for pleasantries. "I'll give you 20 minutes of being completely candid. No deflections, no evasions, no lies. You can ask me about Akatsuki, my home, my plans."

"That's half a deal," he observed. "What do you want?"

Aiko managed to look him dead-on. He, at least, was not a man who called out to the dead often. No one was at his shoulder. "I need to kill Orochimaru," she said bluntly. "I waited too long. You are one of the best people in the world to help me do that."

Jiraiya did not look comfortable with any of this. He raised his hands, placating. "The two of us? That's risky. And it would undermine the treaty between our nations and Suna. I don't have the authority to do that. Besides, it won't take much longer until we can launch the joint effort."

"I need." Her voice rose in pitch and volume. "To kill him." Her body was shuddering. It was going to shudder apart. Jiraiya didn't seem to understand. "He told me to," Aiko added. Admitted. Explained. "In Konoha."

"Orochimaru?" Jiraiya asked dubiously. "Doesn't sound like something he'd say. Unless it was a joke. He's a funny guy, could have been jo-"

"Death," she cut him off, frustrated. "Death." She put a hand to her chest, where the pain of the order was originating. "He does not care about alliances and reasonable timeframes. He commands it. It is a perversion and a breach. It must be rectified."

Jiraiya was white now. Also, silent. It was an interesting look on him. She'd never seen it before.

"That's an interesting party trick," he said.

Ah, the moment was precious because it was rare. So of course it did not last.

She did not know what he was talking about. Aiko frowned at him. She decided to ignore it. "Deal?" She demanded. "I know where his two main bases are. I destroyed one before. He only had three major bases. We can find him. I have to do it in the next two days."

"A base? When did you-" Jiraiya cut himself off. He gave Raidou a look that she couldn't see.

He'll help me. He'll help, she told Death. For love of my father who loves me, he'll help.

Oh. Father. Father would help. It would be easier with more.

No. She was herself enough to reject that. Minato could not dare to do something so risky. His place in Konoha was tenuous enough. And it was her fault that he was there.

She had some time. Take 24 hours to assemble a team and a plan, and 24 hours to accomplish the deed. It should be enough.

"It's a deal." Jiraiya sat on the biggest chair in the room. He gestured toward the couch. "Please, have a seat." He gave her a wary look. "Why don't you have a drink, something to eat? And then we'll talk."

"Yes," Aiko agreed. She needed a minute or two to clear her head. The deal wouldn't be very fair if she was running on too much stress to answer coherently. She heard someone leave the room- ah, Raidou. Going to get refreshments. She knew that her people would be watching him, wary of poison.

Her heart was slowing down. She shook off his hand and sank down onto the couch. She put her face in her hands.

"So." Jiraiya sounded wary. "Are you… you again?"

Aiko barked a laugh without looking up. "As opposed to?" she teased. Even through her exhaustion, she felt a smile.

"Well, I'm going to assume the deep man's voice earlier was the death god," Jiraiya said bluntly. Too bluntly.

Her smile dropped off. "Is that a thing that happened?"

Jiraiya sucked in a breath. He shifted on his chair. It squeaked. "Well, shit," he said conversationally. "Is this kind of thing going to happen to Minato as well?"

She thought about it. "I don't think so," Aiko said honestly. "I don't think the Death god owns me because I died." She felt Jiraiya's flinch. "I think it's because of..." she trailed off, thinking of all the times she had called on him. How he grew closer and more powerful every time. "Other factors." A connection that she had stupidly, stupidly fed.

"Owns you?" Jiraiya's voice was a soft, deceptive calm. He was furious.

She shrugged. There wasn't much to say. It was clear, now, which was the power dynamic went. "You have more relevant questions, right? Konoha sent you here for a reason."

She heard the sharp beep of a timer being started.

"Are you from an alternate universe?"

"Yes."

"Is it the same year?"

"No. You're way behind my timeline. That's how I know so much about what's going on." It was kind of a relief to admit. People were always so nervous about how she knew everything. But there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"In your future, you are…?" Jiraiya let the question trail, clearly hoping for an open ended answer.

She indulged him. "26 years old, Naruto's twin, been Hokage for less than a year. I'm sure people are not happy with me suddenly disappearing. It was not done on purpose." She thought about it. "It must have been very awkward. I had a meeting scheduled with the Kazekage. Imagine having to explain that the Hokage has been misplaced, and then simply never finding her." Aiko let out a genuine laugh. "Sasuke must have been so pissed."

He gave a surprised curse. "You're joking."

It was kind of funny. "I'm really not," Aiko admitted. "Naruto and Sasuke and I played rock-paper-scissors for the hat when Tsunade retired. I won. I wonder who took it next. Either way it'll be fine." She stared blankly at the floor. "They're both very capable. Good kids."

"Kids your age?" Jiraiya prompted.

"I helped train them both, they'll always seem like kids to me," Aiko admitted. She scratched her hands through her hair and huffed. "I'm weak for both of them. I broke into Konoha today," she admitted, honesty that shocked even her. "To wake Sasuke from the Tsukiyomi. He thinks I was a ghost." She let out a rough laugh. "I couldn't stand to leave him like that. He's so little now. Not like he should be, he should be tall and so grumpy. Please take a moment to imagine an Uchiha trained by Tsunade."

Jiraiya took in a sharp breath, clearly trying to gather himself. "So you came here by accident, then?"

She nodded. No point in lying. "And I can't get back," she said dully. "I was doing an experiment. Fuinjtusu. My specialty is space-time. Hiraishin. I don't use it like dad. I was trying to reverse polarity and bring a seal to me. I failed and succeeded. I brought a seal that existed in my time to me, as I also traveled to a seal that preexisted me. One that dad had left. In Kirigakure," she clarified. "That's why I'm here. Yagura thought I was there to kill him, and wasn't going to leave me alone. So I had to kill him. But I fucked it all up, so then I had to take responsibility for Kirigakure. It is a mess, did you know that?" She cut herself off right before she got to admitting about all the drug smuggling she did in order to keep Kiri in the black. Jiraiya did not need that information.

"Did you revive Minato purposefully?"

"No," she said, with feeling. "I would never. He was dead far too long. He belongs there now. It warps you." She twisted her hands in her lap. "The longer someone has been dead, the harder they are to revive. And the less they like it," she said darkly. "It could be coincidence, but they also… seem to die sooner."

She could feel Jiraiya's chakra fluctuate. Oh. She shook her head to cut off that line of worry.

"Like I said, dad wasn't really my doing," she explained. "Death did that. He doesn't follow the same rules. Minato is… not quite normal, but not in special danger. Except that since he's the one from my home, he's doomed." She shrugged. "I don't know what will happen when he dies," she admitted candidly. "Has he talked to you about this? I'm sure he knows to be afraid. His soul might dissolve. Might wander forever. Might get trapped in this universe's afterlife, with the Minato who is already there. His Kushina is alone now."

"That's enough for now." Jiraiya's tone was strained. The beep came again. "It's been about three minutes. Can we continue this later?"

Aiko lifted her head and eyed him. He seemed stressed. "Sure," she allowed. "But you lose 5 minutes of time every time that you call a pause."

"That's fair." Jiraiya ran a hand up the back of his hair.

But actually, she was feeling a lot better. It was kind of cathartic to get that off her chest. She crossed her legs at the ankle and straightened, blinking at her not-godfather.

"Minato did know that, by the way," Jiraiya admitted. He made a face. "He is really hoping that you can help him get back."

She let out a wild laugh. "If I could get back, I would have left." Her tone might have best been described as "cheerful despair." "It's impossible. At least, it's not possible with the way that I got here. And I could not begin to figure out how to return. If research on the topic ever existed, it does not exist now. It died with Senju Tobirama. Minato and I are fucked."

#vapors #uzumaki aiko #electrasev5n #ninja daily #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #clarity #AIC #Aiko in Canon