#please read these fucking books oh my god

[lucabyte]

i am looking at nohats au 👀 please share more

So! NoHats! I'm going to grab you and use this to ramble. A Lot.

The NoHats AU is @samhainian's it's just that I'm the strange little freak who takes the words said unto me and executes on them. But I can still do a little explainer on what our overall thoughts and vibes are. (And, that we are in fact propping up a little box with some cheese under it here. 🪤 Please (PLEASE) feel free to pick up what we're putting down.)

We're far from the only ones exploring a "what if siffrin fucking died" AU, though the main difference with NoHats is the placement of the death in the timeline. Instead of being 'Mal Du Pays Wins' or 'Act 6 encounter goes horribly wrong', the death is… Just after the (literal) falling action.

(This placement is because Sam is a comic book fan who thus has become used to characters being ripped away at the cruelest times by shitty writers. THANK FUCKING GOD adrienne is not that and isat is delightful yippieee, but, back on topic.)

Giving the party the full understanding of What Happened that you get by putting the death after black hole siffrin, but before the A6 encounter leaves an interesting gap to be filled. See, making Siffrin's death very much not Loop's fault means that… this once again reads (when not read as simply a tragedy...) as the universe doing what it sees fit to fulfull Loop's wish… Thus making Siffrin's death Loop's fault again, but only in their eyes. And only in a way they could express if they were honest about who they were…

And this is where having had excuse to waffle about my general Postcanon Loop thoughts the other day comes in handy, because Sam and I have that as our canon-compliant reading to begin with, NoHats plays off of a lot of the same readings of Loop's character. Namely: Uh Oh Somebody's Lying By Fucking Omission Again. (BECAUSE TO BE FAIR THIS TIME… HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU HANDLE THAT?)

Now, neither Sam nor I are fanfic writers, so this has been a little bit trapped in our heads and DMs (and my unfinished art but,)

But our thoughts on how NoHats like… Goes.

Siffrin's death is peaceful, but that does not mean the aftermath of it is. I can't imagine the party takes it well, especially after understanding the circumstances of the Loops. (And, of note, in A5 where nobody had the discussion on what to do with each other's bodies should something happen…) But I'd imagine it traumabonds them somewhat (understatement of the century) and now knowing how the rest of the party feels, they resolve to travel together for the forseeable future.

The party track down Loop to deliver the terrible news, since they were clearly Siffrin's friend too, and invite Loop along to travel at least long enough to (let them grieve) get the burial over with. Loop, here, can be helpful in knowing what Siffrin would've wanted where the party would be at a loss. Loop, I think, takes a bit of a lead on the funerary aspects of it all, because, um. (Performing rites on your own body, huh?)

Then, as things are after a death, life just… Kind of has to continue on as normal. The party travel, pick up Nille, and get to know Loop as this mysterious new person. Maybe in this situation they might stay in Bambouche for a while to give Bonnie more stability since. They are probably taking it the worst. It would've come out of absolutely nowhere for everyone in the party obviously but god, for a kid? For A Kid?

It should be stated NoHats is not intended to be grimdark, just y'know. An exploration of grief. This is also why it's got a bit of a lopsided focus on Bonnie vs the rest of the party because hhrrhghghhghghhhghhghhh <- incoherent

Now, a crossroads.

How does the party discover Loop to be Siffrin? How long does it take. How much have the party embraced them as part of the family (especially with something as intense to bond over as this)?

There's the Odile option. Have her put it together and have to bring it up somehow. This could also be done by Isabeau, perhaps. He's smart. (which. God. If anything's the real Isabeau Torment Nexus it's this)

Then there's the other option batted around by Sam and I. The: The Universe Dislikes Duplicates option.

The items in the house that fzzt away when inspected. The Universe doesn't like there to be two of something, at least not when they're acknowledged. But one of something is just fine…?

Which is to say. I'm not a personal proponent of 'Loop getting their body back'. EXCEPT …… except this one time.

There's only one Siffrin now, so they don't need to be obfuscated to exist.

Consider, if you will. Loop swallowing their guilt for long enough to be comfortable. Falling back into old habits. Without another Siffrin around to compete for the niche of, they actually begin to act like Siffrin again. Not intentionally, it's just… The party is as welcoming as they've always been. And the party swears they keep catching glimpses of a face under all the light.

Then, one day, while still not fully human again, the resemblence becomes undeniable. Loop having not even noticed until everyone looks at them like they've seen a ghost.

Has it been months? How long have they kept up this lie? Is it even a lie, to them? They're Loop. But they were, once, Siffrin.

Even after explaining it, does that make it better or worse?

Bonnie cuts through the betrayed, struck-nerve reactions with a sobering "I missed you."

… Anyway !

Yeah so that's the vibe for NoHats. As for LoopLoops? That's more nebulous. I think it can go anywhere really in the NoHats timeline. I err personally toward the "Loop continuously replays the last 10 minutes before Siffrin's death almost immediately after they find out and have to parkour their ass up the House in the most distressing situation possible to try and get them to hold on, just please hold on." (Remember! Siffrin can remember the contents of Loop's loop backs in the A6 fight!)

But there is the possibility that this happens months, or worse years down the road. One last Loop back. Throw it all away for the chance to just get that one thing you didn't know you even wanted but now know you NEED.

Misc:

Okay miscellaneous time.

This is where I admit that I have a bunch of unfinished NoHats art that I haven't gotten around to yet because I feel like a right tool being so obviously Loop-Centric with my fancontent (I AM . . I REALISE I AM NOT DOING MUCH TO BEAT THE ALLEGATIONS.) So like if people want to see that please say because euaghghghhfh <- the nervous.

this is like the most fucked up place to do isaloop fr. anyway.

one of Sam's mid-game observations that I'm just going to share for no particular reason is that Bonnie's hair shares a bunch of shapes with Siffrin's. The flick up at the top, the 3 pronged shape of the fringe… just something to think about.

Without 2 Siffrins around to compare each other to it'd likely be a lot harder to notice Loop's similarities. Doesn't mean that those similarities don't sting more in this context though.

If you do NoHats without LoopLoops. The concept of this all fading into memory years down the line while they just have slightly-glowy but otherwise regular Siffrin hanging out is fucked up to think about. Just like real grief. Augh

6. a peek into the original dms as a treat from us

#LONG POST....! #be free our ideas. go forth into the wild. and by that i mean neither of us are fic writers so please HUNT US FOR SPORT #isat spoilers #looploops au #nohats au #isat au #isat loop #isat act 6 spoilers #not giving it more tags than that since feels rude to tag the rest of the party lol #lucabytetalks #but yes! to be extra clear: nohats is a 'please play in the space' invitation. because neither of us are big fanwork people! um! #it feels a little bit neglectful of us to not make more stuff for this AU ourselves but... we aren't practiced at that kind of thing. so. #open invitation! we know we won't make anything MASSIVE with this so.. don't hold your breath. and feel free to take the reigns. #we aren't like. the arbiters of 'sif fuckin dies' aus in general obviously but if you want to play with our specific ideas please do! #think of this post like prompts if you want to. go nuts #and @ a certain someone who said in the tags theyd maybe write something inspired. kisses you so sweetly. thank u for even considering it #also hi kaun i was thinking about your little snippet when typing 'act 6 encounter goes horribly wrong' 👋

[mappingthesky]

"just let me take care of you" for ✈️🍌, pleeaaaseeee!!!

Jane is curled up on one end of the couch with a book in her hands. She’s read the same paragraph four or five times now, and would really like to move on to the next one, except she can’t, because-

UUGgghh!

“Oh my god,” Jane’s head hits the arm of the couch when she throws it back in frustration. “What?”

From the other end of the sofa, beyond where their legs are intertwined, Nymphia groans at her laptop screen. She’s uncharacteristically disheveled: her long hair is pulled into a messy, bumpy ponytail, and she’s wearing her glasses, which almost never happens. Not nearly enough for Jane’s liking, anyway. The black frames are thick and rounded and perched perfectly on her button nose, and if she wasn’t being so annoying right now then Jane would find her absolutely, irresistibly delicious.

“It’s all wrong,” Nymphia whines, pushing her stupid, sexy glasses up to nest in her hair while she rubs her eyes with her palms. The laptop, the source of her misery for the last two and a half weeks, rocks in her lap.

“It’s not,” Jane rolls her eyes and rehashes this conversation for what must be the eighty-seventh time. “It’s fine. It’s great, even! It’s probably the best fucking artist statement anyone’s ever read in the entirety of their miserable lives. They should be so lucky!”

Nymphia whines and stretches, a sliver of skin peeking out at the edge of her t shirt when she lifts her arms over her head. Jane momentarily forgets whatever it is she’s supposed to be annoyed about.

“Can you proof it for me?” Nymphia says when she’s tugging her shirt back into place and reaching for her laptop. Jane groans at the request, and definitely not at the lack of exposed skin.

“Ugh, Nymph,” Jane pleads. “Again?”

It’s only days before Nymphia’s final assignment is due - a full collection of garments complete with a written artist’s statement. It’s all they’ve talked about for what feels like weeks on end. Jane hasn’t been nearly as annoyed as she says she is. In Jane’s eyes Nymphia is something like a magician, turning whatever she touches into something miraculous and profound. It’s the reason why she’s let their living room become a war zone, littered with bolts of fabric and stray ribbon and a pincushion that somehow seems to be underfoot no matter how far she hurls the thing. She doesn’t mind that much, not really. It’s only until the end of the semester. Besides, Jane loves having Nymphia around. She’d much rather have her working at home, where she can make sure she eats and sleeps and remembers to wash her face before bed. It’s better than having her cooped up in a studio across town all night, working too hard to remember to take care of herself. Plus, Jane loves to watch Nymphia work - when she loses herself in a sketch or in the draping of fabric and her hair starts to slip from her ponytail, and her glasses are sliding down her nose, and her tongue rests at the corner of her mouth-

“You’re so much better with writing than I am!” Nymphia wails. Her voice is whiny and desperate and Jane’s head is in the fucking gutter.

While Nymphia could produce an entire wardrobe in a matter of days, brilliantly tailored and united under some pristine vision that Jane can’t fathom how her girlfriend ever came up with, the artist statement has thoroughly stumped her. It’s a meager assignment, 500 words maximum describing the inspiration for the collection, and has been the bane of Nymphia’s existence for the past four days. Naturally, it’s become the bane of Jane’s existence too.

“Baby,” Jane begs. She’s enjoyed all this time at home with Nymphia, and she’s proud of her, truly, but she would really like her cheery, horny, reliably unfocused girlfriend back.

Nymphia’s bottom lip curls outwards and her eyes flutter. “Please?”

Jane blinks. Nymphia is a little too good at getting exactly what she wants out of her. The worst part is that she knows it.

“Fine,” Jane concedes through gritted teeth, tossing her book to the floor and sitting forward. Nymphia cheers and claps and leans close to grab Jane’s face, almost succeeding until-

“On one condition,” Jane holds her hand up before Nymphia’s lips can find her cheek.

“Anything,” Nymphia coos, like she expects Jane to go easy on her.

“This is the last of the work you do tonight,” Jane says firmly, watching Nymphia’s mouth twist with anxiety. “I mean it. I can’t fucking hear you whine anymore.”

Nymphia’s anxiety is all too quickly replaced with a devious smile, a practiced sort of coercion, “I thought you loved to hear me wh-“

“That’s beside the point,” Jane doesn’t budge. Nymphia is a tease, a very tempting tease, but a tease nonetheless. Jane knows this well enough, she’s fallen victim to her traps more times than she cares to admit. “Do we have a deal?”

Nymphia falls back to the other end of the couch with a defeated hrmph. “Deal” she pouts.

With that, Jane snatches the laptop. She reads Nymphia’s essay intently, because she really does care, making minor grammatical tweaks here and there. The piece is well written, even without the bit of fluffing Jane’s done over the past few days. Nymphia is absolutely selling herself short. It may not be her preferred medium, but her unique vision shines through her words just the same as it does with her clothing.

“What?” Nymphia asks when a small, proud smile tugs at Jane’s lips. “What is it?”

Jane beams, her eyes lingering on the last few sentences. “It’s perfect.”

Nymphia lights up, “You really think so?”

Mhm, Jane hums, looking over to Nymphia where she’s curled into the corner of the couch, grinning. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Okay, because I was thinking I could-“ Nymphia starts to ramble, but Jane has already hit ‘save’ and is slamming the laptop shut. Nymphia’s eyes widen.

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” Jane places the laptop on the floor.

“Yes, but-“

“Uh-uh,” Jane shakes her head, leaning forward. “I think you’re done for the night.”

Nymphia could try to make an escape, but it would be pointless. They both know it. “I am?”

“Yeah, you are.” Jane grabs at Nymphia’s ankles, dragging her closer until she’s lying flat on her back. Her glasses slide down her nose.

Nymphia is still muttering something about picking the right font when Jane silences her with a gentle palm over her mouth.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Jane tells her. “Just let me take care of you. Can you do that?”

Nymphia nods, wide-eyed and suddenly breathless. Jane pulls her hand away from Nymphia’s mouth. “Good girl.”

Her other hand is already sliding beneath Nymphia’s t-shirt, grazing her bare skin. She goes to pull it over her head, and Nymphia reaches for her glasses.

“No,” Jane catches her hand, kissing her knuckles before pinning her wrist above her head. “Those stay on.”

#scREAM I LOVED THIS ONE #we never speak on nymphia’s glasses and its so disrespectful #thank you for this anon!! #planymphia #she writes #prompt

[emilykaldwen]

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

Rating: Explicit

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

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

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

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

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

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: We are back from hiatus on APRIL 26, 2024 with Chapter 16! Hope you join us! These will continue to be crossposted so instead of seeing my usual AO3 link with snippet, you will see posts like these so you can continue to read on AO3 should you wish, or on tumblr!

we are now in the 'oh my god these two are so fucking feral for each other it makes them look dumb' era and SPICY SPICY! plus djkfhsdf some cute things I'm sure you've been waiting for.

Translations: Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin - two hearts as one Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus - half of my heart

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Your Love Is Like Sunlight

Pride is taken and love is given.

Aegon had wandered through the mass of small folk without a care, a grin across his face as vendors hawked and goods were sold, as people came out to rejoice for his day. Alyn had fallen in step beside him, following him and Aemond into the tent where Daeron was waiting. His little brother, dark blonde hair mussed from sleep, was furiously polishing Aegon’s new armor.

Not even the thick, red and black canvas of the tent could block out all the sounds of the crowds pouring into the arena that morning, but once the flaps closed, there was a kind of muffling effect to it all that made Aegon feel like he’d entered another world.

“How lucky,” he’d told his baby brother as Daeron jumped to attention and went about his duties. “That I get Ser Gwayne’s prized squire for this tournament.” The boy had preened and glowed beneath the attention in a shy, nervous way that belied his newness to the position at large. Aemond posted beside the trestle table, helping himself to watered wine and the platter of cold meat and cheese while Alyn lingered near the rack holding Aegon’s sword.

“Two swords, hm?” he’d inquired, admiring the balance on the blades with a critical eye. Which was really only Alyn trying to pretend he knew exactly what he was talking about when it came to the elegance of worked steel. It wasn’t even Valyrian steel.

“Aegon’s rare moments of overachieving,” Aemond drolled. Aegon rolled his eyes, ignoring Alyn’s soft snickering, while Daeron went to work, his gaze drifting to the second rack where his suit of armor rested, the breastplate his brother had been working on reverently placed back where it belonged.

“You are the king’s eldest son. You think the men you’ll liege over would respect a lord who’d never donned a suit of armor?” The Tower had snapped at what Aegon thought was a simple question as to why. It was a strange feeling when he was a dragonrider of all things, bonded with the greatest creature to exist. He was a god amongst men.

Once, custom dictated that a dragonrider must always be in the Dragonpit should the call to arms sound, but his mother had put her foot down when Aegon had asked. Which hadn’t really mattered, since on days where his melancholy threatened to smother him, he’d sneak out to sleep with Sunfyre anyway. Days where he felt like he would burst from his own skin, rend his flesh with claws of his own, where he swore in his dreams he was Sunfyre himself.

This day, Aegon did not have claws and fangs, nor could he breathe fire. With both feet firmly planted on the ground, he would don the armor of his mother’s people, of mere mortals. He shifted as Daeron tugged on the red padded arming doublet he was wrestling him into with a kind of single minded efficiency that strongly reminded him of Aemond. They both poked their tongues between their lips, eyes squinted in focus. It took everything in Aegon not to reach up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair and instead kept uncharacteristically cooperative at the boy’s assistance.

Warmth spread through his chest while Daeron straightened the padding and examined the red fabric for wear and tear now that it was on him.

“Can you move, Aeg?”

He twisted at the waist and raised his arms up and down to show that he could and Daeron went to the pieces of polished black armor. The finely crafted plates layered together like dragonscales of his very own, edged in beaten gold, and over his chest, a dragon was etched into the metal. Aegon was still surprised how perfectly the armor fit. He flexed constantly under Daeron’s questions and it was so different from the training breastplate he wore that would have to last through the growth spurts of his youth. This suit of armor felt like a second skin, as if he was covered with his very bones. He flexed once Daeron had finished, lifting his legs and bending around to ensure that all was where it was meant to be and he grinned at Daeron.

“Well done, squire,” he complimented. Daeron’s beam made him look younger than his two and ten years, and as brilliant as the sun. “I think you’ve earned a place with us to go mucking around Flea Bottom, hm?”

“Thank you,” he said shyly, blushing at the praise, and preening a little even though the only audience was Aemond and Alyn. “I’d hate for you to make a fool of yourself on your nameday in front of everyone.” The cheeky look in his cornflower blue eyes had Aegon lightly swiping at him, the boy dancing away while Aemond made an annoyed sound.

Aegon snatched a piece of meat off of his brother’s plate. “You know, Aemond, if you’re going to be a miserable arse, you don’t have to be here. Go sit in the box with our mother, let all the pretty girls stare at you. I’m sure it would be more fun. I was certain that Maega Stokeworth was trying to figure out how to swoon in your arms.” Aemond had found himself beneath the center of attention in a way he’d never encountered since the court had begun to fill in the past few weeks. “Or better yet, let Karstark be your shield once more and you can swoon into her arms.” It hadn’t been missed that his brother had gone straight for Abby’s lady as soon as the proverbial sharks had begun to circle. Aegon would not deny his surprise, but he kept it to himself. It wasn’t everyday his brother and his violet gaze targeted someone he wasn’t intendending to declare an enemy.

Unless declaring Wylla Karstark his enemy was a form of foreplay. Perhaps a northern custom he wasn’t aware of but surely Aemond knew everything about. Mating habits and rituals and all that.

His brother rolled his eye but the pink that tinged his cheeks had Aegon smirking in satisfaction as he looked over the drink available. Cider had been his choice since Mother had forbidden wine. A carafe of it had made it into the tent, the Arbor red he preferred calling to him. His fingers clenched and he went for the water instead. He needed his wits about him.

“And miss your great debut? I hear Vance has been known to fight with a pollaxe and you’ve only matched against blade and the morningstar.” Aemond’s unimpressed commentary on Aegon’s resurgence in training for this event dripped through every word and he scoffed.

“Are you truly belittling me for participating in my nameday tournament while you peacock around going,” Aegon lilted his voice to match Aemond’s slightly higher tone. “Fuck tourneys, I want a war and a real fight, watch me jump around the training circle with Criston Cole.”

Daeron giggled, sweet boy that he was, and even Aemond’s glower was softened at the long missed sound.

“I’ll fight in the joust at Harrenhal,” Aemond declared, his mouth curling in satisfaction at the sound of surprise Aegon made.

“You? Joust? But you hate jousting.”

“I wouldn’t want to face him in a joust,” Alyn offered with a serious look. “You’ve met your brother, right?”

Aemond shifted in his chair, chin tilting slightly with his own hint of preening. The curl of his mouth turned deadly sharp with satisfaction. “Well, well, looks like you should be trusting Hull’s judgment more than I gave him credit for. It seems he’s not the fool I thought.”

“To finally be recognized by the One-Eyed Prince!” Alyn said, clasping his hands together in prayer. “Warrior, you have heard my prayers to have my statement of the obvious that I have eyes and know when to not engage with the scariest cunt in the room is taken seriously.”

Aegon veered to the left as Aemond chucked a piece of meat at his friend, Alyn’s locs swinging with the motion, and with an open mouth, he caught the piece in his mouth, but gasped and choked briefly from the speed at which Aemond threw it. His brother looked stunned, getting up to thump Alyn on the back. Aegon glanced down at Daeron, his brother only a scant few inches shorter and promising another growth spurt.

“So proud of the progress they’ve been making.”

“Aye,” Daeron said seriously. “But I’m still your favorite.”

Aegon tapped the side of his nose and poured Daeron a cup of wine and another for Alyn, who’d coughed up the projectile. Aemond was now examining the blades for himself now that Hull wasn’t in danger of expiring.

“I still think you should go with the single blade and shield.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“It’s flashy.”

Aegon’s face contorted into confusion. “Of course it’s flashy. What? I don’t get to be flashy, you twat? Is this because you’re jealous my dragon is lovelier than yours?”

“Don’t you compare anything to Vhagar, you golden peacock.”

“Oh please, Vhagar’s more wrinkled than Beesbury’s ballsack.”

Aegon saw a flash of light as the tent flap opened, but it was Alyn who startled to attention, cutting through the bickering loudly. “Lady Abrogail!” Aegon jerked his head around, watching as Alyn hurried up to the slight figure who just entered the tent. He sketched a bow before her, Abby’s eyebrows raised in amusement as he took her hand to press a kiss to it. “It is a pleasure to finally put a name to the face, my lady. The prince’s songs of your beauty do little to match the vision you present.”

Whatever demands Aegon was about to make for Alyn to stop with his charms died on his tongue when he took Abby in, lined by the sunlight coming through the part of the tent flaps. Her wrap gown was nothing she’d worn before and it took Aegon a moment to realize it was similar to Rhaenyra’s gowns. There was nothing of his mother’s influence or of the Riverlands about it. The silk blue as a robin’s egg, the lining of her belled sleeves a warm sunset orange-gold, and the belt cinched around her waist was a wrap of golden metal etched with decorative roses and weirwood leaves. A heated sensation curled through Aegon’s chest when he caught sight of the numerous golden dragons embroidered along her body: over one shoulder where the dragon’s head rested over her heart, wrapped around one arm, down along the drape of fabric and across her skirts.

Not just a dragon. It was his dragon. Sunfyre decorating his bride’s gown, so everyone knew she was his, his to protect, his to care for, his to hoard. The place inside his bones where Sunfyre fused into him purred.

Her hair was a cascade of copper curls, a loose knotwork of braids twisted along the crown of her head, the cinnamon sugar of her freckles were dark against her softly flushed cheeks. Woven into her braids was a strand of sea pearls interspersed with topaz gems that brought out the river blue of her eyes. His eyes darted to the necklace she wore, the warmth of it a contrast against her lightly flushed skin.

He still needed to get a necklace for her. One that was wholly from him.

“Off,” Aegon barked at Alyn as if he were a pup begging. “All of you out.”

“Mother said you’re not to be left alone with Abby,” Daeron chimed from where he was putting away his armor polish. “She was very insistent, but said I’m allowed to leave you two alone after you're married.”

Aegon stared at Daeron, blinking in confusion until he caught the scent of Abby’s rose and red currant perfume.

“It’s alright,” she reassured. Aegon felt his cheeks flush while Abby stroked her hands admiringly over his armor plated bicep. “I’m nothing if not a proper lady. Besides, I brought Aegon a present.”

“Would that be proper?” Alyn asked innocently, his meaning clear. Aegon growled, feeling Sunfyre huff in his throat, a heated thing in his chest. Abby’s cheeks flushed but she paid Alyn no mind, reaching beneath the fold of her gown. For a moment, Aegon thought he might catch a glimpse of creamy skin and the little freckle along the edge of right breast, but she pulled a folded scrap of fabric out instead.

Aegon thought of the tourneys they had watched when they were little, of knights coming to the stands and the royal box to curry a favor from one of the ladies. Ser Criston would wear his mother’s favor, Ser Harwin a boon from his elder sister. How daring they all looked, wearing those favors meant to keep them safe and bring them victory.

He didn’t see so much as heard Aemond’s low voice and the rustle of the tent fabric as he pushed Alyn and Daeron out of the tent, leaving him alone with Abby.

“You made me a favor?” he asked, so soft that he could barely hear his own voice. Abby’s teeth caught at the plump red of her lower lip and with careful fingers, unwrapped the gift.

The leather braid was multicolored, the red, blue and green of House Strong snaked with the black of House Targaryen, silver charms woven into it etched with tiny runes. On closer inspection, he realized they were like the runes on the gold chain that Lyonel Strong had worn. Aegon recalled how they danced in the candlelight as the two of them sat at the table on his nameday not long before he died, and Aegon had promised not to tell that Lord Lyonel was helping himself to the strawberry cream cakes that the Maester said he wasn’t meant to have. The favor was woven and twisted into a complicated knot, foreign in its design. It was familiar, tickling at some distant memory he couldn’t quite place, but knew he had seen it somewhere before. Abby held it in her hands and he touched it, taking it in hand and he could see that it hung on a leather cord to hang around his neck.

Emotions seized at Aegon’s throat. A sense of longing that he couldn’t quite place, grief at the loss of the man he had once known, and a strange sort of trepidation that curled through it. ‘I’ll protect her, I swear it’.

“It’s…” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips and Aegon’s mouth watered at the sight of it. She looked up at him beneath her lashes, her eyes so blue they looked like sapphires. “Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin.” She paused, and then said it once more with a scrunch of her nose as she pronounced it slightly differently. “Two hearts as one, interlocked with no beginning and no end… I worked on it all night!” she added in a rush. Aegon could see her hand shaking and the twitch of her fingers from nerves. “What hurts you hurts me and the charms are protection to ensure that you’re safe and-”

Aegon closed the distance between them, his hand cradled her cheek while the other held the knot between them. He took advantage of her parted mouth to lick his way inside, and steal the taste of her mint and honey tea she drank in the mornings, of the sweet cream she slathered on her bread, of whatever taste that remained that was hers. She whimpered into his mouth and he drank it greedily, a growl low in the back of his throat. He stepped closer so there was no space between them, and Abby arched into him, uncaring of the armor that separated them.

“Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus,” Aegon breathed into her. The words unbidden, a spell, a promise, a declaration. His hand was trembling and he could feel her shaking against him. When he dared to open his eyes, her own were heavy lidded and looking back at him, the slightest pull of confusion creasing her brow. Her heart shaped mouth was red and kiss swollen, trembling as he was. “Half of my heart,” he whispered, the very thing pounding in his chest, his throat, the blood rushing through his ears that he felt dizzy with it.

He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

Three times to matter. Three times to make it true.

“Aegon.” Abby’s voice cracked on the end of his name and she reached up her free hand to curl against his cheek and pull him closer again. She nuzzled her nose against his and tried to speak, but her voice cracked again, wordless.

His words, however, did not fail him. Aegon’s fingers stroked against the soft curve of her cheek, brushing away the copper of her hair from where it had fallen into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Let him be the first to tell her, for she was always the first to say so many things to him.

Her eyes widened, the smile spreading slowly across her face, and Aegon felt as if the sun broke through the storm clouds, the warmth of her as reassuring as Sunfyre. Her eyes crinkled and Aegon could feel his own crinkle in return as he smiled back at her, basking in the warmth between them.

“I love you.” Soft voiced but there was no lack of confidence, no indecision in the return of the declaration. Favor still clutched in her hand, Abby’s fingers dove into his hair, pulling him closer.

Aegon tilted her head back, touch reverent and mouth hungry, to taste the words for himself.

The silver necklace Abby wore was one meant for the Lady of Castamere. It belonged, by rights, to her grandmother, Dalla Swift, and was meant to pass onto her uncle’s wife when he took the seat. It was, however, the necklace her mother had worn on her wedding day and Abby’s fingers toyed with flame hued carnelian. It hung, smooth and flat backed in a lay of silver along her neck. The delicate silver chain was deceptively strong, strung with smaller carnelians.

‘Strength and bravery,’ her mother had told her of the precious stones she would wear. ‘Courage and joy.’ Abby ran her thumb along the smooth surface. ‘Brave, my little river lion. The fire of my heart.’

Helaena tugged at the ends of the braid slung over her shoulder, clad in a pleated gown of midnight blue with dragon pins at each shoulder, the fall of blue silk brushing against her shoulders. Rubies on a twisted band of woven gold were braided around the crown of her head, a veil of sheer red falling around her like a shield. Her mouth was pinched, brow furrowed, and it was clear the princess was at the end of her patience with the crowds.

“I will leave after Aegon’s gone,” Helaena murmured when she saw the concern on Abby’s face. She sunk further back into the low chair she sat in, her left leg bouncing. Abby reached into the basket at their feet and pulled out the half done embroidery that she’d been working on. Butterflies and beetles glimmering in jewel tones. She pressed it into the princess’ grasp, stroking her fingers along the back of her hands with a tapping motion.

“I’ll let you know when it’s his turn. Just focus on this.” Helaena’s mouth twitched as she clutched at her embroidery hoop, and Abby chanced a glance in the row behind them.

The royal box was an elegant thing. Rectangular with four massive stone columns at each corner carved with snarling dragons circling around each one. The roof was made of terracotta shingles coming to three points for the two lower levels on either side of the main royal box. The Targaryen banner flew from the highest point, with three banners each on the other two: Stark, Tully, and Arryn on the left, and Lannister, Tyrell, and Baratheon on the right. The view of the pitch was unimpeded from either end, and allowed those in the stands around them to view their liege.

King Viserys sat in a padded chair like a chicken in a nest, his crown of gold heavy on his brow and a cup of wine in hand as he inclined his head towards Lord Otto and her grandfather. The Queen was resplendent in a gown of verdant green, braided cord across the shoulders of the gown and snaking down her bodice in a mimicry of flames. Her auburn curls were free down her back save for the delicate twists that held it from her face and held her crown of state in place. She was smiling at Lady Lysa beside her and Abby was startled with how young the queen looked. So used to the cold remoteness of her cousin, the laughter spilling from her mouth was a rare sound.

She swallowed and turned away, uncertain how she felt about the sight.

“Have you had a chance to talk with Lady Alys yet?” she asked Wylla to her left. She looked beautiful in her bronze brocade surcoat, striking against the black kirtle beneath with bronze embroidery along the arms. Her thick hair was braided into cauls on either side of her head, much how she’d seen Lady Lysa wear her hair. Abby wound one of her own red curls around her finger and wondered if she too could pull off such an elegant style. Pearls draped around the crown of her friend’s head, little treasures nestled in the expanse of raven wing hair.

“Briefly, during the feast,” Wylla said and the pair glanced down towards the seats to their left. Harrion was easy to spot with his height in the crowd, his head inclined to the smaller figure beside him. Alys Bracken, his bride to be, her dark red hair caught in a snood - less delicate than the nets favored in the crownlands and the Queen’s court. She was a tiny thing compared to her betrothed, and Abby smiled as she saw the woman reach to touch Harrion’s arm. “She’s nice. Quiet.” Wylla pursed her mouth a bit in the expression she wore when she was trying to find something tactful to say. “Are all girls from the Riverlands like that?”

“Mmm, not if you were speaking with Melony Piper last night,” Abby grinned. Wylla was brash, and Abby wondered if her mother was such a way as well. “It is difficult sometimes to find one’s voice when everyone is so loud.” She clucked her tongue and took a sip of the strawberry wine that had come in for Aegon’s nameday, feeling rather smug about engaging with House Buckler on trade agreements. It was good wine, less heavy than the Arbor Red that Aegon tended to enjoy that was too dry for her tastes. “Why, I do think you fell rather quiet when Aemond pulled you onto the floor.”

“Och! Are you going to start with me?” Wylla’s attention pulled from her brother to smooth her hands over her black skirt and her pale cheeks flushed a touch. “It was very nice of him to ask me to dance-”

“Nice, was it?” Abby would not forget how Wylla had teased her so, pulling the details of the clandestine affair that had gone on in Abby’s bedroom by the firelight. “Did his hand stay in its proper place, or did you encourage him.” She put on a low mimic of Wylla’s brogue, sounding more Riverlander than Northerner as her lilt came on stronger. “Oh, Prince Aemond, your hand is so warm-”

“Prince Jacaerys!” Wylla’s voice came out high pitched and a little strangled, loud enough to carry over the din. There was a chair that separated him and Helaena before the King, for when Aegon and Aemond came up after the melee, he would take it as his place of honor. In the meantime, Helaena was, as she put it ‘staking her claim until her brother proved himself worthy of it’.

Jace was reclined in his chair, his head bent towards Baela’s. His jerkin was dark red leather edged in black, the buckles were shining silver seahorses. “Lady Wylla,” he smiled, a look so familiar it made Abby’s chest ache.

“Are you not competing today?”

Baela laughed and Jace rolled his eyes at her before returning to Wylla’s question with a sly grin that she recalled from their youth. It generally predated some sort of mischief, Aemond often its target. “I would, but since it is my Uncle’s nameday, I thought it would be in poor taste to upstage him.”

“Upstage him?” Baela snorted, reaching down beside her to lift one of the little vases that the vendors were selling among other things. A crude painting of a yellow dragon was splashed across the red clay and a black figure holding a sword was positioned for battle. “How could you upstage the man whose liking is splashed across a dozen pisspots?”

“They’re too narrow to be pisspots,” Helaena said mildly. “But they’d be perfect for the foxglove and oleander growing in Visenya’s garden. I could show you, if you’d like, cousin.”

Abby gave the princesses a sidelong look, but was pleased to see Baela’s expression was one of amused appreciation and Helaena’s own smile was small. Jace looked confused and uncertain of what he was meant to do before huffing and helping himself to some more finger foods from the low table. Abby hummed, her own smile crossing her face as the trumpets sounded for the first round of contestants. Squires marched out onto the pitch carrying the banners of their knights. Warren Fossoway was no longer among their ranks - he’d been knighted only a few weeks ago and would compete in the melee. Many of the women around her cooed over the sons and brothers proud on the pitch with their standards.

“Oh!” Abby leaned forward, touching Helaena’s arm to draw her attention before pointing. “There’s Daeron!”

The youngest Targaryen’s blonde hair gleamed golden in the morning light, proudly bearing the blood red, three headed dragon upon the field of black for his eldest brother. Ser Gwayne had let the boy squire for Aegon this day, and Daeron looked so proud and so serious all at once.

“He looks like Aemond,” Wylla said with a soft laugh. “They both have that same serious look.” Abby giggled at the comparison. Even this far away, it was undeniable.

“He has my hair though,” Helaena chimed in, waving out to Daeron with a beaming smile amidst her discomfort of being in the crowd. Her hands clutched back at her embroidery hoop as a wave of cheers rippled through the crowd again as the standards were placed in pairs of who would face off against whom.

“What is it that you’re making?” Abby looked over to see Jace leaning over to admire her embroidery. He’d slid over to Aegon’s empty chair, while Baela remained in her own chair, speaking with one of the ladies that had accompanied her, Zara Celtigar. “Would you show me?” Helaena nodded and Abby was relieved to see her focus on Jace’s question and interest. She recalled when they were young, that Jace had joined them on their explorations into the mud and underbrush for Helaena’s interest, always asking her questions about what she’d found and what she was looking for. Tension riddled through her own bones at what Jacaerys and Baela’s arrival would mean, but the fear that Jace would have turned cruel over the years felt silly now. Hopefully it would remain as such.

First on the pitch was Ser Warren Fossoway, the gleaming gold and red of Cider Hall embolized on his shield. His squire, a sandy haired boy who had served as page for Lord Otto, bounded in front of him proudly as the heralds announced him with trumpet and drummed fanfare. She did not know the boy’s name, but his preening and excitement was adorable. Warren’s light brown hair curled along the back of his neck, his armor heavy plate that suited his broad frame well. As his opponent, Lord Ryam Merryweather, called for a favor from his lady wife, Warren approached the royal box, his helmet beneath his arm. The squires got out of the way, perching with the heralds

“Princess Helaena!” he called, cheeks flushed from the excitement and a boldness that Abby wasn’t entirely surprised by. Helaena’s head jerked up from where it was bent next to Jace’s, startled at the public address. “It would be a great boon to my spirits if you would grant me your favor on this day!”

Her round cheeks went flush pink, and Abby wondered when the last time Helaena had snuck off to trade favors with the knight before them. The princess handed off her embroidery hoop to Jace and reached into the basket for her favor. She pulled out one of the twisted bands of flowers and ivy wrapped with ribbon, normally used to crown the lances of the jousters than for a melee fighter but it worked all the same. Ser Warren would be able to hook it on his belt without issue. Helaena rose smoothly, approaching the railing and tossing the favor down to him.

“I hope this protects that pretty face of yours, Ser Warren!” she called down to him, anxiety pushed away and teasing in her tone. “It would be a pity to lose such handsome countenance to some knightly foolishness.”

Warren caught the woven circlet and sketched a bow, sending a wink up at the princess before going to meet Lord Ryam out on the pitch.

“I’m sure Warren appreciates your blessing,” Abby teased her sister. Helaena rolled her eyes and took her seat once more. Jace’s lavender eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed as he looked from Helaena to Warren as the knight swung his sword with a great yell and the bout started.

Abby winced at the first screech of Lord Ryam’s blade across Warren’s shield and the wave of excited hollering that washed across the arena. She was giddy with the excitement that it spurred on. Gone were the tangled snake nest of nerves that fostered in her belly from the feast. Here, there was comfort being in the relative privacy of the box. Yes, the eyes of the realm kept gazing up, pointing and whispering, but there were men drawing blood in the arena below, and Abby could pretend they were pointing at anyone else but her.

For his first tourney, Warren stood his ground. It took everything Lord Ryam, an experienced tourney knight with a decade and a half on the younger man to land each blow. Each white flag for the knights were slow to come. Twisting and turning, it was an exciting start to the melee events and finally, Warren struck the last blow: a clang of castleforged steel along the back of Lord Ryam’s shoulders. Lady Lysa, from her seat behind the queen, stood and cheered along with the applause of the rest of the court. Even Ser Westerling, stoic as he oft was, shouted, “Well done!” that carried over the crowd.

Helaena shifted in her chair and Abby glanced over at her. Teeth caught on her lower lip as her occasional paramour bowed to the royal box and Abby noted the flush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t know Warren Fossoway became a knight,” Jace said casually. Heleana did not clap, but held her hands before her, a broad and encouraging smile on her face, eyes dancing with curiosity.

Helaena shrugged. “It’s well earned, mind you. Ser Warren is the attentive sort. Not even Aemond could cow him.” She settled back in her chair to focus on the embroidery in her lap. “He’s worked hard for it and he makes quite a handsome figure in his armor.”

On her other side, Wylla muffled her snort into a cough and Abby silently handed her a goblet of wine with an amused shake of her head.

“What was it like twirling about the feast in Aemond’s arms?” Abby asked as the next competitors took the pitch. Her heart thrummed in her chest, her cheeks heated when her thoughts strayed to the feel of Aegon’s mouth on hers, the taste of him, the feel of his armored arms wrapped around her. She sighed, soft and distracted before her bright blue eyes landed on Wylla, who was giving her a knowing look.

“I will throw you from this box, lady. I’m not drunk yet.” She took a swallow of the strawberry wine, making an intrigued face at the taste and then another sip. “Did he get under your skirts again?” Wylla asked quietly, leaning her head closer so as not to be so easily overheard.

Abby’s cheeks flushed. “So did Aemond pull you on the dance floor to argue with you, or to be his human shield?” Their eyes met, both challenging, but there was no bite beneath their words. She would not be dissuaded from her line of questioning.

The crowd cheered as Ser Corbin Manderly knocked Ser Janos Farley’s helmet from his head.

Wylla’s cheeks, fair as the winter snow, flushed pink. “He said, rather dashingly, that he knew I’d be a good dance partner because I would not bore him with inane conversation. I then proceeded to tell him how I never, ever wanted to sew the beads upon your wedding slippers ever again. I did it for the love of you, but you better not ask for beaded slippers for any other dress or for your children or anyone else.”

“But I didn’t ask you for beaded slippers, you offered.”

“I will throw you from this box.”

Abby giggled and took her own sip of strawberry wine. “You’ve said that already. We need to get you new threats.” She glanced down at the pitch, clapping along with the crowd. “So you explained the intricacies of beaded slippers. You danced quite a bit, so he must not have been dissuaded.” Aemond and Wylla had danced several turns before he was pulled to dance with other maidens of the court. He’d not danced with anyone else even half as frequently as he’d danced with the northerner.

“He was quite pleased to discuss the original plans of the Aegonfort,” Wylla huffed, but there was a smile dancing about her red lips. The kind of womanly secret Abby had been jealous of in Cassandra Baratheon. The kind that Abby wondered if she held now. Wylla clapped politely as the knights finished, Ser Janos the victor this time around. The expression she wore was a pensive one, uncertainty creasing at the corner of her eyes. Reaching over, Abby stroked the elder girl’s arm, comforting if not sympathetic, as she was uncertain if Wylla needed sympathy so much as reassurance.

“Aemond is mercurial and moody, and knows everything, but he is, above all else, honest.” Abby’s fingers brushed at a loose thread on the bronze silk of Wylla’s gown. She had never been to the north, but Wylla had spoken of it lovingly, with a homesickness laced with the kind of frustrations one developed with a need to see the world. “I know this place is one of duplicity and confusion, but you can believe me when I tell you that Aemond plays no games. His intentions are what they are. He finds deception in such things to be foolish.” Abby grinned then. “Why be underhanded and duplicitous when he can simply threaten or show he knows more?”

Wylla snorted. “He knows everything about the Aegonfort.”

Abby shrugged, grinning. “He plans to be an unparalleled military man, you know.”

Their conversation was cut short as the trumpets sounded, louder now than they had been for the men who had come before. It was the Targaryen herald song, the drums thrumming through the stadium as the people rose, cheering for Aegon Targaryen, son of the king. Abby’s heart pounded in time with the beat, slowly rising to her feet with a grin, cheering along with the rest of the crowd that chanted his name. ‘Aegon! Aegon!’ They shouted. ‘Prince! Prince!’ Her feet took her to the railing, if only to get as close as she could, the breeze tugging at the loose curls that hung down her back.

Daeron looked so serious leading the way, carrying Aegon’s Targaryen standard to be hung, the breeze catching at his curls. This was not his first tournament, nor, Abby surmised, was it even his tenth. He carried his duties with the experience of a squire far older than he. As he hung the standard up and stepped back, Aegon grabbed his hand to tug him close, lifting their joined fists in the air together. Even with all his experience, the boy was not immune to the cheering and shouting chants of his own name as the brothers stood beneath the crowd, Aegon sharing this moment with his littlest brother. Daeron broke out into a grin, his own cheering as the people of King’s Landing, the lords and ladies of the realm who had come down, shouted out their wishes.

Aegon was so handsome. Everything narrowed down to seeing him standing there. His armor was a burnished black, the plates of it layered like Sunfyre’s dragon scales. The pauldrons were layered similarly, broadening his already broad shoulders. The gold chasing glimmered in the sunlight, his helmet beneath his arm. His silver hair shone golden beneath the light, pulled back from his face in a few small braids that Aemond must have done for him so his hair would not fall into his eyes beneath the helmet.

He turned from the crowd to approach the box as all the contestants did, his lilac eyes meeting hers. A flush unfurled beneath her cheeks even if all he did was smile so wide that his eyes squinted with it.

“My lady!” he called, his voice nearly lost to the noise of the arena. “The joy on your face could outshine the sun itself!” Abby heard Wylla scoff behind her, but paid her little mind, teeth nibbling along her lower lip. “Are you truly so happy this day?”

“I am, my prince,” she called down to him, feeling Wylla slide the braided ring of flowers into her hand. Abby toyed with the favor. She wanted to call down to him that she was so happy because he told her he’d loved her. He had said those words to her, confessed them to her first and she was drunk with it, giddy and incandescent. She wanted to kiss him again, to taste the promises on his pouty mouth, but all she could do now was toss the favor down to him. “And if you wish to keep me so happy, you will come back to me safe and victorious!”

Aegon’s smile took a mischievous edge, a rakish glint in his eye. “I do wish it, my lady. All you must do is command me.” He tucked the favor onto his armor, turning his gaze to meet his father’s. He crossed his arm across his chest in a sign of fealty and bowed before giving her a wink and going to stand by Daeron who held his swords in hand. Further down the pitch, Abby could see Aemond and Alyn Hull standing safely out of the way. Aemond looked serious, face pinched in concern as Alyn hollered his cheers of encouragement.

Abby watched as Ser Edmund entered, the cheers for him quieter than the people who cheered for their prince, but the sound of it joined the excitement of the match to come. His squire was one of the Piper boys, only a little older than Daeron and no less experienced. Edmund looked like a knight from a song, his light brown hair golden in the sun, the placid smile on his face making it seem as if the accolades of the crowd bored him. His armor was bright plated steel, elegant in its simplicity, but the strange eyes that made up the Vance coat of arms unnerved her. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes on the older carvings within the Red Keep: sightless, with their wide, frozen gazes.

His page carried his arms for him, the two handed greatsword nearly overwhelming the boy. Aegon stood with Daeron on the other side of the platform where the standards were set beside the officials for the match. He barely spared the elder man a glance, busy flexing his hands and adjusting his gauntlets. Daeron had his brother’s swords sheathed and ready.

Anxiety curled in Abby’s gut. Aegon had a natural talent with the blade, had found great joy in it when he was younger, like any boy would when they found themselves handed something sharp and deadly and taught to wield it from some of the best swordsmen in the realm. Regardless of natural talent, Aegon had not spent the past three years throwing himself into blade mastery. Not the way Aemond had.

A hot hand found her own and Abby blinked when Helaena appeared at her side and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re giving Mother lemons,” she whispered. Abby felt her cheeks flame deeper but she did not spare a glance over her shoulder.

“Let her. The realm enjoys my foolish childishness,” Abby murmured. Helaena chuckled, but her form grew tense as Edmund Vance’s eyes cut in their direction. The knight approached, bowing before the king and the court.

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Lady Abrogail!” he called up, his eyes flicking towards Aegon. “I do hope to deliver His Grace back to you in one piece!”

Her fingers scraped against the stone railing she leaned against, the smile still firmly on her face. She ached to claw at him again, to peel back the layers and reveal the ugliness that lay beneath.

“That is too kind, Ser Edmund. I only hope that you are prepared to fight your first dragon.” She tilted her head. “They are fearsome opponents.”

As if on cue, Sunfyre’s call came from the dragon pit, loud even as Aegon’s mount was confined. He’d broken out that night months ago when Aegon and Aemond had fought, and was under even more guard to ensure he did not break free again.

Aegon’s grin was bright and full of what might have been boyish innocence had he been anyone else. Instead, there was something invitingly dangerous about it. It made her belly feel as if it was turning circles, the embarrassed flush morphing into something wanting and excited. His eyes met hers, his lilac gaze bright as the pink streaked across the sky at night.

The herald called the start of the match and the two men were on each other like Braavosi dervishes. Vance, with his greatsword glinting in the light, and Aegon meeting each strike with the clang of his own steel. He wielded an arming sword along with a slightly shorter sword and it was a sight to behold to see him in true combat and not just in the training yard with padded armor. Abby exhaled slowly, too breathless, too anxious to shout for him, but her eyes did not stray.

Her heart was in her throat. Ser Edmund was fierce and well practiced, a tourney knight several times over. Each powerful swing had her gasping in fear. Each clang of Aegon’s swords against his had her trembling. Edmund had reach, but Aegon had a ferocity that was less polished, more wild than his brother. He dove under swings instead of jumping back out of harm’s way. Abby had watched him in the training yard sparring against Harrion Karstark, the northman a powerhouse of grace and battle readiness. Aegon had held his own, although different from how he did now.

The crowd was a wave and a roar of cheers and hollering as if this was the best fight they would ever witness. Let it not be said the people did not enjoy a drama, or the sight of the king’s son, a fierce warrior.

Abby’s teeth caught at her lower lip, worrying the pink flesh with her nerves and excitement. Vance swung and a scream caught in her throat when the sharp edge of that great blade knocked Aegon’s helmet from his head, sending it flying and skipping across the ground and too far to reach. Abby heard Alicent cry out in worry, but there was no tearing her gaze from him.

Sweat dampened his silver hair, the fine braids Aemond put in doing their work to keep his vision clear. A laugh escaped him and then Vance’s gauntlet knocked him about the face, sending him reeling back.

Aegon laughed as the knight before him advanced, spitting blood on the ground from his. He twirled his swords lazily, arms open as if he meant to embrace Vance. The man swung, and Aegon abandoned his right blade, tossing it behind him in the dirt. His left sword came up to block the swing as he stepped into Vance’s reach. This time, a wordless cry ripped from her, more inhale than exhale. Helaena gripped her hand tightly, reassuringly, but was otherwise silent in her observation.

She’d seen Aegon pull the move before. It was not something taught by Ser Criston. No, this was purely Aegon, who spent his time in taverns and brothels, coming home with split lips and bruised egos. As Aegon stepped into Vance, his left blade blocking the elder’s sword, he turned. It all happened so fast. One moment they were both upright, the next, Vance was flying over Aegon’s shoulder, his greatsword falling out of his reach and even from the dirt of the pitch, Abby swore she could hear the ring of metal armor as Ser Edmund Vance hit the ground so hard his own helmet careened off, leaving the man red-faced and gasping.

“I don’t need to take his hands.”

“And what have you decided to take instead?”

“His pride.”

Aegon still held his arm in his grasp, looking down at him. He shouted something but Abby could barely make it out over the roar of the crowd, louder than dragons. His hands jerked and twisted Edmund’s arm in a sudden motion, the knight howling in pain as his arm fell limply to his chest, broken. The herald was declaring Aegon the winner. Vance’s page was running out to the field with two other men as Daeron ran to his brother, cheering and pumping his fists in the air. Aegon embraced him, spinning him around as the pair cheered, shortly being joined by Aemond and Alyn.

Abby’s grip on Helaena’s hand eased and her whole body trembled as the tension bled out. The heat remained though. The twisted tangle low in her belly was warm and syrupy and this time she screamed out his name, like one of the small folk in the stands, her grin so bright it might have hurt if she even registered it.

“He really did it,” Baela said. “And fucked his sword arm while he was at it.” It was only then that Abby registered that they had been joined at the railing. Jace on Helaena’s other side, Baela beside him, leaning over the railing like she could get closer. Wylla was to her left, clapping and shouting along with the rest of the crowd. “Fuck. I owe Lannister ten dragons.”

“I won’t say I didn’t think he had it in him…” Wylla began, a teasing note in her voice. “But your betrothed was in fine form today. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Abby repeated with a faint voice, her eyes affixed on the man below basking beneath the accolades and triumph. It was the second time in as many days that the realm cheered for him in a way he was so deeply unaccustomed to. Aegon reveled in it, blowing kisses to the crowd and waving both hands.

The favor she had publicly given him was still affixed to his belt and he unhooked it, twirling it thoughtfully around a finger before flinging it into a section of the crowd. Abby watched the scramble it caused but the crowd was too thick for her to see who had come out with the prize.

“The Golden Sunfyre indeed,” Helaena grinned. “Although more like a Golden Peacock. Abby, you don’t seem to mind, do you?”

She glanced at her. “Did you enjoy dancing with Jace at the feast?” She was no longer the only one who could be teased, and she’d make sure the rest of them knew that. It was nice, getting to have something to poke at the others about.

Jace’s face flushed. Helaena raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing across her soft features.

As the boys below disappeared back to the tents, Abby turned to take her seat. Her eyes caught the Queen’s from where she sat on the right side of her husband. There was a vague air of annoyance on her face and Abby was immediately concerned it was due to her.

‘Why should I be concerned about cheering Aegon on?’ Abby thought. It would have been a poor showing indeed if she had not. She squared her shoulders, inclining her head. Aegon had shown up sober and ready to make a good impression, both things she thought would soften the queen’s edges.

“Quite the show,” her grandfather said from where he sat on Lord Otto’s other side, an indulgent smile on his face. “Prince Aegon is quite the creative warrior, and practiced with the crowd.” He raised his goblet to the king and queen and Lord Otto. “Congratulations on raising a fine young man. To Prince Aegon on his nameday indeed.”

“Ah, that he is. We’ve minded him well, and he’ll make a fine lord, having minded the example I’ve set.” Lord Otto choked momentarily on his goblet of wine. The queen flushed, plucking at her skirts while she hesitantly returned the smile, as if expecting a jest, but found none.

“Thank you, Uncle. He is… still a rambunctious boy in many ways. But it seems my hunch was right that a gentle hand was what he needed.”

Abby sucked in her lips to hide the smile that threatened at the uncomfortable looks that her grandfather was pretending not to notice while he commented on the taste of the wine. Her heart ached with it. The presence of Rodrick Reyne had been a balm to her soul. To have someone in power care about her wellbeing in such a genuine way as he had shown her in the days that he’d been there felt as if it had started to heal something she did not even realize was broken. He did not care about her becoming Aegon’s queen, or the games that were being played. He just wanted her to be happy.

She reached back, squeezing Wylla’s arm before looking over at Helaena. “I’ll accompany you to Aegon’s tent before you go back to the castle, now that the important show is done with.”

Helaena’s relief at escape was palpable, naked on her face and she shoved her embroidery back into the basket, smoothing her hands over her skirt. The queen’s brow furrowed.

“Helaena, darling, are you well?”

The princess plucked at her skirt as she bobbed a curtsy. “A headache from all the sound,” she said. It was a familiar statement and while it did little to ease the concern on Alicent’s face, understanding shone and she nodded. Lord Otto’s concern was also there as he noticed them moving towards the back of the box. He waved to one of the servants lingering along the side of the box.

“Have the cook prepare Helaena some sherbert and send it up to her rooms,” he ordered. Helaena’s gaze brightened at the prospect of the spiced compote and she shuffled over to press a kiss to her grandfather’s cheek.

Arm in arm, Abby and Helaena exited the royal box. Her heart thudded like the drums between her ribs and she felt Helaena tug her back when she walked faster.

“Give him time to get out of his armor first,” Helaena said softly.

Abby gave her a look, prim and proper. “And what if I want to help him out of his armor?” The princess scrunched her face up to hold back her laughter. The guards outside Aegon’s tent bowed and opened the flap to let them inside the dim interior.

Aegon was indeed in the process of getting out of his armor, Daeron tugging at the shoulder strap of the cuirass with a concentrated look so far removed from his boyish glee that he’d shown just moments before.

“I can’t believe you used the same move on him that Gabor put you through that table with!” Alyn crowed as if Aegon’s victory was his own. “I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face when you started laughing-” His words were cut off as Aemond punched his shoulder, drawing his attention to the tent opening. Alyn sputtered, jumping to attention and bowing like the most experienced of courtiers, rather than the smooth talker he’d been before. “Your Grace, Lady Abrogail.”

Abby tilted her head. “So I only get such gallantry from you if I’m in the company of the princess?” she asked, a soft, imperious tone to her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon smirk. “Such a shame.”

Alyn blanched, mouth gaping like a fish. “N-no, my lady! I never mean any disrespect. I…” The poor man was at a loss for words. Aemond was also looking amused at Alyn Hull caught on the edge of the unexpected teasing. Abby moved further into the cool confines of the tent, folding her hands beneath the long bell sleeves of her lapis gown. It was her first foray into the Targaryen styles that had been popular when Princess Rhaenyra was at court and a gown that she found quite comfortable in.

“Leave us,” she commanded, a smile playing on her face. “I would like some time alone with my gallant knight, and the princess needs her escort towards the carriage to go back to the castle.”

Aemond’s gaze shot over to Helaena, concerned before understanding. He grabbed Alyn by the shoulder and hauled him up. “We’ll escort her, since Prince Jacaerys lacks such manners.”

“Wylla is still in the royal box. I’m sure she’ll be lonely since we’ve left her to fend for herself,” Abby piped up. Aemond’s cheeks turned so red she thought he’d burst into flames, and he growled low before following Helaena from the tent. Abby looked at Daeron expectantly as he undid the second strap and was removing Aegon’s cuirass. “You too.” Daeron frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Aegon rested a hand on his head, mussing his hair and pushing him away.

“You did well today, squire,” Aegon told him. “Go have some fun before you have to help Uncle Gwayne for the joust.”

Daeron squinted at the pair of them before shaking his head with the most put upon sigh Abby thought she’d ever heard before he scampered away. The flap closed behind him, cutting off the shaft of light that came in, muffling some of the revelry outside. Heat flushed through her body and Abby turned, studying Aegon half out of his armor.

He was still smirking at her, a dark look in his lilac gaze, his lower lip cut and swollen from the hit he took. Aegon turned and pulled over the chair to sit and work on his greaves, and Abby came to undo the rerebrace that protected his biceps. He smelled of sweat and the lavender mint of his soap. There was the subtle scent of something warm, something inherently Aegon that she couldn’t put her finger on, but had her belly fluttering and rolling with heat. It made her fingers tremble, the only sound the clinking of his armor as the pieces were slowly removed.

Abby moved to his other side to work on the braces, her fingers stroking over the braids in his short hair. “Aemond?” she asked softly.

“They work, even if my hair’s…” He waved a negligent hand and she stroked her hand over his head again.

“I think it looks nice. I’ll learn, if you’d like,” she offered. Aegon made a soft sound and handed her the greaves for her to put on the table so he could work on his other leg. Once both his arms were free of the armor, Abby leaned against the side of his chair to stroke her fingers over his hair again. Aegon nuzzled his head back instinctively into the touch. She remembered the shadowy night on Driftmark, the trembling fear she felt as her brother was accused of fathering heirs to the throne, of Rhaenyra demanding Aemond be questioned. Of feeling so lost in the midst of dragon fire.

Flame that eventually consumed those she held dear.

She slowly worked the braids free, tenderly untangling the twists with a sigh, as if she could breathe out the bad memories that lingered and threatened. Abby inhaled, letting the scent of him fill her gaps and spaces. If only she could crack open her body and bring him into her, caging him into the space between her ribs and lacing herself closed. Perhaps then this newfound feeling of safety, of acceptance, would never leave her.

How warm he was. More than warm, Aegon, like his siblings, ran hot with the dragonfire in their blood, and she hungered for his closeness as she always had. To keep her warm and comforted. He tilted his head back to rest along the back of the high-backed chair, a lazy smile on his face, eyes still heavy with the dark look that blew his pupils so wide the lilac was just a rim.

“I should call you kēlītsos, shouldn’t I? You’ve been flexing your claws and baring your teeth.” His voice was low and rough in that way that she adored. It had her breath hitch and the ache inside her grew. Arousal was thick in her veins, pulsing through her with each pound of her heart.

“What does that mean? Kēlītsos?” She had finally asked Helaena what hunītsos meant, blushing so deeply at being told it meant little rabbit that she swore Helaena to secrecy upon her coveted orb weaver.

“Little lion,” he said with a shrug, heavy lidded with the attention she was paying him. “Technically, little cat, but the point-”

Fingers in his hair, Abby licked her way into his open mouth without hesitation. No tender, shy touch of her lips against his. No, she was parched as if she’d been lost in the deserts of Dorne and Aegon was the only spring she’d seen in days. He tasted like salt and strawberry wine, of the copper tang of blood from his split lip. He growled into her mouth and she moaned in response, fingers dropping from his damp hair to his sweat soaked linen shirt. He was eager, giving in to the way she yanked him up to feel him against her, to lean into him on her shaky legs. Aegon wasted no time, his arm hooking around her waist to hold her close to him.

Her teeth caught instinctually on his lower lip and Aegon grunted with a note of pain. “Sorry,” she mumbled into his mouth, not really sorry at all, and Aegon didn’t seem to mind, for he growled at her murmured apology. All that mattered was the slide of his tongue against hers, the way the heat of him sunk into her, nestled there, and the heat that pooled between her thighs, of the way her hips pressed into his without nary a thought for what it meant.

Abby bumped back into the edge of the trestle table, the armor on the other side clinking with the jostle and tried to hoist herself up, but her gown was in the way and she didn’t want to let go. Aegon handled it, his broad hands grasping her waist and dropping her down on the table top. He broke the kiss, flushed face and nipping at the tip of her nose, grinning as she giggled at the playfulness. His hands played along the decorative metal and chain of her belt, stroking around to her back to toy with the clasp. Her eyes darted to his, drawn to the heated darkness of his gaze and the concentrated furrow between his brows as he worked the clasp. He held her gaze and her lips parted with each unhooked chain until they were undone.

‘Eyes on me’ she recalled, uncaring as he dropped the belt to the table, the slide and thump as it slid off. Abby swallowed, a whimper escaping her, nipples peaked against the fabric of her gown with that needy sort of aching that was spiraling through her.

“Aegon,” she breathed and arched into him, his hands coming up to cradle her jaw and caress her neck, fingers diving into the curls that flowed about her. Her hands trembled as she grabbed at his hips to pull him closer with all the imperious demanding she was capable of. He laughed into her mouth, and Abby swallowed it greedily while her hands worked at his own belt, the back of her hand brushing against the hard evidence of his own arousal. She whined again and Aegon brushed her hair from her neck to nip along her jaw and down the pulsing flutter of her heartbeat beneath her flushed skin.

“Abby,” he breathed back, his prayer answering her own. Hands tugged on the gown she wore, kindly undoing the ties that kept the wrap of the dress closed. The air hit her when the fabric was pulled away, baring her body beneath the airy linen that protected her skin from the scratchy underside of the gown. Abby shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

The feeling overtook her. It was a heady thing, like she’d drunk too much wine. Her hand lifted to tangle into his hair, his mouth dragging against the crook of her shoulder. Her other hand came up, pulling aside the collar of the loose linen shirt and she sank her teeth into the crook of his shoulder, biting into the salty taste of him. She moaned and growled as if she too were a dragon and Aegon gave a shout, a growl that sounded too deep, too inhuman to come from a human body before he snarled, his teeth locking onto her shoulder to make a twin. The sharp pain of his bite spiked hot and she bit harder into his shoulder to muffle her cry, the copper taste hitting her tongue as she broke skin.

His hands were yanking into her hair and she cried out when he pulled her off him only to take her mouth with his. He was frenzied with it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss and her own hands pulled at his shoulders, tearing into the linen shirt. Her legs came up, now free from the confines of the gown to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, feel the hardness of him press into the soft heat of her. She wanted him. She craved him. ‘Fuck what the queen says’, she thought with a possessed need that had been coalescing inside of her since the first time Aegon had kissed her beside the lake. She would have her husband now, open her body to him so he could never leave, so he would never stop touching her.

The cry that escaped her was bereft when he broke the kiss, both of their mouths red from the exertion. Aegon looked wild, a man possessed, his eyes bright as he licked his lips and leaned back to take a look at her. Abby leaned back so he could see her, the way she wanted him. The fabric was only on this side of sheer, the shadow of her form visible beneath - the dusky pink of her achingly peaked nipples, the gentle round of her breasts and the way the neckline of the shift was tugged down over a shoulder.

He growled low in his throat and leaned forward, pushing her back so she had to brace herself on her hands to keep from falling back. Aegon cupped a breast in one hand, his mouth capturing the other, the wet of his touch soaking into the material as he tended to the aching peak. It was heated and she whined, helpless to his touch and unable to reach for him lest she fall. She pulled her legs up to hook her ankles to the small of his back and hold him close, digging her hips into him to feel the thick outline of his cock pressing against her. She instinctively wriggled like a caught cat, rubbing herself against him for a way to relieve the ache that was driving her mad.

There was a knot growing in the syrupy heat of her belly and she gasped out, “Aeg, please,” but Seven help her, Abby didn’t know what she was asking for. Aegon must have, for his hand came up to press against her back to hold her steady and she immediately looped an arm around his neck while the other hand clawed at the linen of his sleeve, so hard she might have torn at the seams. It brought her closer into him and he encouraged it, his thumb rubbing over her other nipple in soothing strokes that made her shake. She felt a pang of jealousy at the idea of him touching other women like this, possessive with the need to have him all to herself, to let him forget about the faceless women, to make sure Cassandra Baratheon was a flitting memory.

Let her be filled with the womanly secret. Let her be the one he was mad for. Let her always be the one that he fought stupid men for, whose favors he wore.

The woven knot had slipped from his collar, brushing against her and she smiled, mouth brushing against the crown of his head. She pressed herself further against him and Aegon’s hips snapped into her, the groan he let out filling the tent as he switched the breast he tended to.

She wanted his mouth everywhere.

Abby’s hand wormed back between them, tugging at the fastenings of his trousers, eager to feel him, to feel the warm weight of him, to imagine what it would be like once he was inside of her. “Let me,” she begged. Demanded. Whined for with all the impatience of a child waiting for a treat. Her fingers found him, the warm velvet feel of his cock and the violent shudder that went through him. She cried out louder this time, his name broken on her voice when his teeth bit down on her breast from the shock of it before he soothed it with gentle licks of his tongue.

He was as thick as she remembered, her fingers unable to properly wrap around him and the feel of it made her light headed to wonder at how he would fit, when his finger stroking in had felt like an intrusion. Yet, she was eager to find out, hungry for it. With a grunt, Abby pressed her free hand against his shoulder to push him back, her breasts cold from the absence of his mouth. She needed space between them so she could see, so she could take in the sight of him, heavy and warm and what he would look like wrapped in her cool hand. It was an image she had been robbed of before.

She had only touched him once before in the night when he had crawled into her bed like a demon from Asshai, the kind that crept into a maiden’s dreams. It had not been as easy as this and she had barely been able to touch him properly, but had thought about it often in the weeks since. Now she could look at him and so she did, Aegon still holding her up with his hand braced against her back. A kind lover.

She was not a blind nor sheltered girl. Abby had seen the tapestries that the queen had moved into the gallery. The lurid Valyrian ones of men and women copulating in all sorts of poses. Of women embraced with other women, groups of them all tangled in a mess like snakes. Books of anatomy snuck from the library had also done little to prepare her for this.

He was flushed and thick, the tip of him beading with moisture and he bobbed as if seeking her hand when she reached down to touch him. A nervous giggle escaped her.

“Are you making fun of me?” Aegon asked, curious and teasing. “It’s just saying hello.”

She gently wrapped her fingers around him, another giggle escaping her. “It’s soft.” She did not know whether to meet his gaze or to keep looking at him to hide her sudden nervousness that did little to wick away her needy giddiness, her insatiable curiosity.

Aegon grunted, his eyes fluttering as her cool fingers wrapped around him. “It’s very much the opposite, kēlītsos,” he said in a voice so gravely and raw that it seemed to come from somewhere else. It hooked down into the knot deep in her belly, tugging at it like she might peak at the mere sound of his voice. Her fingers could not properly meet, and she felt truly dizzy. Aegon’s mouth was warm on her forehead, nuzzling into her and she sighed, eyes fluttering closed as their mouths brushed, the laziness of the motion contrasting with the frantic need that pulsed between them.

Tentatively, Abby’s hand began to stroke and Aegon’s shiver was delicious to feel, the whimper that escaped him like a wounded animal, broken and gasping against her mouth. She swiped the tip of him, gathering the wet that beaded there, and licked at the cut on his lower lip. Aegon’s eyes fluttered, the growl he made before rumbling through him.

She gasped, an abbreviated kind of giggle. “You sound like Sunfyre,” she murmured and Aegon chuckled, groaning low into her hair.

“You love him more than me,” he complained as his hot hand bunched up her shift, pushing away her blue gown some more so he could stroke his fingers across her belly. The muscles clenched and it was her turn to groan, an indelicate sound that had her jumping, her hips shifting and seeking that pressure again, the delicious touch that she had missed. “There’s not enough time to taste you.” He shook his head in annoyance, a glance at the hourglass on another table.

“Take me instead,” she said, her cool hand reaching to cup his face and draw his attention back to her. She looked up at him, beseeching. “I don’t care, I want you. I love you.”

An agonized expression crossed Aegon’s beautiful face, the feral edge he had when they first begun and the softness that came after, the fondness and love.

“Not now, not like this.” He was shifting her back from him, removing her hand so he could use both hands to tug the gown away from under her, pushing her around to tug it free. “When I take you, I won’t stop. We’ll be in bed for days,” he told her, serious, his gaze heated, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. “Just when I taste you, I need more than the little time we have. I want to feast on you, not rush.” He took her gown and carefully laid it over the back of the armor rack.

Abby swung her legs, her blue eyes large and heavy lidded, watching as his hand wrapped around himself, tugging with purpose. She committed the motion to memory, tongue darting out to lick at her lower lip in an expression reminiscent of his. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders, and she was shivering not from cold, but from the heat coursing through her, the achy want that she could taste in the back of her throat and feel roiling and twisting in her belly. She reached for him, whimpering, “Aegon, please,” on her trembling voice and hooked her fingers once more into the linen shirt and tugged him to her once he was within reach.

She wanted to die when he kissed her. She wanted to drift into the endlessness of oblivion where nothing else mattered, where it was just the taste and feel of her Aegon, the feel of his body against hers, the shape of him fit against her, the only fabric separating them the damp cloth of her smallclothes. It wasn’t enough and she canted her hips, and Aegon rutted against her, the thick of him sliding along the shape of her separated by her small clothes. Abby couldn’t breathe, all she could do was taste the copper and the strawberry wine, the imagined feeling of Aegon slipping in and filling her up, right where he belonged. She craved the touch, craved his heat in a way she never knew she was capable of. Her legs came back to press against his hips, her feet hooked at the small of his back to trap him to her where he was hers, and only hers, and she belonged to him.

The familiar feeling of something building came rising through her, the gathering of a great wave to crash upon the shore. Abby gripped him frantically, tugging at his hair, pulling at his shirt sleeves, fingers scratching against his shoulders to keep from falling, even when it was all she wanted to do. Aegon rutted against her with the abandon she wanted from him, no care at all except the chase of pleasure between them as he nudged that spot only recently discovered. Her head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as she frantically sought her end and dimly, she registered Aegon consoling her, his murmured words against her throat where he’d bitten her, the mark red and surely to bruise.

“You are so beautiful, look at me,” he commanded her in reverent tones. She forced her eyes open, heavy lidded, to focus on his own distraught and desperate look. There was a sensation of insurmountable feeling as she teetered on the cusp, the world focused onto the look in his bright eyes, their gazes locked to one another. Aegon’s hand dipped between them, his rutting ebbing to be replaced with hot, calloused fingers dipping beneath the mess soaked linen. Her cry was loud, strangled, and it took everything to keep her eyes on his while he rubbed at the aching of her, fingers dipping teasingly into the heat and then she clenched on nothing, unfairly nothing, the rushing and roaring of blood in her ears and the gasping of air as she fell from the pleasure washing over her. That great wave that crashed against the shore was crashing through her.

She was vaguely aware of the way he tugged her smallclothes away, words spilling from him, “You’re so beautiful, this cunt belongs to me now, look at you,” and she nodded, whimpering over and over, ‘Please’ and ‘yours yours’ and ‘love you love you.’ She felt the heat of him rub against her, the sticky sound of it and Aegon’s own groan loud before something wet and full of heat brushed onto her. Abby watched him stroke his cock, the milky white spend of him falling upon her cunt, caught in the thatch of red curls and the sinful, delightfully reckless feeling of it all made Abby squirm. The feeling of him sliding over her heated skin, the way she was entranced by it was a feeling she couldn’t describe.

She reached down, swiping her fingers through the mess to stick them into her mouth, the way she had watched him suck her own taste from her fingers, her eyes never leaving his. In turn, she shivered as he dragged his own fingers through the mess he’d made of her. Abby canted her hip, wanting him to press inside but instead, he licked the taste from himself as well.

It felt like a ritual. Like something strangely holy, reverent within the indulgence of it. ‘Fuck what the septa said. What the queen said’, she thought savagely to herself. ‘There is nothing wrong in this, and I won’t be denied.’ She opened her arms to him and Aegon gently tugged her smallclothes back over her, petting her softly before stepping into her hold and wrapping his arms around her. Abby sighed and buried her face against the crook of his neck, her mouth pressed to where she’d bitten him.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair and she shimmered and glowed in his hold, feeling his arms squeeze her in the clinging way he had not done for so long, like he was afraid she would slip through his touch.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck, trying to cast a spell that would embed the words into his skin, to be indelible, a tattoo that would protect him in the way her favor might not. “Can we stay here? I want to stay here with you.”

He chuckled, low and fond and stroked his fingers through the mess of her hair. “I’ll help put you back together. Pity there’s nothing to clean you with.” It was a lie, and he didn’t sound sorry at all, for her gaze drifted over to the barrel of water, soap and cloths in the corner. “You’ll just have to carry the mess for the rest of the afternoon.” Aegon sounded pleased with himself, and Abby squirmed deeper into his hold, blushing with it, shy and heady. “Come, let’s get you put together before Daeron comes back, and then we’ll go watch the jousting.”

There was a tenderness in the care he showed after it that warmed her, and Abby watched him with a soft, giddy feeling as he grabbed a comb from the table to start putting her hair to rights with unpracticed but eager attentiveness. She sighed and settled in to let him tend, and let herself drift into the afterglow.

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please support by reblogging <3

I'd love to know your favorite bit: What did you think about Abby and Aegon telling each other their love? How great is Alyn Hull? He is my fave lil dude and I'm so happy whenever I write him. Or the way the group ended up watching the fight. I mean BAELA! she got involved! We love that for her.

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT! What are you reading right now? What were your favourite books last year? Do you write annotations as you read? Use tabs? I’m curious about what kind of reader you are!

Sending all my love & gratitude for you & your prose! Lionheart is truly a delight & one of the loveliest parts of my week.

I'm currently reading Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. I pick my reads through a process of "bug my friends about what they're reading" and "wander around bookstores and libraries until The Cosmos sends me the book I need." The results are, in my experience, exceptional. I usually get my books from libraries, so I neither tab nor annotate, though I don't do it in the books I own, either. Usually if I have a particular theory or through-line I want to trace in a book I'll write up a little mini-essay or review about it, like a reading journal.

In general, I'm a fast, picky, flighty reader. I have absolutely no reservations about DNFing a book — I think the alternative is a silly function of sunk cost — if the author's giving signals that they're going to fuck the reader over, or if I'm just not interested in the approach the author is taking to their project. (E.g. A Sport and a Pastime, by James Salter, is a project about voyeurism and narrativizing. Love it! It undertakes this project by having a mythically handsome Yale dropout fuck a waitress for 200 pages. Did not love it. I made the mistake of finishing the book because I, like a fool, assumed he would at some point stop fucking the waitress and stumble into a plot. Life lesson learned: if an author has been fucking the waitress for at least 100 pages, odds are, he intends to keep fucking the waitress.)

You could argue that I miss out on books where the middle and ending makes the project work. I probably do. But my own view is that if I'm 30% deep in a book and the author hasn't given me a reason to trust them, it's because I probably shouldn't.

#greenteacup asks #favorite books last year uhhhhh oh god oh fuck #read the locked tomb trilogy! if you like my writing style you'll love tamsyn muir #read emma by jane austen read deathless by cat valente #READ DEATHLESS please #read atonement... god DAMN last year was a good year in reading #i'm waiting to hit that kind of stride this year #we'll see. we'll see

[eldritchamy]

A question for Uneiverse (to give you an excuse to talk about it, only if you wanna. Since I also just really hearing about it). What's a detail about it that you really enjoy but haven't gotten a chance to use anywhere story related or otherwise just don't get to play with much (silly or serious)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for over 5 months.

It's time.

And so, we begin with a question of my own.

What IS time?

We're off the map now. Come with me. Take my hand as we walk through the valley of the shadow of time. We're going to uncharted waters, and I'm going to put the fear of god into you. I'm going to make you ask yourself (and me) Amy, how the fuck does you brain WORK like that?

Let me tell you about time and fate, and about what it means to "predict" the future.

And you will begin to understand the scale of what lives within me, eternally gnawing at the inside of my skull, begging for release.

If I asked you to conceptualize time, what would you say? Is it the neat and rigid tick-tick-ticking of regular intervals on the clock? Is is the fluid, indivisible space between?

Is is all just an illusion conceived by the animal brain to account for the changing shape of the universe as one dimension passes through another, which our three-dimensional eyes are too flat to see all at once, and our souls have concocted for us a comforting lie, that we may pretend to know the universe in its whole, by knowing it piece by infinitesimal, grinding piece, seeing the pan-dimensional amalgam of existence as an endless, continuous sequence of cross-sections in a number of dimensions our meat-circuitry can pretend to process?

Time is shadows.

Imagine, if you will, a sphere.

You hold it up against the light. Suspend it in the air, perhaps, for simplicity's sake. And the sphere casts a shadow.

Is the shadow still a sphere?

Far more importantly, is it even a circle?

At even the tiniest fraction of an angle, the sphere casts a shadow that no longer perfectly represents a cross section of the sphere. It has ceased to perfectly capture the nature of the object that cast the shadow, even accounting for the wrong number of dimensions. It's skewed. You can never unskew it. The distortion is irreversible.

And the floor isn't flat.

The sphere casts a shadow at an angle at a surface that ranges in distance and direction from the object casting the shadow. Is the shadow still an oval? Has it become a shape you can't name?

But the shadow isn't cast upon a floor, even an uneven one.

What shape is the shadow of a sphere cast at an angle upon a field of grass blowing in the wind? By now there's no pretending you know the answer. And even if you could snapshot a single instant of a single shape, the very next instant that shape would change in the breeze as the grass shifts.

The world is not a field of grass upon the ground. The world is endless variation of leaves upon trees, forests upon mountains, birds in the sky, hunting for the bugs that crawl on the branches of the trees. Massive floating pools of water churning in the low atmosphere as humans decide whether that one looks like a mouse or a sheep. So many humans walking, their clothes flowing behind them as they talk, eat, buy goods, shed tiny particles of skin and hair into the wind, their breath adding chaos to that same wind and a hundred miles away a leaf turns slightly more to the left than if that human had said nothing.

What is the shadow of a sphere cast upon that world? Twisted by its unfathomable complexity of shapes and movement?

And now, to make things worse, imagine if that shadow were a tangible thing that you could pick up. That could cast its own shadow not on the floor but up against the wall.

And all of that is if the shadow is cast by a perfect sphere.

Imagine you are a being that can see the shape of time. Could you look at the echo of a shadow of a shadow of a reflection in a fun house mirror, and recreate what it once was?

Could you look at a crooked set of lines upon the wall and know the meaning of cause and consequence? Could you predict what consequences of which actions would lead to favorable outcomes when realization dawns on you that

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔. 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞. 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖞.

Time is an ocean of possibility. Each possibility has consequences. Each consequence a sea of new possibilities. How can you hope to understand the shadow of a shadow of a shadow, and not only know what's coming, but how to stop it?

Nothing is fated. But I said something important that bears repeating. Time is an OCEAN. We'll come back to that.

Time MOVES, at least the way we perceive it. I don't like the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I prefer something of my own creation: for every effect, a cause. To achieve a desired effect - a desired outcome - you must change the circumstances of cause that lead to that effect. But there are limits to your influence.

The time to change the course of a river is when the river is still small. The longer that river runs its course, the deeper it shapes and erodes the ground around it. The larger and faster a river the harder it is to redirect it. It will go where it's going, and there's nothing you can do about it. There is an element of momentum that must be accounted for. An element of inevitability.

The path of one person's life, one set of choices available to them in one specific context, may feel perhaps like the current of a river, when you look back on it. But if different changes were made during its formation, it could have taken a completely different path. Ended in a completely different place. And influenced the formation of completely different paths in the future as a result.

But I'll say it again, and you'll know its significance now: time is an OCEAN. It is not a river, but an IMMENSE network of currents with no clearly defined borders, flowing with or against or around each other in an unimaginably complex churning of possibility and consequence and cause and effect. A shift in one current may brush up against another. The second current may shift with it, or crash violently into it, or ignore it entirely.

For every effect, a cause. But for every CAUSE, many POSSIBLE effects.

So time becomes a series of choices beyond number. Each choice leading to fathomless changes in the flow. As the earth turns, some currents flow inevitably in certain directions. If not here, then somewhere else. SOME CHANGES ARE INESCAPABLE.

The universe must be dynamic. If nothing changed, the universe would not need to exist at all. Change is the point. Variance is the point. Choice is the point. The universe exists to know itself, and it knows itself through change.

There is an endless sea of currents flowing in various ways with, beside, against, around each other. Some directions of flow are strongly influenced by the shape of the seafloor and the rotation of the earth. There are changes in the world that are virtually guaranteed to exist, whether because the nature of the universe has made them inevitable, or because changes long past have created the currents that are now too old and too deep to change.

Picture a river again. What happens when you throw a stick into it? The stick is swept up in the current and carried along the river.

Throw in more sticks. Same thing, right? You can make small changes without affecting the overall outcome. Within one large shadow of a sphere, the details of a hundred blades of grass whose shadows are lost within the larger shape.

Anchor a large stick to the riverbed so it can't get swept away. Now, it's just one stick. The water will flow around it. There are small ripples. Tiny changes in the river, micro-currents that will affect a localized area. But on the whole? The river still flows. You changed something. But you didn't change the course of the river.

Add stick after stick after stick until the river is obstructed completely, and the current is forced to change shape.

Which stick built the dam?

Which straw should the camel's back blame?

Back to the ocean. Can you dam the sea? Can you build that dam one stick at a time, by throwing sticks into separate currents, hoping the currents bring them where they need to be in time?

There are patterns borne out from the endless flow of possibility as the ocean of time churns. With all those ancient currents running together, what difference does the wake of a boat make on the shape of the waves? How many breaches from how many whales would it take to turn a current south instead of north?

What if you could make a bigger change? What if an avalanche altered the shape of the seafloor, so the rotation of the earth forces new waters to resist the old currents? So the inevitability of the dynamic universe drags forth a new set of possibilities?

There are a LOT of currents. They've been turning for a long, long time, ebbing and flowing with a billion tides and ten thousand quintillion waves. Choices can make new currents. BIG choices, with a lot of consequences, may even change existing ones.

But the ocean still has a geography to it. There are places where water is forced through the gaps between landmasses, or forced into the shallows, or freed to dive into the black beyond a continental shelf. There are places where, no matter how many changes you make, many currents are still guaranteed to meet.

There are fixed points in time.

What if one of those points is a whirlpool, threatening to swallow everything drawn into the place those currents meet?

What about a whirlpool on the scale of worlds and gods?

How do you keep from drowning?

How do you give yourself the best chance, not of AVOIDING the whirlpool of inevitability, but of entering it at the farthest possible edge, where the right momentum, the right decisions made in the moment you are caught in its gravity, may carry you through to the other side, so you still remain when time marches on?

Is it better to see things coming at all? Or is the ability to see time, to speak a language of the universe that no one else can speak, one of the greatest cosmic horrors you can imagine?

Imagine the burden of time on those who can see it.

Imagine the WEIGHT of being able to see those currents. Of knowing which threads of fate to pull. Of knowing which ripples to make, which waves to break, which currents to shift. Of knowing.

Imagine the complexity of figuring out WHICH changes to make. And the great leviathan of guilt left on your shoulders when the decisions you made - even in pursuit of the best possible outcome - bring harm to the ones you love most, the ones you're most desperate to protect.

Even if you're right.

Even if you played 17-dimensional chess with the wizard-addled corpse of god and knew, with certainty, that if a single problem you had a hand in creating had been resolved more neatly by even minutes, the sticks would not have fallen into place within the dam, and the entirety of creation could have been swallowed piece by piece by the horror you were trying to stop.

Imagine the horror. Imagine the responsibility. Imagine the unending, agonizing pain of the burden of Knowing.

Because what time is, most of all, is a nightmare.

And there's no waking up.

#Uneiverse #worldbuilding #a sufficiently clever person who has meticulously read all of my Uneiverse posts #MIGHT be able to make some pretty reasonable guesses about the plot of the first book by now #is it likely? nah #is it possible to get a CLEAR idea of how any part of this will go? oh not a chance in hell #no matter what shape of shadow you can see .... remember there are blades of grass #is this the most horrifying answer I've ever given? #please scream your incoherent cosmically garbled thoughts into my inbox so I can enjoy your mental breakdowns #I feed on the knowledge that I have changed you on a neurological level #and yes this is the shit I have to live with inside my brain at all times #I mean is that fucked up or what #I haven't even scratched the surface of what god is

[rotisseries]

if I had a dollar for every time I saw this used as justification for why actually! it's totally cool that the trio have already known the gimmick of every single obstacle they run into, in a way that conveniently allows them to avoid every point of real conflict or stakes or potential action in this action adventure series!! i would have enough money to pay the cgi department to animate riptide's transformation

#annabeth is not a fucking idiot either and she knows the myths in the books and she still gets trapped by things!! #cause first and foremost going into every conflict of every episode wanting to see your protags slowly realize the danger #only for them to just be like. yeah so we know this is a trap right. yeah don't get caught right. that's fucking boring sorry #they did not do that in the books because it's fucking boring to watch #also they're 12. “they read the myths and they're not idiots!!” I also read the myths and was not an idiot #and I would still get caught by these damn traps omfg😭😭😭 they're TWELVE!! WITH ADHD #MAKE THEM FEEL LIKE 12 YEAR OLDS WITH POOR IMPULSE CONTROL PLEASE. SO MANY OF THE TRAPS REQUIRE IMPULSE CONTROL TO BEAT #I would've been like oh my god waterbeds!!! oh my god a free casino with video games!! AND THEY DO THAT IN THE BOOKS. THEY ALL DO THAT. #NOT JUST PERCY. ALL OF THEM #not even addressing that this is post is probably also about him recognizing that it's kronos let's not talk about that I'm not doing that #also. percy is smart but it's not in the way they're doing it in the show alright but like. topic for another day #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo disney+

[orchidsangel]

pregnancy trope is AWFUL like let me speak my truth. like jtv and the originals is different because the entire plot is centered around it but if i'm watching a show or reading a book and it supposedly comes out of nowhere (i've never not successfully predicted it) then it's over. i'm done. i'm out. LIKE DON'T PISS ME AWF !!!!! just sick and awful !!! especially when they're surprised like they weren't literally raw doggin every day, no birth control...you just made me angry. "i don't understand how this could happen ???" i'm literally under your bed rn.

#i've hated pregnancy tropes since i was in middle school #genuinely infuriating #like oh my god can everyone please be normal #when i was reading fucking p doug books #and every time jump had a baby like the mc's werent #early 20's and in the least #sustainable relationships ever #just makes me so angry #like they wouldn't survive a month dating #OR IN CHARMED ???? #when piper (?) had a baby and it became the whole #fucking plot ??? #MIND YOU THE BABY DADDYS DEAD #AND I DONT MEAN HE DIED AFTER ????????? #HE WAS DEAD WHILE THEY WAS FUCKIN #and don't get me started on black cake... #saw that shit coming from a mile away #BOTH times #anyway #ro number 1 pregnancy trope anti #penelope douglas' breeding kink needs to get her put on a watchlist #bc credence ?????? #was 400+ pages of “hinting” that those men wanted to knock her up #and one of them did !!! #in the epilogue #but still !!! #SHE WAS 21 #SHE SHOULD'VE BEEN IN THE CLUB #✧ orchids in bloom ✧

[mycological-mariner]

Finished chapter 1 of Flight of the Heron. Oh my god. I thought y’all were joking but no. I was reading it at the gp waiting room and I laughed out loud. I’m not sure I was meant to but come on just. Everything is going wrong for him it is past the point of sorrow and straight into comedy

#keith’s hatred of mountains is killing me #FUCK mountains! #fuck THOSE mountains fuck THESE mountains fuck YOUR mountains #riding through a village: oh christ AND they’re Catholics??? #his face was directly in the path of the flight of the heron jfc #laying on the side of the road swearing that the flora and fauna of the highlands are out to get him lmao #’surrender if you please’ keith: wounded bleeding but v angry: ‘NO?! Fight me coward!’ #IMMEDITATLY gets his ass kicked in less than a minute #not even to MENTION the ‘fine specimen of young manhood’ WHAT #and ‘he’s handsome I bet he’s got muscles under there’ WHAT! #and finally giving in like fine. sure. but I feel bad about making you walk #this man’s misery is endless I’m revelling in it #he’s so small and angry #I love him #the flight of the heron #IM ONLY READ THE PROLOGUE AND CHP1!!! #I need to know what happens next this seems idk! #this book is a sick fic lmao #I have no idea the rest of the plot but my god #I’m gonna burn through this is no time huh

[truthsinwhispers]

I don't WANT to unfollow the hunger games tag but I'm getting REAL sick of recommended posts shoving Snow x reader in my face tbh ://

#y'all missed the point of that new film methinks. holy fuck. #if i have to block one more “oh my god look at my dilf husbando imagine him knocking you up” blog i'm gonna throttle someone. #“he's a sympathetic villain!” you. you're missing out on the “villain” part and completely misunderstanding the point of it. #read the actual books. please. these movies were a mistake in terms of how it got fandomized to hell and back. #ANYWAY rant over this is a petty grievance but i have a lot to say.

[arsenicflame]

shout out to this is how you lose the time war for being the only piece of media to never let me down <3

#have You thought about time traveling lesbian assassins today? you should #nyxtalks #genuinely tihylttw is the one piece of media i would recommend to everyone ive ever met. #like i recognise angela isnt going to be for everyone. ive got my issues with it and its for sure like. a certain taste #but these guys? oh my god please read it #its some of the most beautiful writing ive ever read and im enamoured with the universe they created in so few words #honestly nothing i could say would do it justice i love this book so fucking much #its gay. they commit crimes. they write love letters. its perfect #(if anyone wants to read it i have a link <3 a pirates life for me and all that)

[dearreader]

something is not right about a 26 year old adult picking fights with 14 year olds and lying about people being racist and antisemitic and suicide bating because they rightfully called you out and you like the drama

#THIS ISN’T ABOUT SWIFTIES #kelly babels #not going to say who cause i have them blocked #but oh my god finding out what this person is saying about my friends/mutuals #anyway on the off chance that person finds me #hi! the fact that you’re nearing 30 and are so knee deep in drama cause you love it #and posting genuinely idiotic and wrong comments about your fav and others is genuinely awful #your tales are worse then the guy in my comic books class who said the jewish coded characters were german and were being discriminated #against for starting ww2 #you’re dumber than kaylors who still believe taylor swift is in a lavender marriage with karlie kloss #you’re genuinely one of the dumbest people i’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing your comments #and please note: i graduated with a degree in english literature and didn’t semesters full of classes listening to men give awful opinions #i’ve read a creative writing piece about a man’s penis getting so big he has to be wheeled around in wheelchair #i have been a fucking swiftie since i was 13 and fought directioners and was in the trenches of 2016 #i have been to hell in back and have seen every awful take possibly imagined on literature #and i’m here to tell you that you’re takes on your fav and the source material are worse then all of that #congratulations! you’re a fucking idiot and have been hyper fixated on this series longer than me and i know more than you #i honestly just feel bad for you :( to like such a complicated and well written character but unable to understand him at a base level #save

[lilly-white]

Me, finally getting into The Cruel Prince by Holly Black: This book has amazing covers, has been redesigned by a million book boxes & special edition companies, is always front and centre on people’s shelves. The author has also done children’s fantasy! This MUST mean her adult books have substance to them. I am allowing myself to be Cautiously Optimistic -

The Cruel Prince, dedication page: To Cassandra Clare, who was finally lured into Faerieland.

Me: O_O Oh no. No, this is fine. So they’re friends. This is fine!

The Cruel Prince, first chapters: ...and the first queen of the Faeries, QUEEN MAB.....

The Cruel Prince, next few chapters: Ah yes, your characters are 17 therefore they must go to “lessons” with the faerie princes. That’s your plot for now. Hogwarts Fairy school! Where you know none of the teachers & nothing is cosy or fleshed out whatsoever but it’s all about the Vibe, the Aesthetic, the Moodboard! Btw the faerie princes are BULLIES. And the coldest and most handsomest one is also the meanest, and he has black hair and wears eyeliner and has a sharp upturned collar - he is called Draco Malfoy Cardan and he has cronies -

ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS IS ACTUALLY AN ACADEMY BULLY ROMANCE. FUCK

Also, The Cruel Prince’s love interest, Cardan: 1st image: literally punches a small pixie child out of his way, for no reason, then rips off the pixie child’s wing to show he’s so mean 2nd image: Kicks dirt onto protagonist’s lunch because he’s a MEANIE

tl;dr I am barely on like page 78 and I’m going to give up. Listen. If you want to write Draco Malfoy 2.0 then you have to build your world, first, which will then shape the character himself. You can’t just give me a Sexy Dood who punches little children. No seriously but WHAT IS THAT.

#hE KICKED DIRT ON HER LUNCH i can't hahahahahhahaha #WHEN WILL THE DRACO MALFOY FANFICTION END #if i wanted draco malfoy fanfiction i'd read manacled #please build your own fucking characters already oh my god #I read these books and immediately i start thinking 'Wow I could be reading that amazing Labyrinth fanfiction or Harry Potter fanfiction' #i am angry to have spent money on this but hey the interior design is really really neat #so i think i might keep it just for design inspiration #indie adventures #book reviews

[judesstfrancis]

just finished the new riley sager....... GIRL !!!

#she was so fucking good oh my god #hi if everyone wants a new book to read please check out 'the only one left' by riley sager blew my fucking mind fr #been reading his books consistently since final girls came out and he never disappoints imo but this one was next level #(personal fave for me is 'lock every door' btw but u truly cannot go wrong) #('the last time I lied' is a close second also) #(I just think u should read all of them to be fair but those two + 'the only one left' (his new one) rocked my fucking world check em out) #text post

[mitchievousness]

I FINALLY FINISHED READING TGCF AND HOOOO MY DIANXIA I AM GOING FERAL OVER THESE MARRIED IDIOTS FKSJDFLJHFKDGG

#how did i manage to read 5 books in the span of two weeks while having classes you ask? by not sleeping of course ((-: #i rlly thought the fandom was just exaggerating when they make hc super flirty BUT I WAS SO WRONG #HUA CHENG HAS ABSOLUTELY NO SHAME WHEN ITS ABOUT HIS GEGE AND I SUPPORT HIM 100% #literally spent 800 years devoted to lie xian at his best and at his worst moments even tho lx didnt even recognize him im gonna fuckin cry #also as much as i love hc ngl that cave in mt tong'lu? kinda creepy there crimson rain sought flower... fx and mq were kinda valid there #aaaa i really wanted more resolution on the xianle trio's relationship ESPECIALLY the shit that happened in book4 but i guess #'i really wanted to be your f-f-f-f-friend' over a lava pit while fighting stupid plague mask is closure enough :') #OH YOU KNOW WHO DIDNT HAVE ENOUGH CLOSURE?! SHI QINGXUAN #MY BELOVED WINDMASTER AND GENDERFLUID GOD ICON #HOW DARE THEY JUST NOT SHOW US THE WHOLE HX/SQX RESOLUTION WTF!!!! #i've been fooled by the fandom hhhh i thought it was like canon or smthn considering how popular the ship was and when i read the book i wa #like wtf???? this is really messed up holy shit ???? it wasnt even either of their faults it was fucking swd bc he loved his brother but #ended up messing up hx's life like what??? sqx didnt even know abt it and then hx went and deceived them and now my heart is BROKEN #but then he returned his fan at the end so i???? just need some resolution PLEASE i need a 50kwords fix it fic RIGHT NOW #aaaa also yessss im so excited to be able to read fics now without the fear of being spoiled fhkshfks #next up im finally gonna read mo dao zu shi but maybe after like 2 weeks bc i need some time to fully bask in tgcf first hehe #THEN REN ZHA FANPAI ZIJIU XITONG #yes im gonna read all of mxtx's novel series in the wrong order oops sjhfkfghfj #tgcf read

[elytrafemme]

it is beginning to occur to me that part of the reason why the ending of “things fall apart” is fucking me up so bad is because i share the same flaw as the main character, which is undeniably a major issue of mine but nevertheless it hits very hard to see someone else like. displaying that.

#nightmare.personal #for those who don't know the book i wouldn't say that it's a required read but i do think it gives perspective #if you can make it through part one which is largely a little hard to read #for the record this flaw of mine is the desire to be seen as strong to the extent that i do not necessarily prioritize #the acquisition or maintenance of friendships in the long term over the idea of my career success and the deep seeded desire to #never feel satisfied with life because if i am ever satisfied that means that i have reached a goal and i never want to be complete #<- does this make sense #i don't know why this is a mentality of mine like i guess i've always thought this way? #but especially recently it's morphed into being a major fucking priority #like i no longer understand why any person would seek to live a life that is simply comfortable or happy #oh my God i got a really funny text just now from my father considering this entire situation dad please

[essektheylyss]

first opinion (which, knowing the film synopsis and having read the book, I am well aware I am not the first to complain about), WHERE IS THE AMBIGUITY

#megs watches annihilation #hot take hollywood thinks they're sooooo good at open endings but they are incapable of dealing with ambiguity #hate the names. hate 'the shimmer' what the fuck is that #hate the visible boundary of it!!! hate that they talk about the origin of the event being the lighthouse! what the fuck! #we're 15 minutes in! what the fuck is this! #OH IN A FEW MONTHS! FUCK YOU #tbh don't even like how they've framed this relationship honestly #which is such a shame cuz like. natalie portman and oscar isaac? wasted potential #literally how did they ruin this tHIS BADLY #I read it going 'honestly this would actually NOT be hard to adapt pretty faithfully if you understood the books' #and clearly alex garland DIDN'T #new goal: publish spec fic. get some name recognition. use that to sell some screenplays. re-adapt annihilation but good. #none of this flashback to getting OUT??? bullshit??? #anyway alex garland should stick to ai and let somebody else deal with fungal infections. #they did all this set up and. DIDN'T ACTUALLY ESTABLISH THE FUCKT TRAINING? ridiculous #sorry I will not get over 'the shimmer' fuck you alex garland I hate you in particular #I'm doing great tho cuz I don't have an issue with horror and I love complaining #wait I'm just. please tell me the fuckin tower is there. oh my god if they cut the tower I'm just. #what's the point what's the point what's the FUCKING POINT