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lady-thorn · 1 year

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The Dragon’s Hoard Pt. 3

Summary: The beginning of a life-changing adventure.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen & Ravella Whitmore (OC)

Warnings: Smut. Fluff. ESL, please be patient. Unedited.

Word count: +12k

Disclaimer: I’d meant to post this earlier, but life’s been crazy; at least, I’ll be able to post pt. 4 soon. I love Ravella and Aemond. I’m actually thinking of writing this as a shorter serialized stuff, because I do have plans, so any feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy it.

***

Aemond looked at his reflection in the mirror. This time, his eye didn’t drift to the background, where Ravella, back half-covered by that glorious curtain of glossy black hair, slept on her side, still enjoying the leftover heat of his body. No, now he was staring at himself.

The scar was hideous. Hence the eyepatch dangling off his fingers — a measure of protection. Only… he didn’t want to wear it anymore.

He’d never wanted to, really. It had been necessary, however, so he wouldn’t offend the ladies, many of whom got faint whenever they saw the maimed prince coming. That always filled Aemond with shame, and no matter what his mother and sister said about any woman being lucky to have his love, he didn’t believe them, finding peace at the idea of an arranged marriage. Naturally, his wife would’ve despised his looks, but with an arrangement of that sort, he wouldn’t have to fight for her. Wouldn’t be haunted by the prospect of her rejection. Fulfilling their duties to their Houses would’ve had to suffice.

The thing was, after getting the sapphire, he shouldn’t have worn the patch. Ravella had called him Symeon Star-Eyes, and asked that he not hide behind the eyepatch. At the time, he didn’t have words to explain his choice to wear it wasn’t to hide, but to avoid causing discomfort to others. How could he say that when the woman he loved accepted him as he were, and didn’t consider him lesser than for being eyeless? When she’d compared him to a hero of old, and went so far as getting him a dual-bladed staff, the same weapon legends said Symeon used to fight?

Three months had passed since they were wed in the godswood, in the eyes of the old gods and the new. Three months since Ravella scolded him for belittling himself over the loss of his eye.

Three months since his wife stated her ownership of him.

His lips curved at the memory. Helaena had told him he was the dragon jealously hoarding a butterfly, but his sister omitted — likely because she didn’t see it — the fact that it was the butterfly the one who wielded real power; she could make the dragon bend to his knees for her, fly to the confines of the world to get her heart’s desire. A command, and the dragon was her willing slave.

That she wanted nothing but his love, and to build a family with him, humbled him in a way nothing else could. There were days he had to pinch himself to admit his life was true, and Ravella — the former bane of his existence — did love him. Not too long ago, they’d have probably considered their love a nightmare.

“You’re so handsome when thoughtful…” she drawled in a voice husky by sleep.

Aemond strode back to their bed, sitting beside her. “Per you, I’m the most handsome man in the world.”

“You are,” she pinched his cheek, eyes roaming over his naked body. “Are you going to the training yard?”

“Yes. I need to train today, if I ever hope to wield your gift in battle,” he grinned. “However, I’m going to the Pit first, unless you want me to stay with you in the godswood?”

“No, you wouldn’t appreciate my art,” she pinched his cheek again. “Although you’d make me feel good about it.”

Aemond had asked his father, King Viserys, to allow Ravella to carve up the weirwood tree, and Viserys granted it. Only, it took Ravella several weeks to decide what to carve, as she exchanged messages with several Houses that still worshipped the old gods of the forest instead of the Seven. While she refused to divulge what she was going to carve, she was very open about her suspicions — that the tree had been carved so long ago, though its continued growth deformed the carvings and made them look like bumps in the bark. At least, that was the theory she’d come up with after talking to a Blackwood.

Now, over a hundred years after the Conquest, the weirwood was finally “adult” enough to sustain the carving she meant to make, and carry it on through the years.

She was grateful he was able to secure his father’s permission for her to carve up the weirwood, as that would allow the old gods to be strong in the south once more. Just yesterday, Lord Blackwood had approached Ravella to chat with her about the upcoming carving, and Aemond had a feeling it’d be a spectacle.

“Are you going to the Pit to continue teaching Vhagar how to protect me?” He nodded, and she rolled her eyes in false impatience. “You know it makes me mad that you’ll say you’re training her, but not how.”

He smirked. “You might find out soon enough. What are you going to carve up?”

“A face,” she wiggled her eyebrows, pointing to a bag containing a collection of chisels and sharp blades, unable to mask her animation. He scowled in answer, unimpressed by her secrecy, but the grimace only sent her into a fit of giggles, the sweet sound titillating against his eardrums. That’s what true satisfaction sounded like, he thought, bending down to give her a kiss.

She pulled him closer, until he was lying on top of her. His right hand found her breast, the pad of his thumb drawing circles around her hardened nipple, his mouth swallowing her moan. His left delved between her legs, and his breath caught— “You’re so wet,” he mumbled against her ear. It shouldn’t surprise him; there were some days she became a ravenous, frantic beast. Aemond couldn’t tell if it was only the lust she felt for him, or if it was her way of forcing a pregnancy. Ravella was eager for a child, after all.

Last night, she made him leave his family’s company before dinner was over. He got worried about the way she was rubbing her temples and forehead, and asked his parents to excuse them. Ravella refused seeing a maester, insisting she needed a good night’s sleep, so Aemond took her to their quarters — instead of carrying her. When the door bolted shut behind him, he turned around to find her hurling her body against his, kissing him and trying to undress both of them.

He didn’t scowl. He didn’t like being lied to, but he could forgive her for that transgression — at least, that was the idea until she told him she was unwell. She laughed against his lips, saying he could cure her headache. And then she forced him to lie down flat on his back, and rode him with an intensity that had them both groaning out loud and banging the bed against the wall.

“Aemond,” her hands closed around his shoulders, “stop.” He did, and knelt down on the bed. She followed him, sitting up. “Shit,” she shook her head, looking at his blood-stained fingers.

“I don’t mind,” he tried to kiss her again.

“I do.”

He sighed. It was his turn to shake his head. The erection he was sporting wasn’t going anywhere. “Fine. Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?”

She laughed. “No, my love. In fact…” she said after thinking better. “Come here.”

He crawled his usual side of the bed where she was patting the mattress, and lied down. Maybe she needed to not look, he thought, and the feeling got stronger as she cleaned his fingers on her forsaken nightgown. “I don’t mind, Ravella. Really.”

“I know. But the bed would be a mess. Let me,” she insisted when he tried to reach for her.

He settled. She smiled, then lowered her head, closing her lips around his nipple and taking a deep suck. His cock, already rock-hard, became a diamond. If that’s what she felt when he sucked on her nipples, then he’d make sure to do that all the time…

He recalled that was how he’d given her first orgasm, in the cold, rainy darkness of the kingswood. He teased her breasts with his hands and lips until she came, screaming and trembling. Then he went on to claim more climaxes from her overworked body by worshipping the sweet flesh between her thighs.

By getting addicted to her.

“Does this feel good?” she asked after taking a lick of his hipbone.

“Better than good,” he mumbled, opening his eye to see her beam. “Ravella—”

“It isn’t fair that you leave my bed unsatisfied, husband,” she said, voice severe, fingers working his shaft. Back then, he’d wondered what his cock would look like between her hands. A month later, with their wedding, he knew, just as he knew what it looked like coming in and out of her, thanks to the mirror he’d placed across the bed so she could watch as he fucked her.

“Please…” he wasn’t above begging.

“What do you want?” she arched a brow, squeezing the cockhead. He was too thick for her to close her hand around.

“Your mouth.”

“You pervert,” she said, but laughed and did as he asked… kind of. She didn’t part her lips to take him, but did as she was wont to — covered the shaft with soft, close-lipped kisses, using his juices to rub her mouth against his skin, pressing her tongue against the throbbing veins.

That first night, Aemond was resented she was using him — the conclusion of what they must do to retain and generate heat came from him, but it was Ravella’s decision to explore his body so she’d learn how to pleasure her future husband. He couldn’t describe what he felt at the idea of her with another. Now, though, he was grateful of the lesson she learned, because it made her pretty much uninhibited in his arms. She was comfortable voicing her wants and needs and making demands, and encouraged him to do the same; she didn’t consider anything shameful, for “lovemaking’s a physical way to love each other,” as she’d put it.

Moreover, Ravella ached to be a mother. And she’d figured out that Aemond was equally stimulated by the idea, to the point that she used the imagery of his breeding her to make him mindless with lust.

His hips shot up when her lips closed around the head. She couldn’t go past the first four inches of his cock, no matter how hard she tried; even so, he was at peace with not knowing what it’d be like to be fully inside her, massaged by the tight muscles of her throat. He forced himself to hold still while she worked her mouth around him, unwilling to put more strains on her; the first time she’d tried to suck him, he feared her lips would split.

“Ravella…” he moaned a few minutes later, while she sucked on the head as if she were nursing. He said her name again, because she liked the sound of it on his lips, coating with both yearning and agony.

A deep rumble formed in the back of his throat when she intensified her movements without taking him off her mouth, which she always did when she noticed his orgasm was about to happen. His hand found her hair, and though he tried to force her to stay quiet so he could pull out, she refused. Her eyes, a perfect mix of violet and blue, were nearly black as they pled in silence that he let her finish, so he relaxed his grip… somewhat. He kept holding the strands, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers, but stopped fighting her.

“I’m going to—” he warned, breathless.

She beat on his lower belly, opening her mouth more. As she did, Aemond growled, his eye rolling back as he shouted his release to the sky.

She swallowed each spurt of his come, and cleaned up the rest running down his shaft with her tongue. When she licked at her lips and pressed them together, as if she were applying a balm she’d bought to keep them moisturized, Aemond lost it — he brought her closer and claimed her lips. “You’re still wet,” he could feel it against his skin.

“My blood—”

“Ride me anyway.”

“Your cock’s limp,” she pressed their foreheads together, staring into his eye.

“And whose fault is that?” she laughed, weak. “Ride my thigh. Friction that sweet cunt against me until you come.”

It was clear the suggestion shocked as much as it aroused her. She did as he said, straddling his left thigh. In no time, she was moaning his name, her body undulating, clit constrained between their bodies, her wetness coating him. His nails dug into her hips as he held them to help her grind harder. He watched her flushed face, a violent possession spreading through him. That was how she was supposed to look.

“Aemond, my breasts feel so heavy… they’re so sensitive—”

“I can’t touch them now. Do it yourself,” he ordered darkly, and she obeyed. He licked his lips as he watched. He wanted to take each nipple in his mouth and tug, but didn’t. Ravella pleasuring herself was so much better, he was loathe of ruining the moment. His gaze closed on the bruises his passion drew on her skin last night. He loved watching them. Her.

The wave came crashing upon her when he tightened the muscle of his thigh, making it contract against her clit. She screamed his name, her spine arching at the lower back. She fell on his chest, heaving against his skin, the puddle of her juices squishing as she moved, allowing them to run down to the linen. He kissed her forehead.

***

One hour and several kisses later, she took his hand into hers as they left their quarters to have breakfast with the rest of his family, after which Aemond kissed her knuckles and joined Aegon, leaving Ser Arryk behind to guard her. The idea of needing a Kingsguard in the godswood was ridiculous, but Ravella knew her husband wouldn’t change his mind; as a prince, he was used to getting his way, and she supposed it’d cost her nothing to oblige him.

She was, per his own admission, his greatest treasure.

“Lady Ravella,” Lord Corlys Velaryon greeted her. His wife, Princess Rhaenys, was beside him, her hand tucked between his. It never failed to amaze her how those two behaved like their love was still new and green, and she wished for the same happening to her and Aemond.

“Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys.”

“Are you going to the godswood?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Are you going there, as well?”

“Yes. Would you mind if we walked with you?” the princess asked.

“‘Course not. I could do with the company.”

In a matter of seconds, she began questioning her acceptance of their company, for a few seconds later, their grandchildren fell into step behind them. Ravella didn’t mind the princes and ladies, but Aemond would, if he were there. The four were directly involved in his blinding, with the younger boy having cut his eye. She wanted to hate Prince Lucerys — Aemond’s nephew — with the same fervor Aemond did, but as an outsider, she considered it a waste of time. The children were shaped by the adults raising them. In her mind, there was no doubt their relationship wouldn’t have turned out so strained if the rest of House Targaryen had taken measures to create a safe family life for the children.

They hadn’t, and Aemond ended up hurt.

Thankfully, she was able to shake off her uneasiness and make small talk with them, even if she could feel the slight mockery in the princes’ voices whenever they mentioned she was their aunt — something they took great joy in repeating, until they realized she wasn’t upset.

“Lord Blackwood!” she opened up a smile, and the man, a few years older than Aemond, approached them, paying due note to Aemond’s family. “Have you come to watch?”

“I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious, my lady,” he smiled, his dark-gray eyes sparkling.

“Maybe you’d like to help?” she offered.

He held up both hands. “Oh no, I couldn’t. That’s your right. I’m just going to watch. I wrote to Alysanne. A mistake, of course. Now she wants to come to King’s Landing.”

“I’d love to see your sister again. And your son, I imagine he’s all grown, isn’t he?”

Lord Samwell agreed with her policy of strengthening the ties between the followers of the old gods, so they made it a point of keeping correspondence with each other, as well with Houses from the north. Not only that, but she suspected that, if Lord Blackwood hadn’t been married at 12, and she hadn’t married Aemond, he’d have proposed to her, and she’d have accepted. It wouldn’t have been a love match, but as she’d told Aemond’s parents, she’d settle for a good man who kept her faith, and Lord Blackwood had a good reputation.

(That was assuming she were informed of Lord Blackwood’s offer, since his parents had rejected some over the years behind her back, hoping she’d end up marrying Aemond. She tried, but failed to see what had led them to believe they’d be a good match, when they spent the entire time bickering.)

Engaging Lord Samwell in conversation made it easier to avoid the Velaryons and Targaryens. Not to the point of rudeness, though; she tried to include them in their conversation, but mostly, Aemond’s nephews and cousins just stood listening.

“Did you bring a sketch?” Samwell laughed.

“Yes, of course. I don’t want to offend the gods.”

He shook his head. “They’ll finally have eyes here. I’m sure they won’t be offended.”

“Yes, but their eyes won’t change. Pleasing them is important. I shudder just imagining how accomplished a carver I’ll turn out to be,” she said, and raised the hand holding the smallest chisel.

She took a while to arrange her skirts to allow herself freedom of movement when she knelt, and voiced a quick prayer to make the carving justice. She knew there was a big difference between what she envisioned and what she might accomplish, and truly didn’t want to harm the tree. Like Aemond, the bark would be forever marked.

Onyx, her raven, landed on a branch, black wings spread, his curious, intense black eyes watching her with undivided attention. Other ravens joined him, but she didn’t pay them mind, saying, “I’ve tried to discover how they made the first carvings, where to begin from, but couldn’t find anything. So, I’m just going to start by the eyebrows.”

Forty minutes later, she took the handkerchief Lord Blackwood held out and wiped at the sweat at the roots of her hair. Her methodical work was paying off — she’d carved the contour of one eyebrow and eye, as well as some discreet laugh lines at the corner of the eye and above, at the “forehead”. Her fingers were stained red with the sap running off, and her smile was strained as she returned the handkerchief to Lord Blackwood. Still, she’d anticipated the sap running in heavy rivulets down the white bark, and planned to carve a smiling mouth, so the tree would appear to be laughing so hard, it cried.

“Shouldn’t you carve a serious face? I heard most faces are solemn,” Lady Baela asked.

“They are. The Blackwoods’ have a serious, but not unkind face,” she grinned up at Lord Blackwood, then glanced at Aemond’s cousin. “But for me, the godswood is a place meant to do one’s soul good. It’s where I feel at peace. If I’m sad, I come here to get cheered up. This is what I’m trying to convey.”

“Like the Mother’s statues are always benevolent,” Princess Rhaenys spoke up, and although she was serious, something about her bone structure made it look like she had a permanent smirk on her face.

“Precisely like that,” Ravella confirmed.

“So, you’re carving a female face?” Prince Lucerys asked.

“No, she’s carving Aemond’s,” the king’s hoarse voice made them all pause and look at him. Ravella tried to stand up and curtsy as everyone else, but Aemond’s father didn’t let her. “Keep on, child. Does he know?”

“It’s a surprise, Your Grace. He has no idea.”

Viserys chuckled. “I understand. That’s why he isn’t here, trying to stop you.”

“Why?” Prince Jacaerys asked, sneering. “Shouldn’t it be wrong to carve his face? Besides, he’s only got one eye…”

“This face will have one eye, too, when I’m finished,” Ravella gave him an ugly onceover. “As for it being wrong, I was going to carve up my father’s face, but then settled on Aemond’s.” Not because her father’s face wasn’t as vivid in her memory anymore, but because he hadn’t been haunted by a scar and painful memories that made him doubt his self-worth. “When I’m done, no one will have a choice but to see what I see when I look at my husband.”

Her response obviously angered the younger prince, but Ravella didn’t care. She was smiling to herself, her father-in-law’s smirk, so similar to Aemond’s, lost on her as she worked.

It didn’t take long for Lord Blackwood’s handkerchief to drip red, useless, so she started to wipe off the sap on her own gown, for she was risking slipping her hold on the chisels and cutting her fingers off — and Aemond would be furious, she thought to herself with a silent giggle.

The left eye was carved deep, the shape of an eyepatch surrounding it, a scar just like Aemond’s cutting through it. Then she looked around, and finding what she wanted, let out a little scream and held up the weirwood seed, meaning for it to represent Aemond’s sapphire eye, and used the chisel’s handle to secure it inside the eye after deepening a portion of the hole. The red sap made it appear like the improvised eyeball was bleeding, and while it wasn’t what she’d meant, she took great delight in the way Aemond’s family flinched.

She’d have to tell him about this, once they were alone in their room.

***

Aemond had no doubts where Ravella was, and the crowd around the heart tree confirmed his suspicions. He tried to keep his arrival a surprise, but her stupid raven, perched up in a branch, spread his wings and croaked in a shrill voice, “Toothleeesssss!”

He gritted his teeth. One day, he’d shoot an arrow between that little bastard’s tiny eyes and cook him into a stew. His anger inflamed when he saw Ravella’s shoulders shaking, though she did nothing to acknowledge his presence. She was the reason the cleverly evil animal called him that.

At least, no one seemed to catch up. He much preferred the raven calling him One-Eye. That was scarier than Toothless. The latter made Aemond suspect he’d lose fear and respect, as if his bite had no… well, bite. A toothless dragon, as his wife had put it.

“Aemond, come here,” Viserys said, so Aemond went to stand beside him, a little apart from the crowd. He scowled when the king mouthed silently, “Toothless?” and laughed when Aemond nodded, glaring a hole into Ravella’s head.

Please, gods, don’t let milk of the poppy make Father tell anyone about this, he prayed in thoughts. Aemond wouldn’t survive if Aegon were to find out. His elder brother could be mean when he wanted to — and he always wanted to.

“What do you think?” his father pointed to the tree.

“I—” he paused, doing a double take, frowning slightly before a foolish smile curved his lips and his heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was. “The woman’s infatuated,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.

Ravella laughed, not denying his words. “Just you wait until I start on the lips,” she said, her voice melodic.

“Ravella, don’t,” he crossed his arms, unwilling to blush. It wasn’t uncommon for Ravella to rub the pads of her fingers on his lips and comment on how much they were ‘begging for a sweet kiss’. If she did that to the tree, he’d be lost.

“Ravella, do,” she winked at him, laughing.

He sighed, shaking his head. His wife was impossible — it was why he loved her so.

As the hours passed, the crowd dwindled. Many left to have lunch, including his father, although the king returned not long after, accompanied by Aemond’s mother. Only Lord Blackwood, and the men sworn to him, remained throughout it.

“Is she supposed to do that?” Alicent asked, brow furrowed, and Aemond stopped watching his wife to look at her carving. It was his face, carved in gigantic proportions — his eyes alone were each the size of Ravella’s fist. But once she finished the face, she began carving a winged creature… not a dragon, but the ravens, especially the one looking over his shoulder, had a distinctive reptilian look about them, and he could also make out the faint shape of a butterfly’s fluttering wings.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, glancing at Lord Blackwood. “My lord?”

“Prince! Prince! Prince!” The raven next to Onyx croaked.

Samwell’s dark-gray eyes were covered in a milky-white curtain, but acquired some focus as he blinked to stare at Aemond, though they remained slightly vacant. It was pretty much the same way Ravella’s looked when she was warging. “My prince?”

“Is that supposed to happen?” Aemond nodded at the tree.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” the man replied, but he didn’t sound worried. “It isn’t uncommon that the gods use us as tools to enforce their wills. I wouldn’t be concerned—”

The shrill scream that escaped Viserys’ mouth interrupted him.

***

“Ravella? Little butterfly, wake up,” the beloved voice came from a long distance.

“What?” she opened her eyes, and found herself staring at the reddened weirwood, a chisel two inches away on the ground, its broken end aimed at her eye. “Aemond?”

“My love,” her husband clutched her limp form to his chest, kissing her temple, and holding her tight. “You passed out. The maester is coming—”

“No,” she tried to stand up, and he helped her sit. “I don’t need a maester,” she held on to his wrist, though that was a lost battle. Aemond wouldn’t accept her rejecting an examination. “Everything I’m feeling is related to my moon’s blood.”

He nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his face. “I’d feel better if you saw him anyway. You fainted. Father had a seizure. We were rushing to his side when you simply dropped to the ground. I was so scared.”

While he carried her to their chambers, he told her about the incident — of how she and Lord Blackwood’s minds seemed to vanish, as if they were warging, and then the king screamed and passed out as well. Even her comment about his father’s frail health didn’t dissuade his resolve, so she accepted to see the maester, if only to tranquilize him before she explained that what had happened was magical in nature.

Grand Maester Orwyle said she was fine, so Ravella expected to be let go, but Aemond insisted she rest. “It’s late,” he pointed out, “you can’t finish the carving. You also need to eat.”

After studying him for a while, and disliking being the reason of his worry, she nodded. She didn’t like being bedridden, but as Rosey scolded her for being careless — spending so long under the sun, without eating, in her condition (as if Ravella were sick), when she knew fully well there were months her menses were terrible —, she didn’t put up a fight. But she insisted on seeing the king.

Surprisingly, Aemond didn’t argue. He took her hand and put it on his elbow for support, and let her determine the pace of their walk as they went to the king’s quarters. His mother met them by the door, her eyes rimmed red… a common occurrence as King Viserys got worse day after day. “How is he?” Aemond asked.

“Resting. The seizure didn’t cause any damage. However, the fall produced a new wound and—” the queen hid her face from view.

Aemond hugged his mother, and Ravella looked away. She couldn’t bear that forlorn look on his face. For all the complications in his relationship with his father, Aemond didn’t hate him. His current despair was directed as much at the disease eating at the king, making his flesh decay as if he were a corpse, as it was at his inability to shield his mother, because that’s what he judged his lot in life: to protect the people he loved.

“Can we go in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she wiped at her tears. “Everyone’s come to see him. Rhaenyra left a few minutes ago. I believe she means to fly to Essos, discover if anyone has developed a similar disease.”

Search parties had been sent in the past, Ravella knew. But it seemed like King Viserys’ disease was unique. Maybe a dragonrider could go farther; the envoys the Crown had sent went as far as Norvos.

Ravella stayed close to the queen, assuring her she was fine, and attributing her fainting to her menses and lack of eating. As Alicent reprehended her, fretting with motherly concern like Rosey, she watched Aemond approach his father’s bed, as if afraid of what he might find. She averted her gaze, ashamed and jealous both, that Aemond had parents to worry about and for, while she didn’t. She had a family — her mother’s family in Dorne, as well as Aemond’s relatives —, but they weren’t her parents. She had two mother figures, but neither her grandmother nor Alicent were her mother, the same way Uncle Arthur wasn’t her father, though she loved them with all her heart.

It was unfair that her mother was taken from the side of the husband she’d given up so much for, and the child they’d spent so long yearning for, that her father didn’t get to live long enough to see his only daughter grow up and marry a man he’d have approved of. Deep down, Ravella was terrified of the same happening to herself.

“Excuse me, Your Grace, Lady Ravella,” she greeted Ser Steffon Darklyn without paying attention, “Princess Rhaenyra requests your presence.”

Alicent answered, “Please, ser, tell her we’ll join her shortly.”

The man nodded and walked away, leaving them with Ser Criston Cole, Alicent’s sworn shield. “Don’t worry about him, Your Grace. If there’s anything to be done to help the king, we’ll find a way,” Ravella said, smiling at the older woman.

“He’s unconscious,” Aemond said, having ended his visit.

“That’s because of the sweetsleep. He was in a lot of pain. Would you join Rhaenyra and the others now?”

Ravella could tell he didn’t like the idea, but he wasn’t about to deny his mother, so the three of them went to the chamber where the Princess of Dragonstone waited with the rest of the family. Aemond was the first one to go in, a scowl on his face after Ravella pointed out she and Alicent weren’t Targaryen enough to.

Soon enough, the adult and teenaged dragonriders were in a heated discussion about the king’s health, so Alicent, as his caretaker, cleared her throat and stated the facts, “Viserys isn’t getting better. No matter what we do, the most we’ve accomplished is delaying the inevitable.”

“Is he—?” Prince Daemon asked. Ravella felt sorry for the king’s younger brother. They were close, and hearing that the person one admired the most was dying had to hurt.

“I believe so,” the queen’s face was sympathetic. “Grandmaester Orwyle has said he can help with the pain, but the wounds… won’t be stopped. They come and take on a strange shape. You’ve seen it, Prince Daemon.”

“I’ll fly to Essos. Someone must know what’s happening to him,” the Rogue Prince began pacing. “A reward should be offered for information—”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell if the information you get is real,” Ravella interrupted. For some reason, the older prince paid attention to her. She leaned forward, “I don’t know what you mean to do, but payment isn’t enough. And even if the information makes him feel better, I don’t know if it’s enough to restore his health. Doesn’t mean you can’t try, though.”

“What do you suggest?” Aemond’s uncle asked.

She looked around, and noticed everyone was holding their breath. Even Aemond. She rubbed her lips together, and said, “If I were a dragonrider, I’d search in Essos, flying past Qarth, to Volatis. I’d go to Pentos and Braavos and Asshai. I’d even go to Ibben, talk to the Jogos Nhai, the Dothraki… I’d also send someone to the Citadel, and to the Wall, to search the records there. I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone suffering from the same condition as the king. Doesn’t mean anything, really. But I wonder if this isn’t something he caught after flying somewhere he shouldn’t with Balerion.”

“You mean like Princess Aerea?” Aemond asked.

Ravella nodded. “Exactly like her.” Aerea Targaryen held the distinctive honor of having been the heir to the Iron Throne under two different kings; however, what truly mattered was her mysterious disappearance and death two years after claiming her dragon, Balerion — the same one Viserys claimed decades later. Something had happened to the Black Dread, which returned with a huge wound on his flank, while Princess Aerea boiled from the inside out from a fever.

At least, that was the official story. Reality was far more sinister, and Ravella only knew of it because Aemond had told her — the long-deceased Septon Barth and Grand Maester Benifer were the only two people who’d had access to the dying princess, and agreed to never speak of her death to anyone, even her family. Still, the memories of her last hours were so haunting, both men had written detailed accounts of it, and hid their diaries, which Aemond somehow uncovered some years ago while researching something about his House’s history.

“You should tell them,” Ravella said, touching his hand, when his relatives merely stared at them.

Aemond took a deep breath. “I’d better read it,” he said. When he came back, it was with a scroll — he’d copied the writings of both septon and maester because the diaries were too old, falling apart. “From Grand Maester Benifer,” he started after clearing his throat.

I joined the Citadel thinking I’d achieve as much success as a boy born in my conditions could. I did — the son of a stonemason and a kitchen girl became the Grand Maester for King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Serving the king, I’ve had the opportunity to continue learning and teaching, cultivating the clarity of thought that my mentors stimulated in order to clear one’s mind from worldly preoccupations so we could unlock the secrets of the world. That came in handy for a man like me, who isn’t of blind faith like Septon Barth, even if I’m willing to admit there are times when all hope seems lost… until it isn’t. There is something out there, even when my eyes can’t see, but most times, I don’t know if that something is the gods, or not. I used to be at peace with this uncertainty, for it brought me relief and a sense of security. My easiness died the day Princess Aerea turned out to be my greatest lesson.

The moon turned twice since her return to King’s Landing and death. Something that should’ve filled us with joy turned out to be a nightmare — not that anyone but Septon Barth and I known it, naturally. Perhaps Ser Lucamore suspects, as he was the one person who had contact with the poor girl.

Barth and I agreed to never speak of it, but I can’t avoid thinking about everything that happened since Ser Lucamore placed her on my table. So I write it down, in the hopes the parchment will absorb my horror with the same diligence it does the ink. That the sand I pour once I’m finished covers the weight in my heart. It’s hopeless, I know. But if the Seven are good, they’ll grant me the gift of forgetfulness as I grow older… if only I were sure what’s out there is the Seven, and not something else.

When I saw the princess, I thought she’d been tortured — she was skinny, just a bag of rattling bones with some strange cyst-like swellings underneath her skin. But when I touched her brow, I noticed she had a fever. I drew her many cold baths, and brewed so many teas, it looked like I was seasoning a piece of meat. Perhaps the comparison is unfortunate, because that’s what was happening to the poor princess. Nothing I did helped, and she got worse. No disease, not even greyscale, had ever made me feel so incompetent before. Everything I did turned out to be insufficient, and even milk of the poppy failed to give the young princess any relief.

When, after hours, it became clear to me that my efforts to lower her fever only seemed to make her worse, I heaved a sigh of defeat and called for Barth, while doing my best to keep the King and the Queen out of my lab. By the time the septon got here, the princess’s dried skin was bright red, as if she were losing buckets of blood and had red-hot lava burning in her veins.

The worst part was her talking. Something had gotten to the princess, but she never said what. Only apologies and assurances of her non-ill intentions were muttered through cracked and bloody lips. Her pleas for death would’ve shattered even the foulest man’s heart, I’m sure.

And yet, inspired by something — Barth’s unwavering faith, I think —, I found new strength to carry on the efforts to save that child’s life. I failed. But what happened while Aerea Targaryen’s body failed was much worse. When the fever reached such a degree that her eyes cracked like eggs and exploded inside her skull… I thought it was over, for no one could survive that. But then, as Barth and I lowered her into the last, coldest bath I could draw, feeling the cysts press up against our hands, her skin broke, letting out things that squirmed and wiggled in the water, letting out chilling, low little screams of their own, as if they were being tortured.

I’ve never seen an end so painful or agonizing as that of Princess Aerea Targaryen. I often wake up in the middle of the night, from a nightmare. I wonder if the child knew she was dying, if she had conscience of it. If, even with all the milk of the poppy I gave her, she was still lucid, trapped in the horror of her own body, a part of her mind watching as if it were happening to someone else. And I can’t tell if it’s worse that she was or not. Other times, I dream of her accusing violet eyes, weeping blood while she, from the depths of her ravaged throat, demands to know why I didn’t save her, or why I didn’t let her die sooner.

I wonder if Barth thinks there was a reason why a child so young had to through something so terrible. To me, a man not well-versed in the will of the gods, what happened to Aerea Targaryen looks like a deliberately, exceedingly cruel punishment for some perceived slight. That is, if what happened to her was brought on by the gods instead of some other, evil force.

Barth’s certain the Princess attracted the attention of something in the ruins of Valyria; it’d explain the injury on Balerion’s side, the one that isn’t healing. However, I can’t help but go a step further: Aerea was infected with something. Not knowing how she got those human-faced maggots into her body, I can’t help but wonder if she wasn’t held captive and experimented on, like the animals kept at the Citadel for vivisections. And if the people who put those things in her didn’t release her with the intention that those maggots break out and spread. And now I’m afraid of thinking more of it, because the ones who hurt her are still out there somewhere.

I wish I could forget what I saw, but it’s branded on my brain — even if I were to give in to the urge of gouging out my eyes, the last hours of Princess Aerea Targaryen on this earth would be my last sight. The horrifying image of her emaciated, burning body, and the things that burst through her skin could drive even a wildling from beyond the Wall mad. I’d welcome the sweetness of losing my mind, but I fear this is a nightmare I’ll never wake up from.

He looked around the table, saying, “Septon Barth’s more detailed. Pay attention,” and went on to read the septon’s recounting.

Having Aemond tell her of the princess’s death was one thing, but hearing the accounts of two witnesses made it real, especially because Aemond hadn’t described the poor girl’s death with so many stomach-churning details. Ravella’s heart broke for the princess, whose only wish in life was to have a home.

She frowned, biting down on her lips, fisting her hands so tight, she almost drew blood. She wanted to find whatever did that to a child and kill them. Punish them. But there was nothing she could do, so she prayed that, whatever happened to a Targaryen after death, Aerea was in a better place now, where nothing and no one could hurt her, that she was back together with her beloved twin sister and both of them finally had a bond with their mother, Princess Rhaena, who spent months flying the skies in search of her daughter, but couldn’t make it back to King’s Landing to see her one last time.

Aemond’s soft touch startled her, so she whipped her head to stare at him. After giving her hand a squeeze, he put the papers on the table, and said, “Balerion was the first dragon to live in the Pit. I wonder if the injury he suffered was so great that it made him more susceptible to death.”

“Forty years doesn’t seem so short, cousin,” Princess Rhaenys said.

“For us, maybe. But dragons can live centuries,” he looked at his uncle. “Do you know if anything happened to Father?”

“What do you mean?”

“A wound or injury or illness… Anything that could explain what’s happening to him,” he pressed.

Daemon thought about it. “He tried to fly Balerion to Dragonstone the day he claimed him, but Balerion wouldn’t go. A year later, he was dead.”

“And he never tried to claim another dragon?” Alicent asked.

The king’s brother shook his head. “No dragonrider has ever had two mounts.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” Aegon spoke up. “Maybe he could try now. Vermithor and Silverwing are riderless and know him. He could try.”

“Dragons make a rider stronger. That’s why I was able to recover so fast,” Aemond whispered to her while his family debated Aegon’s suggestion.

“What no one is taking into account,” Rhaenyra spoke up, “is that Father has never tried to claim another dragon. I wish he would, brother,” she locked gazes with Aegon, “but he told me once that we’ve fooled ourselves into believing we control dragons.”

“We wouldn’t have made that mistake if every living Targaryen knew of Princess Aerea,” Aemond retorted, his voice dry.

His half-sister nodded, gracefully conceding the point. “I imagine there was a reason behind King Jaehaerys’ decision to keep her death a secret. He should’ve shared it with his children,” she glanced at Rhaenys, “Did your father never say anything?”

The Lady of Driftmark shook her head. “That was so long before my father’s birth… the only thing he said was that he believed Princess Aerea contracted a mysterious fever in Valyria.”

“How did he explain the Doctrine of Exceptionalism?” Alicent asked. Everyone looked at her. “You know what it is.”

“Targaryen superiority,” Daemon surmised.

“Yes. What I mean is, if Targaryens are so superior, how did a princess bonded to a dragon — the greatest living dragon, no less — die from a fever?” the queen stared at each one. “Someone should’ve suspected there was something wrong.”

“True,” Daemon crossed his arms. “They blamed it on Valyria, though. Barth believes that’s where Balerion took her. You disagree?” he inquired of Aemond, who was shaking his head.

“The Conqueror went to Volantis before he came to Westeros. He flew over Valyria and didn’t see anyone but stone men; same with older ancestors. I think if anyone lived there, they’d have tried to capture the dragons and riders they saw, right?” he sighed. “I’m not saying Balerion didn’t take her there, only—”

“What happened to the princess was magical, not a disease of the body,” Ravella said, covering his hand with hers. “Like greyscale is said to be a curse of a Rhoynish prince against Valyria.”

“Don’t stop now,” Princess Rhaenyra asked. Ravella was sorry the other woman was so anguished about the king that she was willing to consider what most would call ramblings.

Aemond’s encouraging squeeze gave her some strength. She grinned at him before saying, carefully, “I’m a skinchanger. I can… transpose my conscience to that of a raven if I so choose. It isn’t something that’s perfected like dragon binding, but my family has been gifted with this ability, which I inherited from my father. House Targaryen, more than dragonriding, can see the future,” she glanced at Helaena briefly. “That’s why you were able to escape the Doom. Only… I read in a book that ancient Valyrians used blood magic to create and tame dragons, so I wonder if it could also be used to twist the dragon-rider bond.”

“Meaning…?” Princess Rhaenyra leaned forward.

“If you found the right spell, you could bind King Viserys to a dragon, even if he didn’t want it — the objective isn’t making him ride the dragon, but to keep him alive. I also wonder if there’s another spell to break the bond, make the dragon turn on its previous rider.”

“You think that’s what happened to Aerea,” Aegon guessed, suddenly sharp. It was a wonder he wasn’t yet drunk.

“To a small extent, yes,” she glanced at Aemond. “What happens when a rider gets hurt?”

He didn’t consider her question strange, though his family did. “The day I lost my eye, Vhagar rose to the sky, roaring.”

A silence fell upon them, broken by Helaena, “Dreamfyre went feral while I was giving birth.”

“I had to go to the Pit and take control of her,” Aegon confirmed.

“I had to do the same while Laena gave birth,” Daemon said, refusing to meet Rhaenys and his daughters’ eyes.

“Syrax has always been protective of me,” Rhaenyra said. After her words, they all looked down, pondering on the implications of that.

“Vhagar’s been crazy of late. She’s irritable, like an annoyed old person,” Aemond revealed, and although his thumb was tracing circles over Ravella’s palm beneath the table, his eye was locked on Prince Lucerys. “I doubt I’d be able to control her if we met with Lucerys and Arrax up in the sky.”

“Doesn’t she obey you anymore?” Daemon demanded.

“It isn’t that. She obeys me just fine. But she registers Arrax’s presence in the Pit, and becomes a hound sniffing blood. She doesn’t let me walk away from her. I can tell it’s Arrax because she changes completely. Even when I mount her, she gets different. It’s difficult to explain.”

“In that case, we must keep Vhagar away from Prince Lucerys and his dragon,” Ravella said.

“I agree,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at her middle son with a warning glare. “However, I must ask what you mean by Vhagar doesn’t let you walk away, brother.”

Aemond spread his hands. “When I try, she uses her snout, her paws or her tail to shove me behind her. Some weeks ago, she held me between her talons and flew to the kingswood. I felt like a squirrel caught by a hawk. It’s worse if I am with my left to the Pit, like she considers it her duty to guard me because she knows I can’t see.”

“She’s only started to do that now?” Daemon asked.

“She’s always done that. Not to the point of shoving me, though. At most, she’d look left and growl. Now she seems to consider it useless.”

“Any theories?” Rhaenys asked.

Aemond glared at his cousin. “As a matter of fact, yes. Everyone was so amazed that your daughter chose to die valiantly, like a dragonrider,” sarcasm dripped off his words, “that nobody stopped to think what Laena ordering Vhagar to kill her did to Vhagar. Dragons are bred to protect their riders, but Laena refused to take up a dagger or something else and had her own dragon burn her to death. Vhagar had to obey the very thing dragons are trained to avoid.”

“And you claimed her a few days after that…” the older princess said, eyes widening at the implications of it.

A hard nod. “I was a child at the time, so I lacked the maturity to think of it, but now, I believe Vhagar would kill Lucerys even if I specifically ordered her not to. She’d consider it acceptable disobedience to fulfill her duty.”

“She’d see it as protecting you from yourself,” Daemon spoke up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seven hells.”

“I also vouch for keeping Prince Lucerys away from my son and his dragon,” Alicent spoke up, thoughtful. “Given the circumstances, it might be for the best.”

“Yes, well, Vhagar is the most fearsome war dragon of our time. We must find that spell Lady Whitmore mentioned, if only to fix whatever broke in her with Laena’s death,” Daemon said.

“How do we do that?” Alicent asked.

“Searching the best records in our possessions,” Aemond said, looking around. “We must fly to the Wall, Dragonstone and Oldtown. Their archives are enormous, and one of us will find something about magic. That is, of course, assuming there’s such a spell.”

***

“Are you really going to take me to the Wall?” Ravella asked when they were alone in their chambers.

“Yes, unless you don’t want to go…” he inclined his head. “Why do you always get nervous when we talk of it, butterfly?”

She sighed, and Aemond got worried at the tears welling up in her eyes. “There are many horror stories about the Wall.”

He nodded. “True, but that’s to be expected. The Wall is a formidable structure defended by one of the oldest military organizations in the world. But there’s no need to fear, my love. We’ll be together at all times. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” she smiled, looking down, at the entwined hands. Her next question, though, made the worry return to his heart. “Have you ever felt like Vhagar is too much for you to handle?”

“The day I claimed her, I thought she was going to burn me,” when she arched a brow, he said, “I tried to touch the ropes so I could climb, but she kept snapping her gaze to me, her mouth open, a ball of fire at the back of her throat. I was scared.”

“But have you never felt like she could be your doom, as well?”

“Being burned to death by a dragon I was trying to claim sounds like doom.”

“I mean, something worse than that? Worse than losing your eye,” she hurried to add.

Aemond frowned, then looked ahead, his gaze losing itself in the fireplace. Inside his chest, his heart was beating frantically to shake off the cold spreading through him. There was a hidden meaning to her question, and though he didn’t know what, he disliked it already. “The only thing worse I can think of is losing you. I’d give up my other eye for you.”

There was something wrong with the way she exhaled — it was too shaky, almost as if her ribs were rattling.

“I made a mistake—” she started. “It was an accident, but… have I ever told you it’s possible for a skinchanger to lose themselves to the animal?”

He peered at her. “What do you mean?”

“If a skinchanger spends too long inside the animal, they’ll be trapped there, in the animal’s body.”

“Has it happened to you?”

“No. Not that. But…” startled, he realized her hands were cold, and a blue tint painted the contours of her lips purple. She followed him to the settee in front of the fireplace, and didn’t complain when he covered her with a duvet. That only worried him more. Ravella wasn’t cold, he knew, because she was a vocal complainer — the physical reactions were a result of fear, and her conforming meant she needed what few comforts he could offer.

He poured her a cup of wine, too. It’d help.

“I visited the north when I was eight, after my father was invited to a tourney held in Winterfell.” She licked her lower lip, where a drop of wine was threatening to fall off. “In hindsight, I believe Lord Stark was going to propose a marriage alliance between me and his son, but Father was determined to keep me as heir, which would be impossible if I married a Lord Paramount’s.”

“I like your father,” Aemond drawled, fighting against the urge of getting upon Vhagar and melting every snowflake in the north, especially the ones that landed upon Cregan Stark. It wasn’t the man’s fault that his father had that unfortunate idea of stealing Ravella away — but he’d have benefited from it, and that was enough.

His wife kissed his cheek, saying, “You dislike Onyx, though.” Not explaining that comment, she grew serious again. “The day we left Winterfell, Father took me to the Wall. He wanted to see it after hearing a wandering crow speak of it. When we got there, as guests in Castle Black, I saw a raven perching on a tree in the forest, and skinchanged it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but at the time, it felt like an adventure. A group of rangers was riding into the forest, and we followed them. But the raven was faster, and we soon outflew them, going deep into the haunted forest. There was this stone ringwall on the top of a hill, which I later discovered was the Fist of the First Men. We flew past that, until the raven found a tree where other ravens were, overlooking another group of rangers. I could see there was something coming, but no matter how loud I screamed, they didn’t pay attention to us, even after the other ravens joined me. That was when one ran away, and the others… one climbed up a tree, the last one drew his sword when he saw this… white thing with steam… fog? I don’t know, there was just smoke coming off its body, emerge from the snow-covered trees. One, two, three… six of them. The Others. I screeched and screeched, but the ranger didn’t care. He challenged the Other and died. When his friend climbed down, also ignoring my screeching, the dead ranger rose and killed him… and looked up. And while his eyes had been black in life, in death they gleamed blue. Bluer than your sapphire. He knew we were there, and that’s when I left the raven,” her lips shook as she finished. “I woke up in the Lord Commander’s chambers, to a Black Brother scolding my father for not teaching me how to skinchange properly.”

“What happened after?” he asked.

“Father offered to make a very generous donation to the Night’s Watch if the Lord Commander allowed that man to accompany us to the Park, where he’d teach me more about skinchanging. My father knew something of it, but his knowledge was rudimentary, whereas Thoren grew up knowing as much about it as possible. He was born as one of the free folk — that’s how the wildlings call themselves —, and taken in by the Watch after his family’s death. Anyway, the Lord Commander accepted my father’s offer, and Thoren fulfilled his end of the bargain. He was so disgusted when he realized skinchanging was instinctive south of the Wall,” she shook her head, drinking her wine.

“Didn’t they do anything about the Others?” Aemond asked.

“They can’t. The Watch is dwindling, and even if not, there aren’t many people who believe the Others are real. It’s terrible. That’s why I got nervous on the isle and asked you to sing. I’ve always known the Others would return, I just never thought I might witness it.”

He sighed. His poor little butterfly. “You stay here. I’ll get Vhagar and fly beyond the Wall—”

She lunged to her feet, and next thing he knew, she was gripping his hands, knelling on the floor between his legs, frantic and choking on her own breathing. “Don’t! Please, don’t do this! Promise me you won’t!”

He didn’t care for histrionics, being too rational to withstand those. But Ravella’s agitation made him pause. He pulled her close, and not breaking their gaze, vowed, “I won’t. Be calm, my love. I’ll need your help, though — I must find this Thoren, so I can make the threat coming our way known. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” she said, fisting her hand through his hair, forcing his neck to move so she could press their lips together. He felt the salt of her tears. “Just don’t endanger yourself. Please—”

He promised again that he wouldn’t, his voice sweet and soft. It took a while, but eventually, her terror faded, so he carried her back to their bed, where they made love until clarity returned to her, and she realized she needn’t fear for his wellbeing. If there were monsters coming their way, Aemond would do exactly what the dragon in Helaena’s dream did — wrap her under the veil of his protection, and keep her safe.

***

Ravella was able to finish her carving the following afternoon. By then, Helaena and Aegon had traveled to Oldtown, under the excuse of visiting their younger brother, Daeron, and Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and stepdaughters were back on Dragonstone. She and Aemond would go north, straight to Castle Black, though he’d tried to convince her to stay as Lord Umber’s guest.

The little spitfire was determined to not let him out of her sight, though.

While they waited for Vhagar to land on the rocky cliffs beneath the Keep, Aemond turned to his mother. “What’s wrong with her?”

It didn’t surprise him that Alicent noticed his wife’s distress, but he refused to add to her worry. Her entire married life, she spent believing Rhaenyra would kill her children; he didn’t want to contemplate how she’d react if he told her all the horror stories they heard as children were real. At least, until he had proof. “She’s worried about Father. And about Vhagar killing Luke,” he grinned.

“You never said anything—” his mother started.

“I didn’t know, Mother,” he stared at her. He was a man grown, but if she were to pull him into her arms and give him one of those fierce hugs, he wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t too grown up to reject her affection. “I haven’t seen Luke since that night. Now that I know how Vhagar feels, I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him. The smile was a bright one when she looked at Ravella again. “Vhagar loves her.”

He fully turned so he could watch as his wife placed the center of Vhagar’s snout with kisses and whispered some low words that made the enormous beast rumble. Around her, the dragon was as docile as one of the kittens Lady Stokeworth carried around. That was a result of Vhagar understanding the depth of Ravella’s bond to Aemond, the intensity of his love for her… and his training to protect Ravella in case of need. But mostly, it was about Ravella. Vhagar could sense her distress and was being extra careful with her; their bond was pulling at him, as if there was a question the dragon was dying to ask, but couldn’t, so he kept pushing back at it, signaling they had to be careful with her, because she was hurting.

“Vhagar has incredible taste,” he smiled. “We’ll be back soon. Maybe one of the rangers will have reports of a disease similar to Father’s, and a cure,” he kissed her hand. “I’ll write to you.”

“May the gods bless you so, my son,” she hugged him.

He stepped away, and nodded at Cole. He didn’t instruct his mentor to guard the queen, because he knew the man would — with his life. Instead, he walked away, only looking at his mother and waving before climbing onto Vhagar’s back, Ravella tucked safely between his thighs.

“Time to spread your wings, little butterfly,” he kissed her cheek, laughed when sand flew everywhere as Vhagar lifted her paws and took off.

“Can we make a detour to the Isle before we go?” Ravella asked.

“Anything you want, my love,” he confirmed. Finding a cure for his father’s ailment was important, but nothing mattered more than Ravella. She’d find sanctuary on the Isle, revel in the knowledge the Others were kept at bay, at least for now.

He didn’t bother to land close to Harrenhal this time, taking Vhagar straight to the isle in the middle of the lake. The dragon’s wings beat up while Aemond, holding Ravella, climbed down the ropes until dropping to the ground. While she removed the cap and shook her shoulders, he watched as Vhagar landed on the other side of the Trident and curled around herself to wait for them.

He took her hand again, a bag of corn and a light meal on his other hand, and together, they made the path to the center of the isle. It seemed to him the path was easier to follow… cleaner, though the sun would set in a few hours. “Prince! Prince! Prince!” some ravens shrieked.

“Grain!” another begged.

Ravella laughed, and Aemond shook his head, pleased at the sound. If the little beasts could make her easier, he’d give her a hundred ravens and let them call him names.

“To the table,” he mumbled, and the animals followed.

By the time they made it there, the trees’ branches were heavy with birds. He opened the bag with his dagger and threw all the corn on its top, letting the animals feast. Then, he took out the meal prepared for them and arranged it between them, to the right of the ravens.

Ravella grinned when he showed her the piece of obsidian he’d found, so he placed the long, tooth-shaped black piece on her hand with utmost care. The first time they came here, there was one on the same spot, almost as if someone had forgotten it. Now, Aemond believed whoever had left this one — and he liked thinking it was a child of the forest —, had intended for it to be found.

“Tell me about your childhood. A happy memory,” he asked.

She looked at a tree, and sighed. “In the first days following my father’s death, it looked like there was a raven following me. Not Onyx. He’d come and perch at any available space and watch me. If I were crying, he’d fly close and rub his head on my cheeks to dry my tears. One day, I asked if there was someone inside, and he just… tilted his head. So, I took a deep breath and skinchanged him. The first thing I knew was that my father was there, saying it’d taken me long enough.”

“Your father?” he repeated, brow furrowed.

“My father,” she nodded, a blinding smile on her face. “It isn’t uncommon that skinchangers pick an animal to live on after their bodies die. My father wasn’t ready to leave me alone. When I came to King’s Landing, he went into a dog.”

He remembered the furry animal that had followed her everywhere and slept on her bed, accordingly to Helaena. “And you could talk to him,” he guessed.

“If I skinchanged, I knew he was there, and he offered some comfort… not a conversation. It’s just that I knew him, and could tell his mood. However, his soul faded as the years passed, and now there isn’t much of him left. Onyx is a reminder. There isn’t a lot of him there anymore,” she reached out for his hand. “I wish there were, if only so he could see for himself that he could rest, as I finally had found the same thing he had with my mother. He’d have adored you.”

Her words made his throat tight. “And I’d have adored him as if he were my own father,” he kissed her hand. “He—” something behind her caught his attention. Carefully, Aemond picked up the shard of obsidian and held it up, “We’re guests here! Come share a meal with us and get your weapon back!” he called out.

Ravella grinned, her tension momentarily forgotten. She inclined her body, resting a forearm on the top of the table, and waited. After a long time, the bushes shuffled again, to reveal a nut-brown, bright-eyed, skittish… being.

A child of the forest, he thought, putting the obsidian shard to his right, and moving the platter of fruits close to it. He and Ravella held still as the child approached, weary; Aemond didn’t repeat his offer, though a smile opened up as the child selected a berry and took it to its mouth, before reattaching the obsidian to the end of what he realized was a spear. The maesters said they hunted and warred with obsidian.

“You came on the dragon,” the child said, and his voice didn’t look like that of a child’s. Despite his size — he reached Aemond’s hips —, he sounded like an adult, burdened by an ancient knowledge. He sounded like Vhagar would if she could talk, Aemond decided.

He nodded in confirmation. “Vhagar is her name. She’s bonded to me. I’m—”

“Prince Aemond, the One-Eyed Dragon.”

He arched his brows. “You know me?”

“Of course. The gods watch, though they’re eyeless.” A jerky twitch of large ears that looked like a cat’s. “You’re a Whitmore from Whitmore Park,” he addressed Ravella.

“Yes,” she beamed. “Is it that obvious?”

“We’ve watched you, too. I saw you as a baby in your cradle, before I returned home. We always visit those who keep the faith.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Not one you can pronounce,” he told Aemond, “though she might learn.”

“She’s perfect,” he agreed.

The child frowned. “You mean it,” he turned to Ravella, looking puzzled, “It isn’t a lie.”

While she was nodding, Aemond said, “Of course not. I love her. How do we call you?”

“How do you want to call me?”

“This one’s a bit too frustrating for me,” he told Ravella with a sigh.

She laughed. “Is Berry alright?”

The child looked at the fruit he held in his four-fingered hand. “I’m eating a berry,” he pointed out, and smiled. “Yes, it’s alright.”

“How do you speak the Common Tongue?” Ravella asked.

“One of my kin left the isle when young and explored the world. When she came back, she taught us all she had learned. Now it’s my turn to share the stories, but I want to meet the dreamer and the greenseer,” Berry answered.

“Excuse me?” A glance at Ravella revealed she didn’t understand it, either.

“The dreamer and the greenseer. They are close to you.”

“Are they?” Aemond exchanged a look with Ravella. She shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what Berry meant.

“Yes. I have to open the greenseer’s third eye.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be necessary, for when they come.”

“Who?” Aemond was feeling slightly stupid.

“The Others.”

Ravella choked on her drink and stood up, back stiff, saying she had to pray. While she did, Aemond turned to Berry, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The greenseer—”

“Berry, please,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know the greenseer you’re looking for. The only thing I know is legends.”

“The Song of Ice and Fire,” the child supplied.

Aemond frowned. He was the family’s scholar; he’d found some scrolls about it. Coming across a copy of Daenys Targaryen’s Signs and Portents had made him research everything he could about what it could be about. He’d concluded it was the long night, and although he knew he wasn’t the Prince that was Promised — the hero who’d defeat the darkness that spread over the world —, he’d hoped. At eight, he was determined to make his ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, proud.

And he was convinced it was the only way to make his father see him. Not only Rhaenyra.

Now? He understood his father had groomed Rhaenyra to birth the Prince, because he didn’t consider any of his own sons worthy. And after he’d lost his eyesight, even Aemond agreed. The hero couldn’t be a cripple, a drunkard or a child. Daeron had potential, but if Berry was telling the truth, the Prince had to be an adult, fully matured and capable of leading as well as fighting.

“Why not the Starks?” he asked. “They’ve been here since the long night. Bran the Builder was the last hero, wasn’t he?”

“The Starks will be important, too. But the Prince that was Promised comes from the line of Aegon the Dragon. He’s the ruler of Westeros.”

“Then we’re lost,” Aemond shook his head. “The ruler of Westeros is anything but a warrior.”

“The ruler of Westeros will be,” Berry corrected.

Aemond thought of it. “When?” he asked.

“Soon.”

“Be a little specific, please.”

“Within your lifetime, Dragon Prince,” the child sounded irritated. “You’ll see for yourself.”

“My sister—”

“Have a role to play, as does everyone. They aren’t the Prince. The Prince that was Promised must be born of ice and fire, that’s the only way to claim the Song. Your sisters aren’t. Neither are their children.”

“You mean both of them,” he shook his head. “What can you tell us?”

“You must go to the Wall.”

Aemond nodded. “We are going. We stopped here because Ravella needed—”

“She’s a woman of faith. And good taste, too,” the child said, watching Aemond’s staff. Though the request remained unspoken, Aemond retrieved it, laying it on top of the table for Berry’s perusal. “You shall use it in battle soon. When you lift it over your head, it shall cast light over the world.”

“Please, no prophecies,” Aemond said.

Berry laughed, sounding just like his father. “You wanted me to tell the future. I can’t tell you much but what you already understand deep in your heart: the world’s going to unravel, and if you hope to set it right, you must fight twice as hard.”

“Stop making me curious,” he groaned.

Another chuckle. “Very well, Aemond Targaryen, I won’t burden you with your future, but I’ll extend the gift of the old gods over you if you’d allow me to.”

“I would, if you told me why,” he straightened his back, serious. “I’m not belittling your offer, Berry, but I don’t follow the old gods. I’ll consider their favor a great honor, because of my wife—” he trailed off. Berry looked straight ahead. Aemond turned to follow the direction of his gaze. Ravella still had her back to them, and it seemed, for a fleeting second, that the tree she was kneeling in front of, was weeping. “She deserves the honor of being gifted by the old gods. I don’t.”

The child tilted his head, his big golden eyes slightly narrowed. “Would you like to bear it for her?”

Aemond swallowed. The tree she was in front of was one of the few ones with a beam carved on its bark. “For Ravella, then,” he got to his feet, obeying Berry’s order to go away.

***

The sky was painted in shades of pink, orange and gold, some parts already the purple that came before the velvet black of night. Some lonely stars shone up in the distance. They sighted Winterfell at the same time, and Aemond made the decision of stopping there for a while, landing on the winter town outside the double walls. People pointed and whispered, bending their knees when they saw him — with a dragon, there was no doubt he had to be a Targaryen. It was a blessing, really, to be identified due to Vhagar and not the eyepatch, he thought as the gates to the keep opened, and when they went in, it was to find an army of people kneeling. “Lord Stark, please. We’re but guests here,” he said, uncomfortable.

“Welcome to Winterfell, my prince,” Cregan Stark said, standing. When he smiled at Ravella, Aemond made conscious effort to avoid breaking all his teeth. “Lady Whitmore.”

“Thank you, my lord,” they said together.

“Allow me to introduce my lady wife, Lady Arra,” he said, motioning to the petite woman with ash-blonde hair beside him. Her overcoat opened to reveal her swollen belly. Aemond wasn’t calmer by knowing she was pregnant. In fact, wondering how that woman was able to walk without falling face first only added to his pessimism.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he bowed and kissed her hand. He didn’t hide his surprise when Ravella simply took a step forward and exchanged hugs and kisses with Lady Stark.

Not only that, but Arra Norrey threw etiquette to the wind and clutched Ravella to her. Laughing, they walked into the castle at a sedate pace, so Lady Arra didn’t tumble.

“I’m afraid our wives became good friends as children,” Cregan smirked. “She was heartbroken she couldn’t attend your wedding.”

Aemond followed Lord Stark inside. Like Samwell Blackwood, Cregan was a few years older than himself. “If I had known Lady Stark and Ravella were such good friends, I’d have flown her to King’s Landing, like I did the Daynes.”

“That’s very thoughtful, my prince, though I’m afraid we wouldn’t have been able to accept it. Arra’s pregnancy has been hard on her. The maester says two babies drain her strength.”

“Two?” he widened his eye, but ended up smiling. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

“Although, now that I’ve heard of Lady Arra’s struggles, I’m ashamed of coming here unannounced. In my defense, flying by without acknowledging House Stark felt incredibly rude.”

“If you want to make up for it, you can send reinforcements to the Watch, Prince Aemond.”

Startled at the man’s audacity, Aemond stared at him. Then, he burst out laughing. “I like your daring, my lord. Tell me how I can help, I’ll take this issue to the King in person.”

As Cregan Stark spoke, he decided stopping at Winterfell wasn’t his best decision. Throughout the night, the young lord painted an ugly picture of rangers lost beyond the Wall, and deserters executed in the south. Aemond knew he had to approach the subject with utmost care when he returned to King’s Landing. But, he thought hours later, laying under the furs next to Ravella, how could he ask men to die in the cold waste up north and act as if their lives had no valor, when the threat was against everyone, including himself?

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond smut

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viterbofangirl · 1 year

Text

I posted 3,877 times in 2022

11 posts created (0%)

3,866 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cat-a-holic

@canardbabillard

@featherfur

@squirrelasinthewoodlandanimal

@fallynleaf

I tagged 3,870 of my posts in 2022

#fanart - 278 posts

#star wars - 165 posts

#heaven's official blessing - 157 posts

#tgcf - 157 posts

#the daily adventures of viterbofangirl - 131 posts

#*undignified giggle-snort* - 130 posts

#dracula daily - 128 posts

#this blue hellsite - 126 posts

#just for fun - 122 posts

#somedays i love this website - 95 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#every scene with renner and johannson together is played as a huge unspoken 'fuck you' to brucenat and the farm family and bless them for it

My Top Posts in 2022:

Hey I don't have links myself but re: that post about DuckDuckGo: I've seen a different version of the post with links to the CEO's Twitter where he refuted that (and explained why independent outlets fall lower in results) and I don't think it's true. There are a few reblogs in the notes with links. Also many of the alternatives in that list are Google or Bing clones posing as "independent" search engines to lure in people who are cautious about the big names.

Thank you so much for this info! TBH it's a relief because I've been quite happy with DDG, and I will now be on the watch for poser search engines!

4 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

Tag game!

Thanks to the ever-lovely @akamarykate for tagging me! <3

Rules: Tag nine people you want to know better.

Three ships: Most recently, Jiang Cheng/Wen Qing from The Untamed, but I gotta go with Luke Skywalker/Mara Jade from the Star Wars EU, and Gary Hobson/Toni Brigatti for the longest-lasting ships!

First ever ship: See the above two! They were going on around the same time. L/M probably predates G/T by a year or two, but G/T was more viciously shipped (at first).

Last song: “Queen” by Loren Gray

Last film: Film? Ah geez. I honestly don’t know. I’m going to cheat a little and say “Frozen II” not because I recently watched it, but I’ve had a strong hankering for it so it’s got a 99% chance of being the next movie I watch!

Currently reading: I’m technically in the middle of “Because Internet” by Gretchen McCulloch, but tbh I’ve been reading a metric shitton of MDZS fanfic on my Kindle.

Currently watching: I’m taking a very brief hiatus from The Untamed and just finished up rewatching BBC’s The Musketeers, a.k.a. Man Candy the Series.

Currently consuming: Alyssa’s Healthy Chocobites

Currently craving: Reaching That Point In My Life Where I Regain A Smidgen Of Energy. And also the inspiration to continue some WIP fics!

Tagging: @themoonstarwarrior, @cat-a-holic, @fallynleaf, @threadsketchier, @squirrelasinthewoodlandanimal, @pityen81, @shaelit, @lucife56, @ancientstone but seriously no pressure on the above and loads of encouragement to participate to anyone else! To anyone who wants to play, please just tag me so I can see your answers! <3

5 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

(x)

5 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖

My sideblog was tagged by @ancientstone and so I decided to post there AND on my regular blog!

Okay, so, I've been writing and not completing fandom stuff since I was at LEAST 16 which means over twenty years now, but I looked through my folder and I *think* these are my faves in no particular order:

1) Sinbad and the Garden of the Hesperides: a Proteus-heavy sequel to Dreamworks' animated "Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas" because Proteus deserves ALL THE LOVE dammit! >:[ (currently over 41k words and unposted but stay tuned because I know the first 4-5 chapters are done at least...)

2) The Sense of Her: a FMA Royai one-shot taking place over multiple points in the series, each scene focused on one of the five senses (currently on AO3)

3) Gunslinger: written in a different narrative style than my usual (Old-West stylized omniscient present vs alternating third-person POV) it's a retelling of Roger Corman's (yes, I know) movie "Gunslinger" starring Beverly Garland that is one of my favorite MST3Ks (yes, I know) but still has really good bones to the story (unposted and honestly barely started but still has some damned good lines if I do say so myself)

4) No Miracle for the Likes of Us/Rebirth/Codename:Teen Idol 'Dite: *CHEATER ALERT!* These are _three_ Venus/Kunzite-centric Sailor Moon fics, but are set in the same no-Stars-AU, with the first detailing the fall of Silver Millennium, the second beginning with the Shitennou being revived immediately after the manga's SuperS arc, and the third being a plot line so heavily intertwined with Rebirth that I haven't decided whether or not to make them one big fic featuring Codename as specified interludes o_O;;; (overall size: *drops face into hands* it... it just keeps GROWING... *sobs*)

5) She-Ra: Princess of Power: a massive retelling of the original She-Ra series as a continuation of the Mike Young 200X animated He-Man and the Masters of the Universe series, with each chapter an "episode" (currently a highly disjointed >57k monster, but the first two "episodes” are on AO3)

Tagging @akamarykate @fallynleaf @rhysiana @threadsketchier @adriannasharp and anyone else who wants to participate! Tag me if you reply so that I might properly appreciate your efforts and genius! <3

7 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Offered Up

Abel you placed the stone in my hands Told me that God prefers innocent lambs Strike hard strike true my own my brother Then He’ll prefer you favored over another

Offer me up

Don’t worry don’t worry my own my brother I’m happy I’m happy my own my brother Release me release me my own my brother

Offer me up

The stone sat heavy and thick in my hands The blood ran heavy and slick on my hands This murder it seemed like a trick on my hands

Who is the victim? Who was the victim?

(inspired by @zelkam’s gifset)

22 notes - Posted March 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #my stuff

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Master of His Own Fate

Pairing: dark!Bucky x Reader, dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: As far as Bucky knew, fate would not decide who you belong to. Very twisted dark soulmate AU.

Words: 3.3k

Warning: forced bonding (in a way), blood, violence, messed up stuff, language, noncon (if you squint). 18+ ONLY

MASTERLIST

A/n: I have no idea how this got deleted ^.^

Part 2

-----------------------------------------

Bucky crushed the phone in his hand and let the broken pieces clatter to the floor. His whole body trembled with barely restrained anger and he took deep breaths to calm himself. How could you do this to him. How dare you.

You’d known each other for two years now since you joined the Avengers Medical team at the tower. As someone who frequented the med bay a lot, you both saw a lot of each other. Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that you were a sweetheart. His sweetheart. He didn’t care that the initials on your wrist were not his. He didn’t care about the stupid Soulmate legend. You were made for him and that was the end of it. So why now did he find your profile on findmysoulmate app? Why were you looking for the person whose name matched the initials on your wrist when the one who you belonged to was right here?

“Buck, you okay pal?”, Steve asked, and Bucky’s gaze flew to him.

“No. I am not alright. My girl has decided to whore herself out to other men and I am not fucking alright Steve!”

“Your girl…Y/n would never do that. I just saw her this morning.”

When the people said Steve and Bucky were best friends on and off field, they forgot to mention about how alike they were in their thinking too. If Bucky said you belonged to him, Steve believed him, no questions asked.

“She has a profile on findmysoulmate. I saw it. She’s looking for him, whoever he is!” Bucky shouted and then started pacing back and forth. Steve let him work out his frustration for a minute before stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You know, maybe you should finally talk to her now. She’s young, innocent. And she spends awful amount of time with Wanda who never shuts up about soulmates. She’s impressionable and must have been confused. You can put that right. Let her know who owns her.” Steve said gently. Bucky blinked at Steve then nodded. It made sense after all. You were a nice girl. You would never intentionally break his heart.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I need to let her know she’s mine. I’ve waited long enough for her to come to the conclusion on her own anyway. She’s young, she needs help to see it.”

----------------------------------------------------

You were returning to the compound after a day of disappointment and exhaustion. Wanda had convinced you to make an account on findmysoulmate and post a pic of the initials on your wrist. Everyone wasn’t born with some stranger’s initials tattooed on their body. You’d lived with these two letters since the day you were born, and people had told you how lucky you were to be gifted with someone special. They did not however understand how utterly taxing it could be to have a soulmate. Finding the person you are destined for is not easy, since they could be anywhere in the world, in any country. You had no luck finding him, whoever he was, and you were losing hope.

People who didn’t have their soulmarks didn’t understand the burden it came with. Once you knew that there was someone out there in the world for you who was going to be in absolute sync with you, you just couldn’t settle for anyone else. It doesn’t matter how many nice men you met or dated, you kept thinking about the person you’re meant to be with. You can’t be happy with anyone else, ever. For the longest time now, you’d ignored your soulmark after having no idea who the initials belonged to. You couldn’t live your life searching for him. Instead, you focused on your studies and honed your skills until you became the youngest doctor to join the avengers. You loved working here and the busy atmosphere almost always took your mind off things. But then you met Wanda Maximoff and the girl wouldn’t shut up about the mystery man you’re meant to “marry and have cute cute kids with who’ll call me auntie Won-Won!”. How Wanda convinced you to not just join the app but go on a date with a man who matched your soulmark you don’t know. But it was a disaster. Though the man had your initials on his wrist too, it was more than obvious in the first few minutes that you both were not the people destiny paired together. Not only was he a pervert whose gaze barely lifted from your cleavage, but he was also a junkie who took out a pouch from his pocket and laid down two lines of coke on the table as dessert. After you had made sure to report your date and pay for the miserable dinner, you’d gone out on a drive and stopped by every food cart on the way to indulge in comfort food.

Now, it was way past midnight as you returned to the compound with your beautiful dress wrinkled and makeup smudged from crying. You were tired and you vowed to give a piece of your mind to Wanda the first thing tomorrow morning, right after chucking your phone in her face. You entered the security pin to your apartment and shut the door behind you, blindly searching for the switchboard. Flicking it on, you removed your high heels and sighed in relief.

“Welcome back.”

You screamed and stumbled back, before you recognized the figure sitting in your living room. Bucky had his legs crossed at his ankle and he was drinking whatever soda you’d left in the fridge.

“What the fuck, Bucky? You scared me to death!” You huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing here at this hour anyway?”

Bucky took another gulp of his drink before setting his glass down and looked at you with a frown.

“The question should be where the fuck have you been all this time? I’ve been here since seven in the evening and you are returning hours later looking like you just spent a few hours sucking some good for nothing bastard’s dick.” He had never cursed in front of you like that or been rude to you.

“Excuse me, what the hell is wrong with you. I – You know what, just leave. I’m too tired to deal with anyone’s shit at the moment. Go.” You just wanted to burrow in your bed and sleep your horrible day off. You’ll worry about a cranky Bucky tomorrow.

“No, I think we’ll stay.”

“We?”

That was when Steve emerged from your kitchen and you tried your best to rouse your half-asleep mind. Bucky and Steve were in your apartment after midnight, without your consent and they seemed less than friendly. You looked at them cautiously, very sure they were in no need of emergency medical aid to prompt this visit. Both of them were frowning at you, their eyes displeased at your ruffled appearance.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I am seriously too tired to care. I had the most horrible date of my life and I’m sure I ate too much and will end up puking in the morning. Whatever you have to say, can it wait until tomorrow?” You were already crossing the hall to your bedroom as you spoke, but Bucky quickly stood up and stopped you with a grip on your arm.

“You were on a date?” He growled and looked at Steve as if to say, ‘what did I tell you’.

You shrugged his arm off, the cold metal of it waking you up along with the dark tone of his voice. Suddenly, though you were in your home, you felt unsafe. It was bizarre because these were two avengers who you counted as friends and felt very secure with, but you gut was screaming at you to get as far away from them as possible. The very peculiar feeling of fear formed in your gut, the very same one that women get when they know they are being stalked in a dark alley at night. You hesitantly moved away from Bucky, only to bump into Steve. You peered at him over your shoulder and he wore the most disappointed expression you had ever seen on his face.

“Where do you think you’re going Y/n? Bucky asked you something, answer him.” Steve said and pushed you towards his friend with a hand on your back. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you, waiting. You felt trapped, your exhaustion waning with every passing second.

“What’s happening guys? You both are scaring me.” You said.

“Maybe you should be scared, sweetheart. You just came home having spent the last few hours with a man who’s not me and going by the state of you, your evening was very eventful. Did you let him cum in you? Did you compare those tattoos on your wrists and make plans for future?” Bucky had crept closer and now he was inches apart, his words spoken directly in your face.

You blinked almost stupidly at this sudden twist in your night. Bucky was angry at you for having gone to a date, Steve was disappointed. But that makes no sense. Why should it matter to them at all, unless for some reason Bucky thinks…?

“Buck, you are my friend. I don’t know why you’re talking this way. Why you sound so –”

“– So jealous? Because you fucking belong to me. You have always belonged to me.”

The moment the words left him, your worst suspicions were confirmed, and you wasted not one second before sprinting for the door. You think you would have managed to evade Bucky had Steve not been there. He seemed to have been waiting for you to make a move and you had taken only a step before you were grabbed by the back of your neck and pulled into Steve’s body.

“Stop! Both of you! Let me go!” You struggled but Steve held you fast and soon Bucky was at your back, his breath on your neck and hands capturing your arms.

“Baby, you need to slow down. Your squirming is turning me the hell on and as much as I would love to wipe any other man’s essence from you, we need to do something else first.” Bucky said and a second later he bit your neck making you screech. He kept pushing his teeth in, breaking your skin and you felt blood pooling in the juncture of your neck.

“Buck, stop.” Steve said and threw Bucky off you with a powerful shove. “Shit, come here sweetie.” You were cradled in Steve’s embrace, his handkerchief at your neck putting pressure on the wound and hand caressing your head. When Bucky made to move forward you whimpered and Steve stopped him with a raised hand.

“Baby, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Bucky said and you looked at him with tear filled eyes. Your day today has been a whirlwind of shitstorm and you just wanted it to be over so you could forget everything about it.

“Y/n look at me” Steve said softly and raised your face to his with a finger. “Did you have sex with your date tonight?”

His voice and actions were so soft compared to Bucky’s that you shuffled closer to his warmth and shook your head.

“No, I left early. It was terrible, so so terrible that I went out for a drive to clear my mind. I didn’t expect to be so late, but time just flew away.”

You knew you didn’t owe them any explanation; you knew they don’t have any right to ask anything from you. But you were tired, exhausted, shit scared and absolutely terrified of what they would do to you if you didn’t answer them. They were genetically enhanced super soldiers while you were a brainiac doctor who worked overtime to avoid thinking about a man she had never met. You were no match for them physically and you were smart enough to accept defeat when you had to.

“Shh, I got you sweetie. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? I know you’re so tired of being alone, of not having someone with you. But you’re so naïve. Look behind you, the perfect man who will love you more than anyone else is standing right here.” Steve said and turned you to face Bucky. Bucky slowly walked to you and held your hands, kissing both in apology.

“I know this seems sudden but believe me when I say that I’ve loved you practically from the first moment I saw you. Everything about you sets my nerve endings on fire. You dominate every part of my life: my thoughts, my dreams, my very breath has your name on it. You’re mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat in fear. This could not be happening to you. You struggled to remove your hands from Bucky’s, and he relented in the end with reluctance, a scowl on his handsome face.

“Bucky listen to yourself. You’re talking like a crazy man. I don’t belong to you, I literally can’t. I belong with him.” You said pointing at the initials on your wrist. You knew immediately you’d made a big mistake because every last bit of sanity faded from Bucky’s blue eyes and they turned feral. He crowded you and his hands, tight as steel brands, caged your body.

“How dare you, hm? How dare you talk about belonging to someone else in front of me? Don’t think for one second sweetheart that just because I love you, I’ll not punish you.” His voice had gone soft, the way it does when he’s as his most dangerous. Steve stirred somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked in terror to Bucky’s who pinned you frozen with his glare.

“Buck, please…” You didn’t even know what you were asking him for. He apparently didn’t care to know because he had started dragging you across the hall towards your bedroom while you shouted and wrestled in his grip. You shouted for help and begged Steve to help you, but he had was silent and watched you being hauled to your room with no emotion on his face.

Bucky entered your room and swiftly pushed you to sit at the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder and other grabbing fistful of your hair to manipulate your head. You were pulled up and his kiss descended on you with the force of a truck, knocking you back and his body followed. He swallowed your moans and protests, teeth clashing against each other’s. You barely noticed his hand reaching for the hem of your dress and then the ripping sound echoed around your room and cool air met your bare skin.

“Please, don’t!” You said, hiding your breast with your hands. Bucky stood with his gaze fixed on your body and when his hand reached for his pants you started sobbing. Curiously, he didn’t reach for his zipper but instead fished from his pocket his trusty knife. You whole body began shaking enough to rattle your teeth and gibberish spilled from your parted mouth in fear.

“Don’t look at me like that baby, I will not kill you.” Bucky said but you were far from reassured.

You saw Steve enter the room from the corner of your eyes and heard the door shut. He walked swiftly to Bucky’s side and restrained the hand with the knife.

“What the hell are you doing pal? You’re scaring her, put this thing away.” Ever the voice of reason but Bucky looked at him imploringly.

“Don’t you see it Steve? Look at her wrist. As long as she lives, she’ll live with this ‘what if’. But we can change that. Set her free from whoever this man is.”

While the talked you made your last attempt to escape and jumped out of bed towards the door. You could almost taste the freedom on your tongue, the door knob was clenched in your hand when you were yanked back by Steve who hoisted your twisting body on his shoulder and dumped you back on bed with almost no effort. You curled in yourself, acutely aware of your nakedness.

“Don’t take away my soulmark, please. Don’t cut it!” You croaked out and Bucky looked at you with his head titled.

“Cut your arm? No no my love, you’ve got it wrong. I won’t cut your arm” He assured and bent over you to kiss your sweaty brow. “I’ll carve myself into you.”

With that he straddled your waist and kissed you again, the cold knife in his hand making a terrifying trail down your cheek to you neck and collarbone, before stopping right above your heart.

“You think these letters on your wrist make you someone else’s? Well, guess what sweetheart, I’ll put my letters on your heart. Then you’ll become mine!”

Your body jerked violently under his trying to buck him away and Bucky urged Steve to take hold of your arms. You lay prone with a hoarse throat and watched with fascinated horror and pain as Bucky’s knife nicked your skin and glided smoothly to form his initials. He was great with knives, so it hurt less, and the effect was neat. He wiped away the blood and you could see shining on your skin, right over your heart the initials: JBB.

You belonged with, no, you belonged to James Buchanan Barnes.

Your tears had stopped, and you lay limp on the bed, lower half immobile under Bucky’s weight while your arms were held fast in Steve’s. The fight had left your body and you wanted to drown in the numbing embrace of sleep.

“I’ve let too many people control me all my life. The army, then Hydra, even Avengers. They order me and I follow like a good soldier. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not even fate. I’ll be the master of my own fate. You bear my marks now. You’re mine.”

His weight was gone, and he said something about getting you water before leaving the room. You didn’t move but when Steve lifted you a little, so you were in a comfortable position, you for some reason reached out to him and nuzzled your face into his chest to weep. His large hand patted your head and back, voice soothing as he shushed you.

Bucky came back with a chilled glass of water and painkillers but stopped at the door, watching you in Steve’s arm. Your eyes met his and you thought he’d be jealous and pissed but a content smile lit up his lips.

“Steve” His voice rang out and Steve looked at him. Whatever passed in that wordless gaze you couldn’t tell but a minute later Steve was puling you harder to his chest and his lips were pressed in your hair.

“I’m sorry” He whispered in your ear and he did genuinely sound upset. “If there was another way, I swear I would do it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he rolled off the bed and resumed his position of taking hold of your arms. Bucky was again over you with his knife and a wild, almost passionately crazy look in his eyes. The knife was back over your heart but just below the three newly carved letters into your skin. As it sliced into you again, Bucky spoke.

“You can’t belong to me without belonging to him too, for we both are one. And after tonight, the three of us will be bound together.”

The blood forged a small river down your breast, and you hissed as a neat SGR was carved into you.

“You’re our girl Y/n.”

They cleaned you up and dressed you in your softest nightdress, both super soldiers on either side of you. They each held a hand of yours and their own clasped hands lay on your stomach as they slept. It didn’t matter now who was the man who bore your marks. Fate was too late.

#dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #dark!stucky x reader #stucky x reader

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variousqueerthings · 3 years

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Daniel LaRusso: A Queer Feminine Fairytale Analysis Part Three of Three

(another massive, massive thank you to @mimsyaf )

part 1

part 2

8. Queerness and femininity and masculinity and the colour red and *record breaks*

If we spin the record aaalll the way back to this paragraph: “…looking at what it is girls and women in fairytales have/don’t have, what they want, and how they’re going to get it. It’s about power (lack of), sexuality (repressed, then liberated), and men.” Reading Daniel as a repressed, bisexual boy in a society that doesn’t accept his desires it’s interesting looking at how he moves through the world of the Miyagi-verse, at how threatened other men are by him, at how obsessed they are with him.

He’s out in the symbolic woods and these large boys and men see him and decide for whatever plot reasons to come for him. And they are large and violent and attractive and apart from Johnny again, they don’t have the nebulous excuse of fighting over a girl and even that excuse dies by around the midpoint when Johnny kisses Ali just to get a rise out of Daniel. He’s not trying to “win her back,” he’s not even really looking at her. He’s just trying to get a reaction. They don’t have any of the fighters in Rocky’s excuse either of Daniel being a macho opponent.

You can read whatever subtext into TKK1 and TKK2 (which becomes especially tempting once CK confirmed that the guys he fought at seventeen have been thinking about him ever since – for thirty-five years), but TKK3 is where it’s really At in terms of obsession and lust and forbidden desires.

Silver is presented as both a handsome prince who saves Daniel and mentors him (where Miyagi is undoubtedly cast in a fatherhood role) and later on becomes twisted into a dark secret that Daniel has to keep, while he turns that thing that Daniel loves (karate, it’s… it’s karate… it’s also men, but it’s definitely karate, because karate makes him feel… things...) into an abusive, violent version of itself.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But he’s also offering him something liberating. Whatever is going on in that nightclub scene is about something other than breaking Daniel down. Even the bloodied knuckles aren’t just about revenge. It’s about giving him something that he isn’t, in the end, willing to receive, at least not from Silver. In that roundabout, strange way of these feminine fairytales, it’s exploring hidden desires through the metaphor of karate.

Daniel wears red because it’s his colour. In the movies he wears red a lot. Often in scenes with violence in them (the beach/the hilltop in TKK1 and the date/the destruction of the dojo/the final fight in TKK2), but he also has a variety of shirts (and in TKK3 pants) that pop up all the way through the narrative. He wears a red jacket when he accepts Terry’s training, when he punches a guy in the face, and when he tries to get out of the training again (as badly as that goes).

Did anyone consciously think about red’s link to desire, obsession, and violence when they made these? Eh. But is it there symbolically? When he meets Johnny, when he fights Chozen, when he’s in emotionally fraught situations with Terry? Hell yeah.

Probably the most lust-and-violence infused red is that aforementioned punching-board-until-knuckles-bleed bit – not that I thought Terry was going to pull him in for a kiss, because I knew, logically, of course he wouldn’t right? There’s no way… is there? Or later on when Daniel punches that guy and ends up with blood all over his shirt and Terry once more grasps him, euphorically. Blood is violence. Blood is also desire. Red is Daniel’s colour, even though he doesn’t acknowledge it come Cobra Kai. (Maybe he just needs someone else - cough Johnny Lawrence cough - to inspire it in him again).

Daniel LaRusso’s narrative is exploring that most feminine of fairytale tropes: To want and be wanted by monsters and having to hide those desires.

“Maybe this time that strange churning in my stomach that feels like a mix of anticipation and fear will turn out good for me.” - Daniel’s mind.

At the end of the story, Daniel saves himself, with all of the strange mixed narratives around it, and the acknowledgement that the end of The Karate Kid Part Three isn’t satisfying and its aftermath will likely be delved into in the next season of Cobra Kai.

Nevertheless, he saves himself. Not from Silver or Kreese or Barnes, and not entirely, but he makes a decision not to give in to fear (and he continues to try and live by that decision, making it over and over again for the next thirty-five years, even when the return of Cobra Kai makes that difficult for him).

He doesn’t do it by being the strongest in the land or even through a lucky shot (although that too). He does it by refusing to be like the male antagonists that surround him, by telling them they have no power over him. The narrative isn’t just his getting lost in the forest and all the monsters he finds there, it’s about how he redefines power for himself within that forest.

He’s a man who isn’t violent, whose victories include helping out a girl whose ex-boyfriend just broke her radio, successfully doing the moves to a cultural dance he’s trying to learn, sitting with his father figure while he cries over the death of his own father, telling a girl that she’s just made her first friend, and breathing a sigh of relief that a tree that got broken has healed.

Daniel LaRusso is a good boy is the point!

Karate is a metaphor. It can turn into many things: A series of lessons learned about how to be his own man and take care of his own house, a respect for the history of the father teaching him and sharing his home and story with him, fear, desire, masculinity (and the different forms that can take).

When a tall, handsome stranger offers to teach him karate in the dark, without Daniel’s caretaker knowing how to help him, and twists that karate into something that hurts him - when he reclaims that, over and over, that means something too.

This man is fine and definitely isn’t carrying the weight of buried karate-based queer trauma - could a traumatised man do this? *stares blankly at a former tormentor as blood runs down his forehead*

9. In Conclusion Daniel Has Kissed Dudes… Symbolically… But We Can HC Literally:

So there’s Daniel and his coded feminine fairytale narrative. It’s all a series of fun coincidences.

1. Ralph Macchio is just Like That

2. Red. All the red.

3. large portion of his storyline is about lack of power. Yes, he regains that power by the end of the first and second movie through A Fight, but generally he is framed as powerless opposite these almost monstrously physically powerful boys/men. And in the third one it’s barely even about physical prowess (he’d still lose a real fight against Barnes or Silver) and more about regaining lost autonomy off the back of a manipulative, abusive relationship with an older guy.

4. The third movie in particular is narratively a mess, but if reimagined as a fairytale makes a lot of sense (because it’s secretly all about how karate is bisexuality and Daniel gets manipulated through that desire to be better at karate).

5. Queerness and femininity and themes about hidden desires that can only be approached sideways through couching those desires in symbolism: Handshake meme.

6. The fact that the more I think about it, the more feral I am for a Labyrinth AU.

7. To sum up over 5000 words of text: The inherent homoeroticism of wanting to be slammed against a locker by a bully, but extended over three movies and ever-more inventive ways of hurting pretty-boy-Daniel-LaRusso.

Johnny’s not going to be happy when he realises Daniel’s got other ex-rivals buried in his closet...

10. Some Other Stuff Aka The Laziest Referencing I’ll Ever Do

Further reading on trans Matrix

Further reading on masculinity and rape narrative in The Rape Of James Bond

Youtube Video from Pop Culture Detective (Sexual Assault Of Men Played For Laughs)

Some film/TV references in this: Dracula (Coppola), Princess Bride, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Labyrinth, The Matrix, Rocky, Princess And The Frog, Cinderella, Enchanted, Shape Of Water, Swamp Thing, Phantom of the Opera

Some fairytale references: Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, The Wolf And The Seven Little Kids, Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Company of Wolves (Angela Carter), Through the Looking Glass, Princess Bride

Also referenced is Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel and the subsequent musical Funhome. Further thoughts on this by @thehours2002 and @jenpsaki:

https://thehours2002.tumblr.com/post/650033577171533824/daniel-larusso-and-fun-home-click-to-enlarge

https://jenpsaki.tumblr.com/post/650530225997971456/cobra-kai-fun-home-inspired-by-goldstargirls

My list of Cobra Kai meta posts

I wanted to delve into fairytale movies more, but then I was like “fuck, I have actual work to do,” but I was interested in the ways male and female characters are written in these stories:

The Last Unicorn, The Never-Ending Story, The Dark Crystal, Legend, and Stardust.

The Last Unicorn is an interesting one because she’s not really human, until she is. It’s more like The Little Mermaid (the fairytale, not the Disney film) in tone, and of course there’s a pretty substantiated rumour that Andersen wrote that one as a metaphor for falling in love with another man (who eventually got married).

Andersen in general is just fun to analyse as someone who popularized so many fairytales and exists as an ambiguously queer historical figure – might’ve been modern-day gay, bi, ace, but we’re just not sure. All your favourite fairytales can be read through the lens of queer loneliness and ostracization. Just like horror.

Anyway I didn’t go into the whole Little-Mermaid-Last-Unicorn transformation bit so much as the Monstrous-Desires bit, but I think there could be something to that too, with monsters representing otherhood and all. Stardust is a kinda-almost-this, except she sticks to her human form and all is okey-dokey by the end, she’s allowed to marry the handsome man and be a star.

The Never-Ending Story has Atreyu and Bastian and because of a lack of female characters, an interesting bond between the two of them, but mainly Atreyu is absolutely a go-gettem Hero Type and it’s just interesting to see how Bastian relates to him as both an audience insert, but also eventually as his own character in that world.

The Dark Crystal contains certain… androgynous elements of feminine and masculine coded characteristics in the main character because of how he’s not human, but also they do have a “female” version of his species that he needs to go save (and bring back to life) by the end, so in a way it’s both more and less heteronormative in its characters.

Legend sees another example of a monster (literally called Darkness and looking like a traditional devil) trying to seduce a princess through promises of power, and she “goes along with it” in order to trick him and succeeds in that trick, but is ultimately saved by the male lead.

In conclusion: I don’t even have Shrek in this.

#daniel larusso #terry silver #the karate kid #the karate kid part three #cobra kai #ck #cobra kai meta #and in conclusion... brain brain brain

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areyougonnabe · 3 years

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Fic Writer Questions!

tagged by @palamedessextus !!! thank u i love to procrastinate on writing by writing about writing

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

110 on my main account (+ 4 on my sneaky sock for Crimes™ lol)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

614,551 on my main account which is. hm. a lot

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

obvi the main ones are the terror (50 fics) and good omens (35 fics). beyond that: TMA, the OA, doctor who, LOST, red dwarf, what we do in the shadows, the aubreyad, legends of tomorrow, banished, MCU, bbc ghosts, jeeves & wooster, russian doll, true detective, twin peaks, fleabag, & it's always sunny.

so technically 19, but wow a LOT of those are because i am a fiend for crossovers. (true detective x red dwarf... twin peaks x hannibal... the OA x lost.... russian doll x doctor who...) and many of the others were one-offs for yuletide. i'm pretty monofannish when it comes to writing!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

lol they're all going to be for good omens... let's see

1. "it's a new craze" - the podcast fic. imho this fic is the definition of "The Claw," a.k.a. the phenomenon that sees some fics plucked out from the fray to become super popular. i'm not denying that it's good! i still think it's pretty clever! but its popularity was probably as much a function of timing as of quality

2. "what a way to make a living" - the uber driver fic. honestly still pretty proud of this one, it flows well and is structurally interesting and genuinely very funny and the perfect length. i had a blast in good omens fandom writing comedic fic, this one

3. "dearly departed" - another one i'm still very happy with. my first ever finished multi-chapter fic & the story that proved to me i could sustain a plot and original characters and also that people would actually enjoy it. so a pretty big deal!

4. "blame it on my juice, baby!" - the fake love potion one. i wrote this fic while delirious with horrible fever cooped up in a tiny council flat airbnb bedroom in london. i think it's still pretty strong although since writing it i've developed a severe aversion to the "meddling friend engineers a get-together" trope in fic & so cringe a bit when i read it back, lmao

5. "greatest hits" - the one with the original songs! the songs are still good.... the fic is ehhhhhhh i guess.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i don't respond to comments on most of my gomens fic anymore because 🤷‍♀️ but i do try to reply to everything i get on my terror fic/smaller fandom stories! my replies are usually very lame but i do like to take the time to thank people for reading.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i usually don't write angsty endings because i'm a weenie BUT the one exception is probably my terror/TMA crossover which cannot be said to end well by any means lol

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

dearly departed has a very lovely ending... i will also plug my OA fic heat rises which is GREAT and has a GREAT ending and nobody read it because nobody watched the OA. i'm fine it's fine

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

as mentioned above, yes, compulsively... award for craziest simply has to go to It's Always Sunny In Another Dimension which is, yes, an IASIP x OA crossover. i apologize for nothing

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not that i can recall, [bubbe voice] tenks gad!!!

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

i do i do.... when i first picked up fic writing again after college i thought smut would forever totally beyond me but after some very kind encouragement from friends i tried my hand at it & was off to the races.

i would not say i am an expert at it by any means but i have a lot of fun with it, & people seem to generally appreciate it, so i will keep going!

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

also no, phew

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, a bunch of my gomens fics have been translated into chinese and russian, which is so so super cool!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yuh, i had a few legendary cowrites in GO! the slow show metafic with cherry @fremulon and the shitscript crossover extravaganza with hallie @kalelraejepsen !!! both tremendously fun experiences

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

that is a very tough one. if you go by my ao3 bookmarks it's aziraphale/crowley, which might be true still tbh... but i dunno. maybe ten/rose because that shit never leaves you.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

in terms of fic i already started posting, there's my one terror WIP with amnesiac tozer that i swear i WILL finish one day... and same goes for my good omens music & lyrics AU, which i fully expect to pick back up and finish off when i inevitably return to the fandom for series 2.

as far as stuff that never made it out of drafts, i started a hodgson-centric fic a few weeks ago that i got like 4k into before realizing i need to seriously refine my approach. so hopefully after exe fest i will get around to that!

16) What are your writing strengths?

well i am funny. so i've got that going for me. other than that ummmm i don't know. i don't think of myself as a particularly good or strong writer bc i really am just here for a laff. i think i can turn a phrase well and get the most out of imagery; i'm good at coming up with compelling story concepts and weird gimmicks, i guess?

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

i fundamentally don't know or understand how People Actually Act And Feel so i have a hard time getting realistic or interesting reactions and conflicts out of characters. my plots (when my stories have them at all) are very powered by external events, i wouldn't call myself a character-driven writer by any means. for the same reasons i struggle with voice and dialogue beyond superficial signposting via vocabulary/syntax. also, sustaining a long story/finding enough Stuff To Happen to fill it up/having the patience to keep writing... is something i need to work on for sure.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i'm a lame american who only speaks english so honestly i don't really have thoughts!

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

i distinctly remember hand-writing in my notebook two or three pages worth of a story about what happened to the main precog in "minority report" after watching the movie when i was like seven. the first fandom i actually wrote fic for and posted it online was probably doctor who circa 2010 ish? but my warrior cats RP career predates that by a few years and i did a LOT of writing there. oh warriorsforest39 dot proboards dot com you are missed....

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

SEX GHOST AU! SEX GHOST AU!

tagging folks :))) @laissezferre @titleleaf @theburialofstrawberries @girdedheraround @flanneryoconnorfanfiction @wreathedwith if u want!!

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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21 Asks: Fanfiction Q&A

Well I got tagged by @onereyofstarlight @gumnut-logic and @janetm74 for this, so here goes (answering on fic blog, because... fic!)

This is going to take a while, but it’s also going to be fun, so let’s get started :D

1. What fandoms have you written for?

Uhh... several. In alphabetical order because that makes my brain happy, we have:

Published: Bleach, Boku no Hero Academia (My Hero Academia), D.Gray-Man, Detective Conan, Flight Rising, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Märchen Awakens Romance (MÄR), Mortal Instruments, Naruto, One Piece, Team Fortress 2, Thunderbirds, Twilight.

WIPs (Unpublished): Avatar: The Last Airbender, Dragon Orb, Flame of Recca, HunterXHunter, Inuyasha, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures (Part 7/Steel Ball Run), Kuroko no Basuke (Kuroko’s Basketball), MI High, Yu-Gi-Oh (Duel Monsters, GX, 5Ds), Yuri On Ice

A couple of those are only because of crossovers... which we’ll get to later. Similarly, a bunch of the unpublished I have no plans to publish, but I’ve written them so they count in my head.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

AO3: 150 FFN: 149 (the difference is due to a co-authored fic with @lenle-g on AO3, because FFN doesn’t support co-authorship)

(Tumblr has many more because so many of those fics are actually fic collections)

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on AO3 &/or favs on FFNet?

AO3 Kudos:

Tales From The Heart (1449)

The Combat School (524)

Succor (348)

FFN Favourites:

The Combat School (681)

Tales From The Heart (185)

Succor (136)

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & favs?

AO3 Kudos:

Wishes of the Dark (0)

4am Forever / Leave Out All The Rest (2)

FFN Favourites:

A Little Fall of Rain / He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother, Leave Out All The Rest / See You In The Sky / Stolen Shadows all have 0

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

AO3 Comments:

Tales From The Heart (618)

37 have 0

FFN Reviews:

The Combat School (608)

After Sundown / Heroes Made of Gas / Splatter / Stolen Shadows (0)

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

I mean, I always like attention :P That’s a hard question because my fandoms vary wildly in size, so for example, while Tales is one of my most popular fics, it’s still pretty tiny in comparison to the big One Piece fics out there, but ones like Grounded numerically barely rate while actually getting the attention of a much larger proportion of the fandom.

Honestly the fic that’s getting less of a response than I’d hoped is still incomplete... but I think I’ll go with Vulnerabilities. It’s an older fic, and a drabble collection rather than a cohesive story, but it never really got any traction.

7. Have you written any crossovers?

Ah yes, crossovers. I’ve got three published at the moment:

The Combat School (Harry Potter/D.Gray-Man)

Vampire vs. Shinobi (Naruto/Twilight)

Stolen Shadows (Flight Rising/Thunderbirds)

As far as WIPs go, I have (who knows when or if I’ll actually finish or post these):

Alliance (Naruto/Team Fortress 2)

Black Phoenix (Harry Potter/D.Gray-Man)

Legend of the Exorcists (D.Gray-Man/Yu-Gi-Oh/GX/5Ds)

Untitled (Avatar: The Last Airbender/Thunderbirds)

Untitled (Inuyasha/Lord of the Rings)

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

What even counts as crazy?

Okay, I say that, but Vampire vs. Shinobi is a stupid, Twilight-bashing, parody crossover thing so. Probably that.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

Ahaha. There are a few. All of these have MCD warnings (two are canonical), two of which are suicide, so watch out if you’re poking around:

Deception (canon)

I Promised

The Fish and the Mermaid

The Light That Shines Twice As Bright... (suicide)

Torture (suicide)

Unwanted

Whirlwind (canon)

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Tsari likes positive endings. I’m not actually sure what the happiest is, though. I often write... hopeful, rather than happy? The happiest I can think of... is a WIP that I have the ending planned for but that’s spoilers~

I’ll go with Riding the Dragon, I think. But honestly just take your pick out of the family fluff.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

Tsari does not post smut. She has written some, she has not posted it and will keep it that way.

Out of the posted stuff... there is kissing in Briefings?

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I think when you hit 100+ fics, you’re lucky if you don’t. I’ve had a few here and there, but they’re ignorable

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

Oh boy. I have had many nice comments, but I am going to highlight this one in particular because it’s the one that forever and always springs to mind when I get asked this:

Wow. That was pretty great. You writing managed to keep everyone in character, and still kept the story from falling flat. It's almost as if you stole a page from Cassie's story, and stuck it here. I really want to see more from you.

On: A Tradition of Pride

It’s nowhere near the longest I’ve got, and long comments make me super happy, but this one? Being told it fits in with the original book? Makes me beam like an idiot every time.

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

[insert eyeroll here]

I have had fics reposted, yes. Tales From The Heart and Whirlwind have both found themselves posted on sites I don’t use - I managed to get Tales taken down, but the site hosting Whirlwind isn’t paying me any attention.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Nine, which is both too many and not as many as I thought. Although if you ignore the collection fics - Tales From The Heart and Behind The Scenes, which are basically eternal wips - it’s seven.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Just A Bruise, because it’s already just about finished, @lenle-g and I just need to tie up the final chapter and editing the rest of it before it’s posted.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Long Way From Home, because it’s going to be huge and finishing that will feel amazing. But it’s going to take a long time.

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Nope. I will, one day, finish all of them. Yes, even Uchiha Itachi.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Complete? None. However, the above mentioned Uchiha Itachi is being (very slowly) rewritten - and is actually on its second rewrite - because it pains me in its current state.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Asking the hard questions I see. I have a soft spot for In Your Shadow, I admit, although I have several fics that I love (mostly my Military Bros stuff...). Also Tales, although that’s technically not “Complete”.

21. What’s your total published word count?

AO3: 956,962 (I aim to break 1 million by the end of the year... just watch me!)

FFN: 1,102,070 (FFN counts author’s notes, AO3 does not)

If someone is brand new to your writing, what work would you want them to start with to get to know you, your style, what you’re all about?

This is not a numbered question, I see, but it was on the post I copied these from, so I guess this is 21+1 questions!

I’ve answered this before, and honestly I think I’d stick with the same answer - Black Widow. It’s not my biggest fandom. It’s not my most recent work. But it does contain a lot of playing around canon without breaking it.

Although, if someone has the time, Tales From The Heart does great for showcasing the range of things I write. But that’s also 250+ chapters, so probably not a good one to start with.

And this is where I tag people, yes? Not entirely sure who’s been tagged already, but let’s go with @lenle-g @ak47stylegirl @thetwelvecaesars @gaviiadastra @willow-salix @scribeofred

#thunderbirds are go #and various other fandoms i am not tagging them all #ask me #tag game #fanfiction

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marshthat · 3 years

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My Jedi master Eeth Koth headcanons!

Eeth Koth has been my comfort charcter for quite a long time, and still is now (and I hope still will be in the future also, bc I cant imagine me existing without my love for Eeth anymore).

So, I've decided to share my most prominent master Koth headcanons that I've accumulated at this point

As promised, I'm posting only general ones, without any specific implied pairings or other relationships!

note: (due not so much info about Eeth in Canon and Legends (unforgivably little actually), maaaaybe I'm projecting some of my own mental stuff on him, but eh, this is unevitable I guess :)

Have fun reading these!

1. Change of the profile

In his youth, Eeth was a Jedi Guardian, a.k.a "Jedi-on-the-front-line", and carried a blue lightsaber. But after the death of his master, followed by him joining the High Council, Eeth calmed down his inner rambo and changed his profile to a Jedi Consular. And so he chose a path of a diplomat, built a green lightsaber (with a hilt very similar to his dead master's one, as a remembrance) and eventually became famous in the Jedi Order exactly for his ability to resolve conflicts peacefully. (that's why no big missions on his part before the Clone Wars era apart from his participation in the Yinchorri incident)

2. The acceptance issue

Eeth pays a lot of attention to his appearance: carefully brushes his hair, makes sure his clothing is perfect, and so on.

Some consider this a simple whim, but in fact this will to have an ideal appearance is a consequence of some issues Koth now has because of his difficult childhood. Due to the fact that Eeth spent his first four years as a ragged orphan in the filthy slums of Nar Shaddaa, he sometimes feels as if he doesn't deserve to be in such a clean and nice place as the Coruscant Jedi Temple. (And the fact that his membership in the Order at first caused a lot of controversy among the Council masters only worsened this fear)

That is why Eeth tries his best to always look as perfect as possible - to be suitable for the beauty of the Temple and to not feel himself a stranger in its walls.

3. Long meditation hours and self-reflecting

He does meditate on his issues quite often, in order to get rid of every irrational fear he has, like the one described in the previous headcanon. Usually he does that in the evening, after all the tasks are completed - he gives himself time to reflect on what happened during the day, what he did and said and how the others reacted. This does help, but still some thorns can be very hard to get out of his hearts. His favourite meditation place is his own quarters in the Temple, where he can have a nice view on the evening/night Coruscant, which is somehow more relaxing to him than the gardens in the Room of Thousand Fountains.

4. A little peek into the apartment

Eeth’s master-quarters in the Temple are decorated with effort and thought. The most significant part are the long heavy thick and soft curtains, that, if closed, take all the light in the room away, leaving the nice pleasant semidarkness atmoshphere. Also Eeth has a lot of various cushions around the whole apartment, along with an enormous supply of aroma candles!

5. The tragedy of the Padawan

Eeth's first and only Padawan learner was Sharad Hett.

Sharad's will to quit the Order deeply hurt Eeth, even if he didn't say that out loud, as he put a lot of effort and dedication in his promise to be the best master possible for Sharad. Also he lowkey agreed with the accusations of other masters telling him he was responsible for Sharad's departure because Koth failed as a teacher - so he does feel himself guilty of failing both Sharad and the Order.

After the Hett's incident, he actually vowed to himself not to take any more Padawan learners, so as not to let anyone's expectations down again. (And, like master Saesee Tiin, chose to put his efforts into other fields rather then teaching)

(these panels still hurt me somehow qwq

Sharad made Eeth cry, for kriffs sake!)

6. But he's still very friendly to kids

Despite the unpleasant exprienece with his own Padawan, he did let go of his initial frustration and now he is quite happy to give younglings and young padawans some general lessons! Also sometimes he takes other masters' students to group trainings or supervises them during the Trials of Knighthood. And young Jedi do love master Koth a lot - because he's soft and very patient, and does allow them some liberties :)

7. The social butterfly

Eeth is a "social butterfly" or a "caretaker" (ESFJ mbti-type)

He is used to being among a large number of people, but even though it seems that he gathers these people around him, in fact this is not true - his natural charm and outgoing personality allow him to easily make new acquaintances, interact with friends and encourage conversations, but he more follows his more assertive companions, adapts his behavior and words to them in order to create the most comfortable atmosphere possible, than directs them himself.

In other words, he offers the fun, but enjoys more the others' reactions to it, than the fun itself!

8. Sweet tooth!

Eeth LOVES sweet things! He generally likes all sorts of sweets, starting with various desserts and finishing with sugary tropic fruits. (Gaining weight? Naaah, the zabraks physiology allows him to consume a lot of food because of the higher metabolism due to the zabraks having two hearts. And also he does a lot of physical exercise in the training halls. So it's not a problem at all!)

9. And he is sweet himself too

This love for sugary things is not only for sweet treats actually, but also for the scents of cosmetics too! (And he does use a lot of that stuff). That is why Eeth usually smells of something nice, either caramel, or vanilla, or fruity etc.

This is often favorited by his colleagues on the Council, who definitely enjoy the pleasant aroma Eeth always brings with him to the Council meetings.

10. Energy drinks!

He got badly used to them during the Clone Wars era, because he really needed an additional energy resource when staying up all night brushing through various diplomatic documents and strategy plans. Caf wasn't much of a help because it just turned out to be not strong enough for the zabrak, so he eventually replaced it with cheap but more effective sweet energy drinks. It doesn't really matter to him which drinks to buy exactly, but the meiloorun-flavoured ones are among his favourites.

11. Form of lightsaber combat

Form III - Soresu!

I actually did a separate essay analyzing why Eeth’s form of combat is definitely Soresu, but if keeping brief: he uses Soresu mixed with some Ataru moves. Ataru was his initial style, advised by his master due to Eeth’s small complexion and natural agility & flexibility, but after changing his Jedi profile to a Consular he also adopted the main Consulars’ style - Soresu (usually called “the diplomat style”, “the most peaceful among the seven'' etc.). Koth’s Soresu moves can clearly be seen in the “Grievous Intrigue” episode in particular. Also Koth’s stance in the "Intrigue" is different from the famous Kenobi's "point-fingers" thingy simply because Eeth's pose is not an opening Soresu stance, but the brace-ready stance, which in Soresu is described as “having much in common with the "Ataru guard," with the hilt held at waist height on the dominant side in a two-handed grip for greater control, extended vertically upwards”

12. The double-bladed saber

Eeth wields a double-bladed saber almost as well as a regular one.

And in fact, it was Darth Maul who has inspired Eeth to try this kind of a weapon - after the High Council sent him to lead the investigation on the question of a zabrak sith on Naboo in 32 bby, he got genuinely interested in the possible perks of two blades in his Soresu and eventually mastered the double-bladed saber on quite a level. But he still sees this only as an interesting training option, but nothing more. So the double-bladed saber stays in the Temple and is used only in the Training Halls, but never on the battlefield.

13. An earring (yes, in the singular form)

Eeth has one of his ears pierced (right one), and he actually has several different earrings, mostly simple, like basic metal rings, which he usually picks every morning according to his mood. But to be honest, this earring thing is purely only for himself - because you can’t really see his ears under his usual three-ponytails hairstyle.

Though, he did abandon wearing earrings during the Clone Wars era - because since the war began and the potentially dangerous missions became more frequent, it wasn’t really a right place and time for such things, especially knowing that the Separatists can use some specific traps (like the ones they used to magnetize Jedi lightsabers on Lola-Sayu). The prospect of losing the whole ear due to such a trap is not the most pleasant one indeed.

14. HUGS (and other tactile activities)

Eeth very very VERY much loves hugs!

And for him, tactile contacts are more than just a way to feel comfortable - for him it's a vital part of the whole communication process. This issue dates back to his master, Kosul Ayada, who was a herglic (a race that is actually not very good at speaking Galactic Basic), and therefore helped himself with gestures and body language. And spending a lot of time around master Ayada, Eeth also got used to supporting his verbal dialogue by body language and tactile contact.

That is why while speaking Eeth actively gestures, grabs the other's hands, squeezes shoulders etc. And the hugs are his way to express sympathy and also to feel safe and appreciated!

15. Driving skills

Master Koth can drive, and actually quite well. And by driving I mean not spaceships, but smaller things that stay on land, like speeders.

And because he is a diplomat who often attends various meetings with senators and ambassadors, he also has a personal speeder, allocated to him by the Order for the ease of attending senator events and other diplomatic ocasions.

(But he does use it for other personal purposes too, because why not to, if there is an opportunity)))

(A panel of Eeth casually driving a speeder like a damn pro is one of my fav Eeth comics crumbs,,,,,,)

16. Singing

Eeth enjoys singing! But he usually keeps this thing to himself, making the quiet manthra-like singing a part of his meditative prep - it helps him to settle down his tangly thoughts a bit and tune his mind and body for the actual meditation.

(the hc was inspired by Hassani Shapi’s singing in one of his films, because Shapi’s voice is really beautiful and I’m sad they didn’t give him even a single line in the Phantom Menace when filming Koth’s Council scene)

17. Space soap operas...? (not so serious, sometimes treated as crack, but sometimes not)

Koth (secretly) likes soap operas on the late-night HoloNet, and often stays up to watch a new episode of something before going to bed. His favourite series is called “Lekkus of love” (my imaginary in-universe show I usually use in my sw writings) and it's about a twi’lek girl’s life, filmed in the style of our “Magnificent Century”, with lots of romantic intrigues and twists.

18. LOTS of feelings

Referencing the previous one - Eeth is very emotional, actually! Yes, he’s a Jedi and he knows how to keep his mind clear, but he’s still sensitive enough to actually cry over sad episodes of "Lekkus…" because “Poor Ai’sha, she worked so hard to get her man’s attention, but he still chose that togruta girl? This is outrageous, this is unfair! :ccc”

Also this can be in fact explained biologically. He's a zabrak, and zabraks are supposed to have a hot, blazing, higly-emotional nature (to match their home planet, Iridonia, wich is also boiling with acid seas and all that - otherwise they won't survive)

19. Podracing as a favourite sport

Eeth enjoys podracing. He first got into it back on Nar Shaddaa, when he heard a lot about racing and stuff from smugglers and bounty hunters (and at that time he even dreamed of becoming a cool podracer - but that was of course before he was taken to the Temple).

Now he doesn't dream of podracing that much, but still can and actually does enjoy watching annual championships via HoloNet. He also tries to keep in touch with the latest news in the podracing world (that interest he shares with the young Anakin Skywalker, and they do sometimes occasionally discuss podracing when they both have free time)

20. Horns

Eeth doesn’t really trust droids with trimming his horns, so he usually does that by himself, in the freshener, and that always takes a while. Also unlike a lot of male iridonian zabraks, who prefer to keep the tips of their horns comparatively sharp as a sign of their brutality and masculinity, Eeth chooses to make the tips humbly rounded and smoothed.

21. A pet? (Also not so serious - but sometimes it IS the most serious hc!)

Eeth has a pet loth-cat! The loth-cat is a she-cat, and she's big, fluffy and always on her own mind. Agen Kolar sometimes points out that the loth-cat is very similar to her owner in a lot of little things, like the way the cat purrs when being hugged and how she is obsessed with being clean and ideal too.

The loth-cat is also a bit jealous of her owner’s attention, so she will every time make herself comfortable on his knees when Eeth is meditating or working with documents to show that this is HER man. (especially when smb comes over to Eeth’s apartment - that's the case when she just NEEDS to state who’s the real boss here).

22. Participation in the first battle of Geonosis

I headcanon that Eeth was not directly on the Petranaki Arena actually during the first battle of Geonosis in the AOTC. Since he's not on-screen in that symbolic circle of survivors but is still stated as a participant, I assume that instead of being a part of the main group, Eeth joined Yoda on his trip to Kamino. Maybe not directly on the planet but still somewhere there, helping to gather clone legions to guide them to Geonosis.

(p.s. I know that Eeth's on-screen absence is because of Shapi being replaced with another actor and the new character turning out not at all alike to TPM Koth, but this little hc actually kinda fixes the hole without ruining anything…?))

#star wars #star wars expanded universe #star wars legends #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #eeth koth #sharad hett #kosul ayada #star wars headcanons #ihonestly I can talk about Eeth for hours and days and month #Eeth is the best cinnamon bun in the Jedi Order

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duhragonball · 3 years

Text

Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 83-87

Last time, the Red Stone of Aja got mailed out to the bad guys, so Joseph and Caesar have gone to shake down the Venice Post Office. Notably, Joseph wears a hat and coat similar to the one he’s rocking in Part 3.

Turns out, the package is already on its way to St. Moritz, Switzerland. Messina knows this because... okay, try to follow this. So Esidisi hijacked Suzie Q’s body to mail the Stone. So she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was being forced to do, but Lisa Lisa used Ripple Hypnosis on her to retrieve the address. You’d think she would have told the boys about this ability before they ran over to the post office, but maybe they left before she could say anything.

Meanwhile, this dog’s about to get run over, but this is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, so what else is new. Araki’s hatred for comic book dogs is the stuff of legend.

OR IS IT? Yeah, take a good long look, because this is the only time Araki saves a dog in JJBA. Apparently, Kars is a sucker for innocent plants and animals, go figure.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except Battle Tendency = Best JoJo Part.

As for Joseph, he and the others go to Switzerland, only to get held up by Nazis at the border. Turns out, their mysterious commander knows all about the Red Stone of Aja, the Pillar Men, and Joseph and Caesar’s Ripple training. That guy who tried to rob Lisa Lisa a while back? He was a Nazi spy the whole time. So now they have the Stone, and they want to cooperate with Joseph’s group. Lisa goes along with it, because it’s better than letting Kars find the stone.

For some reason, Araki pauses to discuss Nazi Germany a bit, except he has all these historical events from March and September of 1939. I’m not entirely clear on the chronology of Part 2, except that the final battle with Kars takes place in February of 1939, so none of these things have happened yet.

But the point still stands. Hitler wants Nazi Germany to rise above mankind, just as Kars seeks his own kind of supremacy. And like Kars, the Nazis are interested in the Red Stone of Aja as a possible path to greater power.

Everybody spends the night at some Swiss inn, until Kars shows up and uses his hyper-senses to detect how many men are in their room. Then he slashes through the wall with that blade he sprouts out of his forearm, killing them all with one attack.

Except for their commander, who has the Stone. Kars is confused, because he sensed the number and location of everyone in the room, but somehow he missed this last guy, because he’s got no body heat.

And Joseph barges in just in time to find out that this dude is Stroheim, the Nazi officer who blew himself up to stop Santana. Somehow he’s alive, and also a cyborg, which is why Kars couldn’t detect him.

Kars only wants two things: To capture the Aja Stone, and to kill Joseph Joestar. He says that he can’t afford to spare a Ripple User powerful enough to slay Esidisi, but Joseph wonders if Kars is motivated by a desire to avenge his comrade, rather than any sort of cold tactics. Wammu had called dibs on fighting Jojo, but he’s in Greece at the moment, and Kars is in no mood to wait.

But Stroheim insists on tackling Kars himself, as his cyborg body was specifically designed using the information gleaned from studying Santana. He’s strong enough to rip out pieces of Kars’ flesh, and he’s armed with a big-ass machine gun. He tells Joseph not to pity him, because he’s proud to become this living tribute to German technology.

What I want to know is: How did Stroheim survive Mexico without Joseph knowing about it? He was there when that grenade went off, after all. Maybe Stroheim landed some distance away, where Joseph wouldn’t have thought to look for him. But how did Stroheim’s men find him?

Anyway, Kars is not impressed, and he cuts Stroheim in half with his “light mode”, which is just the blades in his arms. They seem to glow, but it’s actually just reflected light from the complex patterns in the blades. From the sidelines, Joseph is unnerved by Kars’ ability, because he doubts that he could block or avoid those blades, even with the full power of his Hamon energy.

As for Stroheim, he had no idea that Kars could do anything like this. I don’t know, are arm-blades really that big a deal? Wammu’s powers seem a lot cooler, and Esidisi’s “flame mode” looks pretty scary, even if it only melts stuff. Still, it’s enough to beat Stroheim. Kars mocks him for thinking that he and Santana were on the same level. Kars considered Santanta a “novice”, like a “weak puppy.” That’s an interesting choice of words, since we just saw Kars save the life of a weak puppy earilier. Maybe that same pity was the only reason Kars kept Santana around in the first place. As dangerous as Santana was, Kars considers him utterly useless.

He even refers to Santana as “it.” Maybe that’s just a mistake in this scanlation, but I dunno. He’d probably use “it” to refer to that puppy he saved too. And maybe this contempt explains why Kars refers to him as “Santana”, the name Stroheim gave the guy. I always wondered why Kars didn’t use Santana’s real name, but maybe Santana never had one.

But Stroheim’s not done just yet. He has a UV beam built into his eyepiece, which stuns Kars long enough to make him drop the stone, and then it slides over a cliff.

Joseph and Kars race after it, but Kars is faster, because he doesn’t have to worry about slowing down before he goes over the edge. He can survive the fall, while Joseph can’t. So Kars figures that Joseph will try to kick him, and Joseph does throw a kick... at the snow, to distract Kars long enough for Joseph to get the Stone back.

But Kars has blades in his legs too, and he uses one to snag Joseph and pull him over the edge of the cliff. Joseph manages to use Hamon to grab hold of some icicles to stop his fall, but he still has to deal with Kars’ unstoppable blades, and his relentlessness. Joseph’s whole deal is that he outsmarts his opponents by exploiting their inattentiveness. But Kars is laser focused on getting the Aja Stone, so it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard.

So Joseph uses that tenacity against him by holding up the Stone in the path of Kars’ attacks. Kars wants to kill Joseph, but he doesn’t dare use his blades near the Stone. Remember, Kars’ plan requires that specific Aja Stone because it’s the only one big enough and flawless enough to power his “Ultimate Life Form” mask. If he damages the Stone, it won’t be suitable for his needs. Knowing this, Joseph kicks him down the rest of the way, while he heads back up a “rope” made of Ripple-connected icicles.

Said icicles were provided by Caesar, who expected Joseph to try something like this, because he’s already learned that Joseph thinks in terms of ropes and strings. Stroheim is astonished by their flawless teamwork.

Below, Kars goes out of his way to adjust his fall so as not to crush a flower. He laughs at this latest setback, because he’s just that impressed with Joseph’s resourcefulness. Then he withdraws to try again another day.

This whole arc surprised me when I watched the anime, because it seemed like Kars would be the final boss of Battle Tendency, but here he was fighting Joseph early. And it wasn’t exactly an all-out fight. They had a little footrace and Joseph used the Aja Stone to keep Kars at bay, but not much more than that. Considering all the crazy stuff we saw from Esidisi, you’d think Kars would be much more dangerous.

But that’s just it. Esidisi was extremely formidable, and Joseph destroyed him with his Hamon training. Kars lost 33% of his team in a single stroke. All he has left is Wammu, who’s in Greece at the moment. He simply can’t afford to take on Joseph in this situation, so he doesn’t try anything too crazy. Both of them know his blades are powerful enough to get the job done, so he used them, but when they stopped being effective, he ran out of cards to play, so he left. It’s not that Kars is weak, it’s just that Joseph’s gotten so much stronger. So this fight feels like a much milder affair than the battles with the other Pillar Men so far, even though Kars is supposed to be the best one.

And this is something else I really love about Part 2. There’s only five villains to deal with: Straizo, Santana, Eisidisi, Wammu, and Kars. That’s it, so it makes things pretty easy to keep up with, and it leaves room for Wammu and Kars to fight multiple times.

Compare this with Part 3, where the Stardust Crusaders have to fight through a gauntlet of evil Stand Users as they make their way to Egypt. I think I counted 26 bad guys in Part 3? Somewhere in that neighborhood. And I love Part 3, don’t get me wrong, but if Dio only had ten henchmen instead of two dozen, would it really hurt the story?

This was something that really bugged me about Parts 4 and 5. Would La Squadra Esecuzioni’s role in Vento Aureo be any different if they only had five guys instead of seven? And what was the deal with that dude who lived in the transmission tower? Most of the “villains” in Part 4 were just randos who just fought with the good guys for no particular reason.

With Part 2, you don’t have any of that. Five villains, and three of them only get to fight once. That means every fight has to count, and every fight has to move the story along. Kars isn’t going to just show up to be sociable. He saw an opening to achieve his goal, and he went for it, only to discover his enemies were better prepared than he expected. Now, he’ll have to wait for Wammu...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #messina #suzie q

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dessarious · 4 years

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The Angel of Death Pt34

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

Despite not getting to sleep until about four in the morning Tris was up again by seven looking through all her current job offers. There were always plenty to choose from so all she had to do was find one that matched up with her needs. First, it needed to be as far from Paris as possible. Second, it needed to be something she could do fast with minimal research. The point was to make people think she’d moved on after all so they wouldn’t come here to find her. Third, it needed to be something that she could make public and preferably brutal. Yes, the community would hear about it regardless, but she wanted them afraid to come after her. Leaving a few mutilated corpses would go a long way to discourage those that wanted to take out a legend.

By eight, she’d found the perfect target and sent an email to accept the job. She would be taking out a cartel leader in Brazil and the client wanted a message sent. There was even an offer of a bonus if she took out a couple of his lieutenants as well. Three to five bodies in a public forum with the amount of overkill completely up to her. This would overshadow everything that group of idiots had done to destroy her reputation. Now she just needed equipment. She called her normal supplier.

“Hey baby Death what’s happening?” Tris rolled her eyes at the nickname even though the person couldn’t see her.

“I take it you saw the garbage being posted on the darkweb then.” The other person let out a derisive snort.

“Please, how stupid do you think I am? You’ve been sending me your measurements for three years to make you custom gear. I'm well aware that you’re not an adult. I just hope for your sake you’ve still got a decent growth spurt in you because being that short all your life sucks.” That made Tris pause.

“So you’ve known all this time and you haven’t said anything?” Yes, discretion was necessary in this type of work. Just like her, no one knew Blake’s real identity. Backtracking shipments proved completely useless because they went through at least ten third parties before getting to their final destination. They used a voice changer anytime they spoke to someone so no one was even sure of age or gender. But Blake was the best and everyone knew it.

“Of course not.” They sounded insulted. “Oh and heads up, as soon as those idiots threw that information out there Talia and Deathstroke both contracted me for new weapons and asked about you. Make sure you watch yourself D, I’ve got to say I’d miss making all the insane shit you come up with.” Tris didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.

“Of course they did. If I place an order now how soon can you get it to Brazil?” There was a thoughtful hum on the line and Tris heard something in the background.

“For anyone else, two weeks. For you I can do it in three days if it’s not anything intricate. Two if it’s stuff you’ve already sent me plans for.” A relieved sigh escaped her. Knowing Talia was on her tail, she really needed to get moving. “Don’t worry D, I’ve got your back. Can’t lose one of my best customers now can I?”

“Thanks Blake, I owe you.”

---------------------------------------------------------

After finishing with Blake Tris had gone back to sleep. She couldn’t arrive in Brazil too quickly since she’d just posted the video of Fu’s ‘murder’ a few hours ago. It would look far too suspicious if Talia ever did put the timeline together. She wasn’t worried about Deathstroke, he was rather easy to manipulate. It’s how she’d gotten the league to implode on itself in the first place. Talia was far less easy to handle and she’d rather not have that confrontation without a plan to take the other woman out permanently.

She woke up to yelling in the common area. Chloe mostly from the sounds of it. It sounded like all of their roommates were trying to calm her down and Tris heard her name more than once. She should probably go out there before the girl did something foolish. When she opened her door the others turned to her and there was dead silence.

“Did you need something?” Chloe and Adrien stared at her like she was an apparition while Luka and Kagami shared a shrug. Chloe unfroze first and ran to pull Tris into a crushing hug.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Tris wasn’t certain exactly what she was talking about but it wasn’t something everyone needed to hear.

“Why don’t we talk in my room?” Chloe leaned back to glare at her but seemed to have calmed down enough to think things through.

“Fine. Adrien, come on.” She sounded pissed. Tris probably would be too if she’d been drugged like that but it’s not like she’d just left them in the warehouse. She’d taken them home so they’d wake up in familiar surroundings. There really wasn’t any reason for her to be so upset. Once the door was closed Chloe unleashed her anger.

“What is wrong with you? We thought you were gone for good.” Tris just frowned at her, trying to understand why that was an issue.

“That was the point. Specifically, I need the adults to think I’ve taken off for good so they don’t lead others straight to me.” Chloe and Adrien knowing she was still here would be fine because it wouldn’t change their routine. If her Nonna or Wonder Woman started showing up at the school it would be a blaring sign that something was going on. It was attention she couldn’t afford.

“You could have at least texted us to let us know you were okay!” Chloe was getting louder again and Tris wasn’t sure why. She really needed a better grasp of teenage behavior.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Chloe looked like she was about to explode so Adrien took over.

“We woke up and our last memory was being in that warehouse. We didn’t know what had happened to you.” Tris frowned at them both in confusion.

“I can take care of myself. I thought that would have been clear by now.” They were both looking at her like she was an alien species again. Why did people look at her like that when they were the ones being irrational?

“We were still worried!” Chloe’s tone seemed to imply that she should understand but Tris didn’t. If they knew she could handle herself why would they worry?

“Tris, it’s nothing to do with your skills. When people can’t get in touch with someone they tend to imagine the worst case scenario.” That… sort of made sense.

“So you want me to apologize because you can’t control your imaginations?” Neither one seemed to know how to respond. Chloe opened her mouth a couple times but never managed any words and Adrien just kept blinking at her. People were so strange.

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

@kceedraws @theatreandcomicfreak @krispydefendorpolice @magic-miraculous @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @northernbluetongue @interobanginyourmom @rebecarojas07 @dast218 @abrx2002 @damianette-is-life @yin-390 @fontegagrilledcheese @bigpicklebananatree @tbehartoo @nobodyw8s4evr @linim2503 @ladybug-182 @marinettepotterandplagg @daminett4life @thethirdwheelfriend @corabeth11 @emotionalsupportginger @shizukiryuu @toodaloo-kangaroo @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @sassakitty @my-name-is-michell @multplelifes @sassydepression @danielslilangel @winter-gardenflower @animegirlweeb @romanoff-queen @nanakeid @paradoxal-occurance @theg0ddesspersephone @hinata3487 @irontimetravelflower @the-real-gingakid @heaven428 @peachedpocky @justafanwarrior @gentlemanoftimetravel @18-fandoms-unite-08 @kittycatwowmeow @pale-lady-dreamer @i-is-mysterious @captainartsypants @write-for-your-life2 @queengeorgiaaa @schrodingers25 @thecaptainthunder @elspethshadow @stela-likes-drawing @loysydark @lozzybowe @renscorpio @elmokingkong @the-fusionist @tis-i-beanbandit @smolplantmum @iwantwhirlledpeasandlotsatrees @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @chocolateherringtacofan @how-to-fuction-properly

#maribat #marinette dupen chang #assassin mari #kidnapped au

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lilydalexf · 4 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Marasmus

Marasmus only has a handful of fics left at Gossamer, but you can find more X-Files fics at AO3 (as finisterre). Some of my favorites of her stories I've recced here before, including one of the most clever fics you could read, Cellphone (here at AO3), and the lovely, London-set A Candle for Katherine (here at AO3, bonus commentary at LJ). Big thanks to Marasmus for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Mine, yes, older XF in general, no — some of that stuff is amazing. Though I wonder how well fandom operates now there is not a plethora of rec sites. I know of yours and one more Tumblr blog and that’s it. I find it really difficult to find good stories in any fandom unless someone whose taste maps to mine recommends something.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I look back on it fondly, but it was one of the first things that really hammered it home to me that every grouping throughout life follows the pattern of school.

A lot of people are really talented and funny and kind. Then there are absolute ego-rampaging nightmares who act like lady bountiful in public but do cruel things in private, or chuck their toys out of the pram at the least provocation.

And like school, fandom brings together a disparate group of people who you’re friendly with, but once you leave, the ones you stay in touch with are your friends.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Thank God.

I watched the show pre-widespread internet and mostly when I had almost no money. I didn’t have regular internet access until the third season, and that was only at my incredibly conservative workplace. I didn’t get home internet access until midway through season six. You couldn’t download episodes easily, you couldn’t stream, you just had to wait until it aired overseas. I decided I didn’t care if I was spoiled and that worked for me. In fact for some particularly annoying episodes, I was glad.

I was a newsgroup and mailing list sort of person. Never really did message boards unless a newsgroup counts, though I had a Haven account.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly, how talented people are. I know some are now professional writers, but so many people who didn’t do it as anything but a hobby were also amazing.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I always liked science fiction, oddness and urban legends, so it was kind of made for me. But it was the relationship between Mulder and Scully that kept me around, and after season six, it was the fandom that kept me around. I loved Scully in particular, cos let’s be honest, Mulder can be kind of a twerp at times.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I hung out on alt.tv.xfiles.analysis (a newsgroup), which was one of the smartest boards I’ve ever been on. The threads were full of well-read, erudite people. That led to a site which collated reviews of XF episodes. They mentioned alt.tv.xfiles.creative, and I got there the summer after Gethsemane, which was pretty optimal timing.

I’d take floppy disks into conservative workplace and quietly download the most gloriously filthy fanfic onto them for reading at home on my ancient second-hand Mac.

After that I joined Scullyfic, a mailing list, which was a lovely place to hang out for a while, and got stories through a couple of other mailing lists.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Like my relationship to ice hockey: glad that activity exists and that some people enjoy it, but not watching and not involved myself.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Reading, yes, and writing the odd bit of feedback, but any other fandom involvement didn’t really take. I’ve never found a bunch of people I liked as well as I liked some of the people in XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I am usually more interested in female characters than male ones (the Doctor, Mulder and Jack O’Neill notwithstanding), which is why I only read a bit of m/m slash. I usually develop a perverse dislike for any woobie the fandom loves.

Some favourites are: Samantha Carter and Jack O’Neill, Granny Weatherwax, Furiosa, everyone from The Good Place, Donna Noble, Sarah Jane Smith, Martha Jones and Yasmin Khan, Maia from The Goblin Emperor, Cordelia Naismith and Miles Vorkosigan, General Leia Organa, Rey and Finn, and lately all of The Old Guard, even Booker...

I like nerds, pining, best friends discovering feelings for each other, second chances, redemption narratives, people being sneaky for good ends and stoics who stay stoic through all kinds of misery, only to crack and start crying when they get a happy ending.

Basically, you know Eleanor at the end of the Emma Thompson Sense and Sensibility? That.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

No. I had about four years there where I made up stories about Mulder and Scully on any commute where I’d forgotten a book, but that’s gone now. I watched two episodes of the revival, but it wasn’t for me.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I occasionally wander in and read a bit on AO3, but nothing that deals with anything past season seven. Not interested in William, not interested in domestic fiction, not even interested in post-col any more, which was 100% my crack during XF fandom days. I did read By the Dim and Flaring Lamps [Lilydale note: by @sunflowerseedsandscience] earlier this year. Love a bit of AU historical.

I read lots of different fandoms, though I am between intense enthusiasms at the moment, which always feels a bit odd.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Yes, but they’re all about 20 years old. Is there such a thing as fandom classics any more? There used to be a litany of stories that ‘everyone should read’. I wonder how well they hold up now.

I think there are waves of writers who come into a fandom and then leave again: I think I was part of a second wave, with the first wave being Mustang Sally, RivkaT, Karen Rasch, Lydia Bower, Nascent etc.

Then there must’ve been a third wave for the revival (and mini-waves in between). I don’t know that group of writers, so I am probably leaving out people who are really good.

One of my favourite Scully voices is Five Years and One Night [Lilydale note: by Shalimar], because of the contrast between her inner monologue as written and how little she actually says.

I really like quieter, thoughtful authors like Michelle Kiefer, Cecily Sasserbaum, Scullysfan, Cofax, Anjou, Maria Nicole, Kipler. Love everything Kel ever wrote.

At one point there were also about three authors called Rachel who were knockout. I like to think Rachel Howard is writing professionally because it’s a waste of talent if she’s not. Rachel Anton had a crazy gift for pacing and wrote a good Krycek.

I really liked Branwell’s strange AU novels, which riff off The Field Where I Died (a wretched episode but so much good writing came from it.) [Lilydale note: Condemned to Repeat It by Branwell is a really long story involving The Field Where I Died.]

Everyone who is reccing other people’s stuff here is also a good writer. (and their taste in recs is — mostly — excellent): http://www.thebasementoffice.com/museaxfnet/museans/TitlesAF.html

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I like The Flexible Concept of Tomorrow. I loved trying to work out the timelines. I like the one about airships and cross-dressing which only exists on my iPhone and in my imagination right now.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Only an AU, if ever. I am completely at sea with canon.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

In my head. Mostly AUs. Everyone has daemons! It’s an airship! They’re exploring space! It’s mediaeval Slovenia!

Most of my creativity is sucked away by work. Which is good I suppose, as writing fanfic never paid my Netflix subscription.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Reading long-form journalism and non-fiction books.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Well, I changed mine. The first one was picked out of a magazine article about Branwell Bronte, and I liked the shape of the word. Then I got to feel uncomfortable with it because it was a real illness that made people suffer. The current one comes from the shipping forecast when I was a kid.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

No, and also absolutely not. Over my dead body. Over YOUR dead body.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I took my stories off Gossamer but I don’t remember why. They’re on AO3 now and there are probably stray copies on some archives out there.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I have made all of these mistakes. All of ‘em.

— On no account offer unsolicited concrit. In fact, do not provide concrit EVEN IF THE PERSON ASKS FOR IT, unless you know them reasonably well and it’s in private.

— Avoid the wank. If you have the perfect riposte to something awful, write it and file it to drafts for two days. If you still want to send it after that, godspeed.

— Write anything you want, and when you start keep going. You can edit later.

— Never put any story into the public sphere unless you’ve had a second pair of eyes on it, preferably the eyes of someone who is willing to say “are you SURE about that?”

Finally, just have fun. Being in the grip of love of story is a wonderful thing, and you never know how long it will last.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 29, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #marasmus #finisterre

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viterbofangirl · 2 years

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖

My sideblog was tagged by @ancientstone and so I decided to post there AND on my regular blog!

2) The Sense of Her: a FMA Royai one-shot taking place over multiple points in the series, each scene focused on one of the five senses (currently on AO3)

#asks #tag yourself #fanfic #FANFICTION IS REAL LITERATURE #viterbofangirl thinks she can write

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olliedollie1204 · 4 years

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everything fits (1/8)- the meeting

Single father Patton is utterly devoted to his son Virgil. Recently divorced Logan is utterly devoted to his twin sons Remus and Roman. The pieces come together.

Pairings: Romantic Logicality

Word Count: 3,495

Tags: Single dad Patton and kid Virgil, Divorced Dads Logan and Janus and kids Roman and Remus (their split was mutual and their relationship is good)

listen y’all, i started this AU in January of this year, it is VERY near and dear to my heart, so even though it’s not finished i wanted to make myself happy and post what i have to hopefully motivate me to finish it <333

also a very late shoutout to @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno for reading a few chapters/oneshots for this AU... hm, six months ago? and giving me the best positive feedback i could’ve asked for. she’s a queen and a legend :D

(Read it on AO3!)

“Daddy?”

Patton woke up to two tiny hands pressing into his back. He blinked, fumbling for his glasses on his messy bedside table. As he pulled them on, blinking the sleep out of his eye, he couldn’t help but break into a large smile at the figure standing next to his bed.

Virgil was always small for his age, and the giant purple hoodie he insisted on sleeping in practically swallowed him in its soft, thick fabric. It made him look, in Patton’s professional dad opinion, even more adorable than he already was.

He had obviously just woken up— his dark hair was sticking out in all directions, and there was a small line across his cheek that Patton suspected was dried drool. His oversized hoodie sleeves idly swung by his sides. Patton would give almost anything to wake up to that sight everyday.

“G’morning, stormcloud,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke Virgil’s hair. “How did you sleep?”

“Um, good.” Patton frowned a little at the short response.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”

The little boy gnawed on his lower lip— a nervous habit that Patton had never been able to get him to break.

“Um, um, um— I’m sorry I woke you up, but—”

“Hey, Virgil, what’s the sorry rule?” Patton interrupted, grabbing Virgil’s hands to pull him closer.

Virgil looked down at their clasped hands, their fingernails painted a matching shiny purple.

“Don’t say sorry unless something bad happened,” he recited. It was a highly oversimplified rule, but a seven year old could only handle so much nuance.

Patton nodded, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Virgil’s head. “That’s right, kiddo. Nothing bad happened, so no need to say sorry, right? And in a minute I’ll get dressed, and we can go make waffles for breakfast—”

“But that’s on Saturdays!” Virgil interrupted.

Patton frowned again. The words ‘it is Saturday’ were on the tip of his tongue, until something clicked in his sleep-addled brain and— oh, fuck.

“Oh, bother,” he said aloud. “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

Virgil continued to chew on his lip, nodding. “I woke up and I went to the, the kitchen, and the clock— the big hand was on the nine and the little hand, the little hand was almost on the seven, and—”

6:45. Patton cursed internally again. Virgil was meant to be dropped off at school by 7:00, and although Patton was rarely on time, he was supposed to be at his first job by 7:30. So much for that.

“— so I came, I came in here to wake you up,” Virgil finished, looking at his dad with wide eyes.

Patton took this all in, sighing as he ran his fingers through Virgil’s messy hair.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did, kiddo,” he finally said, smiling softly. “Because somebody—”

He poked Virgil’s cheek, giving a little laugh when his son giggled and batted the finger away.

“—Needs to get to school, huh?”

Virgil eyes lit up, bouncing on his heels. “Dr. Picani said, he said, he said we’re gonna play with clay today!”

Patton gasped as he stood up, reluctantly letting go of Virgil’s hands to get to his closet.

“Oh my gosh, that’s gonna be so much fun!” he cheered, pulling out two polo shirts and holding them up for Virgil to see.

“Grey or blue?”

Virgil pondered, brow furrowed in concentration. “Blue,” he finally announced.

Patton grinned. “I was thinking the same thing,” he whispered with a wink. “Now how about you go get dressed— I’ll help you with your hair and teeth in a minute— and I’ll throw some bread in the toaster, and you can eat it on the way, okay, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded. He started walking towards the door, but stopped, fiddling with his sleeves.

“Um—” he blurted. “Can I, can I have a hug, please?”

Patton melted a little at Virgil’s tiny voice.

“Aw, Virgey,” he cooed, “you never need to ask me that!”

He scooped Virgil up into his arms, pressing a wet kiss onto his cheek to make him giggle.

“Ew!” He squirmed in Patton’s grip, laughing maniacally. “Daddy!”

Patton laughed, setting Virgil down. “Now go get dressed, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He straightened up and watched as Virgil left the room, his smile dropping almost immediately.

Of course he had to go and forget to set his alarm last night. Ever since Sunday night, when he had picked up a last-minute shift at the bar, Patton’s internal calendar had been thrown off by a day.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing again as he picked up his phone. Today was not off to a great start.

“All good?” Patton asked, twisting around to check the seatbelt on Virgil’s booster seat once more. Virgil nodded, his mouth full of bread and jam.

“Okay, let’s hit the road!”

With that, Patton pulled onto the street a tad bit faster than he normally would, a ‘Best of Disney’ CD playing in the background.

Patton sang along, but his attention was not on the music. Rather, it was on his son, who was getting more and more fidgety the closer they got to the school.

At the next stoplight, Patton turned down the music, catching Virgil’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Vibe check?” he asked. It was a silly joke, some meme Remy had started quoting that Patton had picked up without even really knowing what it meant, but it soon became his and Virgil’s code word for talking about scary stuff like feelings.

Virgil didn’t answer right away, but Patton was patient.

“I don’t… I don’t want people to look at me when I walk in,” Virgil eventually muttered, eyes on his lap. “‘Cause they’ll think it’s weird that I came in late.”

Patton’s heart sank.

“And… and what if I miss something important, and I won’t know how to catch up, and Dr. Picani will get mad at me—”

Virgil’s voice broke a little as the boy started sniffling.

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton murmured, reaching behind him to grab Virgil’s sticky hand. “Virgil, honey, can we take deep breaths?”

He inhaled loudly enough for Virgil to hear him, and after a few seconds the two exhaled together. They did this for a few breaths, in and out, in and out.

When Patton was confident Virgil wouldn’t start crying, he let go of his hand, bringing it safely back to the steering wheel.

“Are those all the bad things that could happen?”

Virgil nodded in dejection.

“What are the good things that could happen?”

Now the child paused. “Um, um, um, I don’t know.”

Patton thought for a moment. “Well… I think Kai will be pretty happy his best friend came to school, even if you’re late, right?”

He looked to Virgil for confirmation, and after a beat the boy nodded.

“And if you miss any classwork, then maybe Dr. Picani will let you go to the library during playtime to finish it.”

Virgil nodded again, a little more enthusiastically. He hated the chaos of playtime; children screaming and running around and roughhousing with each other— the library would be a welcome boon from all of that.

“And…” Patton racked his brain for a third example. “And you won’t have to listen to the morning announcements, ‘cause they already happened!” he finished triumphantly, knowing that the ancient speaker system was especially grating on Virgil’s ears.

“Plus, have you ever thought someone was weird, just because they came in the classroom late?” he continued. Virgil shook his head. “So I don’t think anyone will think you’re weird.”

Virgil hesitated. “I guess.”

Patton winced.

“I’m really sorry you feel nervous, kiddo,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

Virgil looked up at him, eyes wide. “It’s okay,” he replied automatically.

Pattons smiled a little. “Are you saying that not to hurt my feelings?” he asked, kindly but sternly.

Virgil looked torn. “Well… I mean— I guess I mean I’m not mad at you, because everybody makes mistakes, and I love you.”

Patton gave a surprised laugh. “I love you, too,” he responded, once again thankful beyond words that Dr. Picani was teaching his son healthy ways to express complex feelings.

“It’s very kind of you to be considerate of my feelings,” he continued, pulling into the school parking lot. “But I’m your daddy, and it’s my job to take care of you. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be double sure it’ll never happen again.”

He looked at Virgil in the rearview. “Can you forgive me?”

Virgil nodded, eyes wide. “I forgive you.”

Patton sighed, looking at his son with adoration. How he got such a great kid, he’ll never know.

As soon as he turned off the car, he hopped out to help Virgil unbuckle his seatbelt and get his backpack on. The young boy clambered out of the car, but made no move towards the large school building.

Patton knelt down to his eye level.

“Do you wanna walk in by yourself, or do you want me to come with you?”

Virgil fiddled with the string on his hoodie. “Aren’t you late for work?”

Patton paused, checking his watch. “Yeah,” he admitted. He always tried to be honest with Virgil when he could. “But I called my boss and told him what happened, so I won’t be in trouble.”

He wasn’t gonna get paid for the hour of work he was going to miss, but Virgil didn’t need to know all that.

“Plus,” he added in an encouraging tone, “you can show me that drawing you told me about? The one Dr. Picani put on the wall because it was so good?”

Virgil flushed a little at the praise. “He put everybody’s drawings on the wall, Daddy,” he insisted, but there was a small smile on his face now.

“Yeah, but I’ll bet there was only one person who thought to draw a robot shark and a sabertooth tiger being best friends. I mean, that’s so creative!”

Virgil shrugged, smiling down at his shoes. “I guess you can see it, if you wanna.”

Patton laughed and held out his hand. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Hand in hand, the two made the long walk up to the building. As they got closer, Patton squeezed Virgil’s hand.

“What do we say to the door?” he asked— another little ritual between the two.

Virgil giggled, throwing his arms out in front of him like a wizard casting a spell. “Open sesame!”

Patton laughed as he grabbed the handle.

“Thank you, kiddo,” he said, and pulled.

The door stayed shut.

Patton frowned. He pushed it instead. Nothing.

Virgil lowered his arms. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Nothing,” Patton hurried to say. He pulled again, then pushed again. “I think… I think it’s locked.”

Immediately Virgil’s smile dropped.

“Why is it locked?” he asked, a little bit of anxiety returning to his voice. Patton pulled the door yet again, but it stayed firmly shut.

“I don’t know, kiddo.” He scanned the wall for anything that would unlock the door. There was a keycard scanner on the metal doorframe, but Patton didn’t have a clue how to activate it.

He could sense Virgil was about to get upset again, and he rubbed a hand against his son’s shoulder.

“Okay, let’s take some deep breaths. We’ll get you into class, one way or another.”

“Why would they keep the stupid door locked?” Virgil demanded, and normally Patton would remind him to use nicer language, but to be honest, he was thinking words that were a fair bit harsher than ‘stupid’ at the moment. He didn’t look at his watch again, but he knew that he really didn’t have the time to wait around for someone to walk by the door.

He turned around, about to suggest they try to find another door to get into the building, but found himself face to face with… another pair of glasses?

He gasped, hand flying up to his chest as he stepped back from the figure who was suddenly in his personal space. The other man— tall, sharply dressed, with square framed glasses perched on his nose— looked appropriately guilty at Patton’s reaction.

“Apologies,” he commented in a clipped tone. “I was in a hurry and I did not realize you weren’t entering the door.”

Patton was having a little trouble bringing his focus away from the man’s deep blue eyes, until he felt Virgil squeeze his hand, bringing him back down to Earth.

“No worries!” he responded faux-cheerfully, as the blue-eyed man moved around him to approach the door. “We, uh, we think it’s locked.”

He paused, looking back at Patton as he pulled something out of his pocket. “I have a keycard.”

With one swift motion, he swiped the card, pulled on the door, and moved to the side, holding it open as he looked at Patton expectantly.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Patton stammered, gently pushing Virgil through the door in front of him. “Come on, Virgil.”

The two made their way into the hall, Virgil pulling Patton by the hand through the unfamiliar building.

“The office is over here,” he whispered, just loud enough for Patton to hear. Patton nodded, picking up his pace a little bit but still lagging behind Virgil.

They walked a few feet before a voice chimed in again.

“It’s a safety protocol.”

Patton turned in confusion, finding Blue Eyes walking nearly next to him with long, confident strides. He opened his mouth to ask for clarification before he realized that the man was not looking at him— he was looking at Virgil. Patton turned around just in time to see Virgil give the man a suspicious look.

“What?” Patton winced a little at his bluntness, but Blue Eyes seemed unbothered.

“You asked why they keep the door locked. It’s a safety protocol. It prevents unauthorized people from entering the school building during the day.”

Virgil frowned and curled in on himself. Patton waited two beats before realizing he wasn’t going to reply.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense!” he jumped in, not wanting to be rude to the man, who turned his gaze onto him.

“Yes,” Blue Eyes replied after a moment, “although I suppose there should be some way for parents and visitors to enter the building without having to wait for someone with a keycard to happen by. I will be certain to address this in our next staff meeting.”

Patton blinked, a little bit unsure if the man was still really talking to him or just thinking aloud.

“Probably a good idea,” he replied anyway.

He suddenly felt himself jerk as Virgil turned a sharp corner, pulling him into a nearly identical hallway. Blue Eyes continued to walk with them, speeding up to keep pace with Patton.

Patton gave a sheepish smile. “We’re running a bit late,” he said by way of explanation.

“As am I,” Blue Eyes replied. “Almost ten years of teaching and this is the first time I’ve been late to work.”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Well, I hope— I mean, obviously, I don’t want to keep you from your class, if that’s the reason you’re walking with us—”

He fumbled through the sentence, trying to politely let the man off the hook if he was already late for work, but he stopped himself as Blue Eyes shook his head.

“No, no, it’s nothing to do with you. I need to pick up some photocopies for my class from the main office. I would be going this way regardless,” he stated. Patton felt himself blush a little.

“Oh, okay. Good.”

The trio arrived at the office, again with the blue-eyed man holding the door open for Patton and Virgil. As soon as they were inside, Virgil bolted to the back of the office where the late entry sign-in sheet lay. Patton meandered towards him, but stopped when he heard the man clear his throat.

“After some… reflection,” he began with consideration, “I realize that my behavior might have seemed off putting, or perhaps even rude. I apologize.”

Patton blinked in surprise at the sincerity in the man’s voice. “No, are you kidding? You definitely saved our butts back there, getting the door and all. You’re my hero!” he joked, choosing to ignore the potential awkwardness of the statement.

Nevertheless, Blue Eyes smiled. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

Again Patton expected that to be the end of the conversation, especially considering the man apparently needed to pick up some papers for his class, but Blue Eyes continued to look at him.

“Logan Croft,” he said suddenly, sticking out his hand. Patton was picking up on the man’s— Logan’s— tendency to jump between conversation points.

“Patton Hart,” he responded, shaking his hand. Logan’s grip was firm in his, and Patton became very aware of the jam residue Virgil had left on his palm.

Despite this, Logan made no move to pull away for a few more beats, eventually dropping his hand.

“How old is… Virgil?” Logan asked, eyes darting to the young boy again.

Patton smiled on reflex. “Seven.”

Logan seemed pleased with his answer. “Ah. A good age. Hopefully not too rebellious yet.”

“No, no, he’s a great kid,” Patton assured, laughing lightly. The two watched as Virgil stood on his tiptoes to fill out the sign-in sheet, his pencil gripped tight in his fist as he wrote his name in careful, blocky letters.

“Do you have any children?” Patton asked on a hunch. He smiled to himself as he saw Logan’s eyes light up. Bingo.

“Twin boys, age ten,” he replied in a voice full of pride.

Patton laughed again. “Oh, gosh!” That made a lot of sense, given how Logan was currently watching Virgil with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. “Twin preteen boys, that can’t be a walk in the park.”

“Yes, they can be… more than a handful at times,” Logan admitted. “My husband—”

He faltered for a brief moment.

“... My ex-husband handles their fluctuating emotional states much more delicately than I do,” he finished.

Patton knew not to comment on Logan’s slip up, or the change in his demeanor. Instead, he smiled softly.

“Well, you’ve been nothing but kind to me and Virge here,” he said, shrugging lightly. “So I reckon you’re probably a really great dad.”

Logan met his eyes again, giving him a smile that made Patton feel a little flushed. “Likewise.”

Patton felt a tugging at his hand again, causing him to look down.

“You ready, kiddo?” he asked. Virgil nodded, a tardy pass clutched in his fist.

Patton turned to face Logan again, but he wasn’t there. Confused, he looked around, just in time to see the other man duck into a back office space.

That was… surprisingly disappointing, but Patton couldn’t dwell on it. He turned his attention back to his son.

“Let’s get you to class, stormcloud,” he chirped briskly, moving them both towards the door. He had just started to push it open when he heard a voice behind them.

“Virgil?”

The two turned in sync. There was Logan, watching them from the doorway he disappeared through, a stack of papers in his arms.

“I like your hoodie,” he said.

Patton felt Virgil abruptly squeeze his hand tighter, a slight distraction from the way his own heart seemed to skip a beat. He smiled, opening his mouth to respond on his son’s behalf, and—

“Thank you!” Virgil replied.

Virgil… replied? To a stranger? Without Patton prompting? He felt his eyes bug out of his head, and he tried not to openly gawk at his son, who was— oh my Gosh. Virgil was smiling at Logan, and suddenly he raised the hand not holding onto Patton, and he waved!

Patton whipped his head back to Logan, watching in shock as he waved back at his son. He met Patton’s eyes, and his friendly smile turned into one of understanding. Patton couldn’t help but grin a little too wide as he waved as well, the two of them finally exiting the office as the door swung shut behind them.

“Daddy! He said, he, he said he liked my hoodie!” Virgil was practically jumping up and down. Patton didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“I heard,” he finally managed, his smile somehow growing even wider as he added, “And you said thank you, just like you’re supposed to when someone compliments you! You did such a good job, kiddo, I’m so proud of you!”

Maybe he was making this into a bigger deal than it was, but Virgil was almost cripplingly shy when it came to strangers, especially grownups; and yet within five minutes with Logan, he had been able to smile and speak and even wave.

Patton changed his mind. This was one of the best mornings in his memory.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, urging Virgil to pull him down the hall. “Lead the way!”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sander #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #my writing #my posts #everything fits

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