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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting.

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!”

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going.

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant.

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance.

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?”

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse.

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.”

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died.

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to.

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.”

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips.

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.”

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh.

“Lovely.”

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind.

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination.

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.”

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums.

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.”

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you.

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you.

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless.

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath.

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift.

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed.

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.”

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal.

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee.

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that.

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.”

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.”

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out.

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.”

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?”

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face.

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others.

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you.

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?”

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging.

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his.

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow.

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining.

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it.

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence.

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod.

“Sure. Same seats?”

The fireman smirks. “Always.”

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it.

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John.

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff.

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

“So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.”

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.”

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion.

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you.

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew.

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call.

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire?

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?”

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop.

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people.

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision.

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot.

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant.

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh.

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!”

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest.

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation.

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

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1K notes · View notes

eddiediaaz · 5 months

Note

alie! I absolutely adore this mirrorball x buck set that you made last year! (/post/701462848238403584/) (also I can't believe it's been a year, like seriously what is time?) I was wondering how you did the shattered glass effect in the first gif? in particular how you made the black and white gifs appear distorted within the glass if that makes sense? thank you!!!

ahhh thank you so much renee! literally what is time lol, this gifset is still one of my faves that i made. the shattered glass effect is mostly just a lot of layer masks to be honest hahaha. i'm so glad i still have the psd, so here's how i did it under the cut~

(this tutorial assumes you know how to put multiple gifs in the same canvas and are familiar with layer groups and masks)

I. PREPARATION

first things first, create an empty canvas of your desired size. mine was 540x540 px.

then, you need to find a cracked glass texture. if i remember correctly i simply googled something like "broken glass png", "cracked glass png", because i wanted something already transparent.

(a texture that's something like black lines over a white background definitely works too, you'll just have to put that layer's blending mode to darken or multiply.)

here's the png i used (and a download link for best quality):

and after positioning it into my canvas.

II. CREATING MAIN SECTIONS FOR GIFS

so basically when i did is i sectioned parts of the texture for each gif that i wanted to put. following the texture's lines, i zoomed in and carefuly drew a first shape along the lines with the polygon tool. you can also put a color fill layer behind the cracked glass layer so it's easier to see, like i did.

once you have your shape selected, click on the folder icon (1), then on the layer mask icon (2). it should give you a nice masked group to put gifs in hehe

then i repeated the process until i had all of my desired shapes. i've put some color layers so it's easier to see, but here are my 6 main shapes and how my layer groups look like so far:

III. GIFFING TIME

after screencaping and making all 6 gifs required for each section, you need to put all of them in the same canvas. i simply put one smart object gif layer in each group created earlier. then, i resized and rotated each gif to fit its group (by hitting ctrl + T while selecting the gif layer), as you can see with the gif labeled 6x02 in the layers preview. for the coloring, i went simple with black and white for most of them.

once i have all six gifs sharpened, colored, and placed in each shape group, the gif looks like this. the broken glass texture does most of the work to be honest:

obviously the center gif doesn't have any kind of effect, it's just colored as usual, so i'm not gonna go over it. it's just one gif layer in a masked group.

IV. SUBSECTIONS FOR DISRTORTED EFFECT

okay so for the distorted effect it's even more layer masks! basically i created more smaller sections within each main shapes already, still following the cracked glass texture's lines with the polygon tool and put them in individual masked groups like i did in the second step. here's how i ended up dividing each main sections:

yep, each color here is a different masked group, for example the 2nd and 3rd shape sections:

for each main shape section, you want to duplicate your gif layer the same amount of times as you have subsections within that shape. so if the main shape has 5 smaller subsections, i want 5 layers of that same gif. just make sure to not change its duration or position yet, and make sure the coloring layers/group stays on top of the groups in its shape section. then, simply put one gif layer duplicate in each group. example of my layers for the second shape so far:

then just repeat this until all subsections have its own gif layer.

V. DISTORTED EFFECT

this is the best part! and it's really easy. basically you want to slightly move each subsection by a few pixels, so they're in a slightly different position than the ones next to it.

to do so, select one of the gif layers and with the arrows on your keyboard, move it left or right, and even up or down if it looks good. i do this for all duplicated gif layers, making sure it looks like they're all slightly offset. focus on the cracked glass overlay's lines while nudging the gif layers, it's easy to see how the shapes break when you move them. for example here:

this is really just all trial and error, you just need to move each subsection gif layer by a few pixels with the keyboard arrows until it looks good to you.

here's my result once i've done this for all (23!!) subsections:

VI. FINAL TOUCHES

i don't think i did much else to this before typography besides adding a bit of contrast overall and a thin drop shadow to the cracked layer texture on top of everything. if you have a transparent png this definitely helps to give a bit more dimension to the effect. so here's the final result:

i hope that was clear enough hehe :D

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princeloww · 2 months

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The Real St. Judes: Gartloch Hospital - History (abridged)

The Scottish Lunacy Act of 1857 saw the creation of the Glasgow District Lunacy Board. The act, through these boards, aimed to establish and operate "district asylums", which would house patients unable to pay for the already existing "Royal Asylums".

In 1889, the Gartloch Estate was purchased by the City of Glasgow for approximately £8600 (~1 million today). The Glasgow District Lunacy Board were to turn it into an asylum for the mentally ill, and Gartloch Hospital would open in 1896.

In the early 1900s, a tuberculosis sanitorium was opened.

During World War II, Gartloch was temporarily transformed into an Emergency Medical Services Hospital; the psychiatric patients were transferred and housed in other hospitals. After the war, the tuberculosis sanitorium was shut.

Gartloch would fall into the hands of a different board (Board of Management for Glasgow North-Eastern Mental Hospitals), after joining the NHS in 1948.

Although there were 830 beds in 1904, by 1990 there were apparently only 530 - this being just under the amount available when it first opened.

In its last few years, Gartloch would fall under the Greater Glasgow Community and Mental Health Services NHS Trust. In 1996, the hospital officially closed, and was essentially abandoned, until 2003, when plans to turn Gartloch into a village began.

Now, there is a village, "Gartloch Village", surrounding the hospital. The main body, the iconic front we see in Donna Franceschild's TOTA, standing derelict and with boarded windows.

Oh, it's also apparently haunted, according to two nurses.

What was the hospital like?

I've nabbed these (like most of the other information - although I cross-referenced the rest (such as the years) from wikipedia and some other archives) from this article on hiddenglasgow.com.

I was born and lived at 2280 Gartloch Rd (East Cottages) of Gartloch Hospital. My Father, Bill Milne was the Bacteriologist at Gartloch Hospital Laboratory. My Mother was Helen and was the hospital hairdresser. My memories of Gartloch are the most wonderful memories ever. We had the most perfect childhood. The children of employees were involved in lots of differant ways. I remember especially the farm. Our house looked onto the busy fields and the Bishop Loch. We spent many happy summers pickinf tatties with the patients. And in the long cold winters, skating on the Bishop Loch. Christmad parties in the hospital involved all the staff, their children and patients. We got to know many of the patients who had been there most of their lives. Some had been admitted the the unit because of ''having a child out of wedlock'' I have so many stories to tell this page is not big enough! I would love to hear from anyone who remembers Gartloch or who lived/worked there.

Pattie Milne [04/02/2004]

I was talking with my gran t'other night about Gartloch (her maw died in there!) and she remembers these two women that used to walk about when she went visiting. One of them was about 4 foot nothing and the other about 6 foot. They walked up and down the hall, not saying a word to each other, but every now and then the taller one would repeatedly slap the little one on the head (that story seemed funnier when my gran told it!).

Crusty [30/01/2004]

There are a few more interesting stories on the linked article, so if you're interested, I recommend you check them out.

Finally: Takin' Over the Asylum (and other pop culture)

Takin' Over the Asylum aired on the 27th of September, 1994. The six-part drama was filmed in a disused wing of Gartloch, while the hospital was still open and functional. The hospital would close only 2 years after the airing of the show.

Gartloch's iconic, gothic towers would play a key role in the show, and be instantly recognisable to any viewer of TOTA.

Although it shut down in 1996, TOTA would not be the only media produced about the hospital. Wikipedia states that a film was produced in 2005, named (appropriately) "Gartloch Hospital", that covered the history of the hospital. This film went on to win an award in 2007, at the Scottish Mental Health Art and Film Festival, for "Best Factual Film".

Although hidden away, Gartloch hospital has an undeniably interesting history. Personal accounts from the hospital seem to paint it as a fun place, where patients and staff seemed to get along. Knowing the horrors of early mental health treatment, and the abuse many would suffer in these sort of places, we can only hope that these accounts are true and create an accurate image of life surrounding the hospital.

And I wrote all this because I really like David Tennant. Good night

Note the decorative peaks on the towers - they are absent from the rest of the photos. They were reportedly removed in the late 1930's.

SOURCES

Very interesting archive that goes into the history of Gartloch: (link) (source of above images)

Timeline and personal memories: (link)

Overview: Wikipedia (gartloch, Takin' Over the Asylum)

#watch this get 0 notes #david tennant #takin over the asylum #campbell bain #takin' over the asylum #taking over the asylum #donna franceschild #eddie mckenna #fergus mckinnon #fergus mackinnon #francine Boyle #rosalie garrity #history #gartloch hospital

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auroraeternal · 6 months

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And last but not least simblreen gift will give you absolutely unique and gothique experience for your sims 3 games. I'm proudly presents you...

BLOODSUCKER UI

This would be a long-read, sorry for that!

I can consider myself one of the quickest creator of the most complete default UI for TS3 😅 But it would be impossible without help of @mookymilksims ❤ I used her BGM UI as a base, also for some reason regular method of creating DRs of loading screen doesn't work for me, so I used @justmiha97 Clean UI Loading Screen as a reference, what files Ii need to replace. And of course dino_rex with this thread on MTS. I also want to give a huge thanks for the testing and taking screenshots of the mod to @sagasimsworld and Mary_WW (she isn't on tumblr), because without them I couldn't find and fix most critical bugs in time. Also, even if most of the UI is replaced and it's fully playable, It's still need polishing and testing, so if you see any bug or some of the parts of UI that looks bad (e.g buttons that are near each other having different shades or smth like that), send me PM or ask with screenshots. Also this mod needs testing with different reshade presets, because I worry that some of them may enhance red colors of the UI and that may cause eyestrain. All screenshots are taken without reshade.

More info and screenshots:

Recolored most of the CAS, CASt, CAP, CAB (plumbots editor), Live mode, Build & Buy mode and Town mode (except map tags):

Loading Screen is compatible with any language (but has only translated in english and russian in main file and ukrainian translation in separated package (AE_BloodsuckerUI_LoadingScreen_UA), that contains translated files only for english and russian version. For working ukrainian translation in english game you need font replacement (Montserrat).

Yeah, image that I used on loading screen is different from that one I showed you on this post (it's my desktop wallpaper now lol). It's because required image for ts3 loading screens is 1024x768, and when I resize original collage it became squished, so I added more images:

In main file of the UI are added this mods, so if you have them, you need to remove it from your game: @fanaskhe-r update of More slots for topical details mod, cmar_nyc's Skintone Panel, Recolored version of Menaceman's Pets Relationships Icons (other relationship headlines recolored as well!).

I created my own replacement for occults in relationship panel, so @sweetdevil-sims icons or removing of halos isn't needed anymore.

For opportunities tab I used recolored correct Shang Simla Forbidden city icon by @thebleedingwoodland, and I definitely recommend installing the whole mod, just delete with S3PE opp_generic_china image so they wouldn't conflict.

Icons are from Freepik. You are allowed to use them for creating "Minimalistic occult relationship panel" with vanilla UI or other UI default.

Also I created compatible and recolored versions for some popular mods, that replaces parts of UI, you can download them in ADDONS archive:

Recolored version of Expanded Tattoo module of Nraas MasterController (installation in Overrides, and don't forget about CmarNYC Tattoos File):

Recolored and compatible version of @lazyduchess Catalog Search Mod (installation in Overrides):

Compatible version of Arro's 4t3 Replacements of Seasons and Lunar Cycle Icons (3 versions, install only one in Overrides folder):

Compatible and/or recolored versions of Gamefreak130 World Loading Screens Overhaul (Choose only one):

Recolored @xiasimla HD icons (both regular and medieval). Totally optional.

Not an actual mod, but desktop icons (.ico format) for TS3 with logo (2 ver.) and plumbob that I created for this UI.

TOU

DOWNLOAD MAIN FILES | ALT

DOWNLOAD ADDONS | ALT

SIMBLR.CC DOWNLOAD

Credits: @mookymilksims, Fanaskher, cmar_nyc, Menaceman44, @thebleedingwoodland, Nraas team, @lazyduchess, Arro, Gamefreak130, @xiasimla for their mods; EA/Maxis, Freepik, Tumblr, Pinterest and Landing for images.

Used programs: Adobe Photoshop, Landing, S3PE, Notepad++, EasySTBL.

Fully compatible and recommended UI mods:

4t3 Cursors by Arro (I don't want make my own custom cursors).

Arro's No mod info.

Nraas Portrait Panel.

Ingredients Thumbnails fix by @tasteslikefridge.

Equestrian Centre map tag replacements by Menacemen.

Rabbitholes Map Tags Visibility Changes.

Font defaults: Font replacement by @simstate and Bigger size font.

Defaults by @alverdinesims: Build Grid, Objects placement, Skill and progress meters.

CC Icons Defaults: Replacement or Completely Remove.

CAS & Stylist Room Defaults: Monotone by @agnelid, Different by @cherdawn66, Empty CAS/Stylist, Gothic by @bast-sims.

Moodlets Icons Defaults: 2t3, 4t3.

Traits Icons Defaults (except Social Groups): 2t3, 4t3, Medieval, Medieval LTR by @aprilrainsimblr.

@pis3update @wanderingsimsfinds @bloodys-s3ccfinds @sssvitlanz @nightoccfinds @ninthcirclets3cc @kpccfinds

#my cc #simblreen #the sims 3 #sims 3 #ts3 #s3cc #ts3cc #sims 3 simblr #sims 3 mods #sims 3 cc #ts3 simblr #ts3 mods #sims 3 cc finds #sims3cc #ts3 cc #ts3 download #sims 3 download #Spotify

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poemsfor-her · 8 months

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A GUIDE TO FINDING YOUR OWN STYLE: PART. I Y2K ୨୧ ׅ ۫ 𖹭

The Y2K Era became well-defined by 1997, replacing the Core '90s Era which had been known for its grittier aesthetics such as Grunge. The Spice Girls' single "Wannabe" was released in the U.S. and gained international popularity, leading to a new era in teen pop. Y2K fashion calls back to the biggest trends of the late 90s and early 2000s. It blends the pop culture of the millennium with bright colors and kitschy aesthetics to create an unapologetically maximalist look. One of the key fashion points of the y2k wave are: low raised jeans, crop tops, small handbags and mini skirts. POC POPULARIZED THE STYLE. The fashion icons of the y2k era were Destiny's child, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and Christina Aguillera.

I. TYPES OF THE Y2K STYLE ୨୧ ׅ ۫ 𖹭

1. CYBERCORE

Y2K (also known as Kaybug or Cybercore) is an aesthetic that was prevalent in popular culture from roughly 1997 to 2004, succeeding the Memphis Design and Grunge eras and overlapping with the McBling, UrBling, Surf Crush, and 2K1 aesthetics. Named after the Year 2000 problem, it is characterized by a distinct aesthetic period, encapsulating fashion, hardware design, music, and furnishings shining with tech optimism—sometimes literally. Some of its aspects include tight leather pants, shiny clothing, silver eye shadow, spiky up-dos, Oakleys, gradients, translucence, and Blobitecture. Most Y2K aesthetics rely on the use of technology and slick futuristic looks, signaling the optimism for the 3rd Millennium or 21st Century. The Y2K Era ended around 2004 and was succeeded by the Frutiger Aero era. This style is full of mostly gray, blue, green and black colors. One artist that i think perfectly describes the cybercore concept are XG in their newest concept photos alongside with AESPA that can sometime miss the concept they mainly do.

2. MCBLING

The McBling aesthetic went into full swing around late 2004 with the release of the movie Mean Girls, the popularization of Myspace, the popularization of emo via Green Day's American Idiot, the phasing-out of 2K1, the iPod becoming a huge status symbol via Apple's silhouette ad campaign, the premieres of Laguna Beach and Lost, and Gwen Stefani starting her solo career, further hastening the end of the Y2K era. McBling was concurrent or overlapped with a number of other 2000s aesthetics, such as UrBling, Surf Crush, 2K7, and Frutiger Aero.This led into the ElectroPop 08/Hipster/Jersey Shore Era, which lasted from about 2008 to 2013. On social media in recent years, the McBling aesthetic has grown in popularity, albeit it is often lumped with or mistaken for the Y2K aesthetic. The colors of this style are: pink, white, silver and gold.

3. DARK Y2K

Instead of lighter and brighter colors, like pinks and pastels, the Dark Y2K aesthetic heavily revolves around colors like black, grey, deep blue, dark purple, and dark green. However, hot pinks are also seen in Dark Y2K fashion. The Dark Y2K visual focuses on freedom and youth, and rebelling. Visuals that are typically seen in the aesthetic are low-rise jeans and belts, with lipgloss and sometimes even glitter eyeshadow. Some of the styles worn could even be viewed as provocative.The 2003 film Thirteen can be seen as an influence to Dark Y2K fashion and visuals, with its main characters wearing cropped tops, low-rise jeans with a noticeable thong, and studded belts. The main characters are also seen rebelling and sneaking out, and getting tongue and bellybutton piercings.

II. MOVIES AND TV SHOWS TO WATCH

1. Y2K

— bratz: the movie

— fast and furious

— clueless

— any bratz content

2. CYBERCORE

— men in black

— the matrix

— charlie's angels

— x-men

— any superhero movie

3. MCBLING

— mean girls

— white chicks

— wild child

— the house bunny

— legally blonde

4. DARK Y2K

— twilight

— jennifers body

— skims

— thirteen

— girl, interrupted

III. SONGS TO LISTEN TO

1. Y2K

— devil - slayyyter

— gimme more - britney spears

— summertime - flo

— sugarcoat - natty

— attention - newjeans

— tokyo drift - teriyaki boyz

2. CYBERCORE

— stereo love - edward maya

— lovefool - the cardigans

— hello kitty - slayyyter

— any hyperpop song

3. MCBLING

— rumors - lindsay lohan

— faboulous - sharpay evans

— he said she said - ashley tisdale

— queencard - gidle

4. DARK Y2K

— all the things she said - t.A.T.u

— bang, bang, bang - soho dolls

— take me away - avril lavinge

— brutal - olivia rodrigo

— no celestial - le sserafim

— teen idle - marina and the diamonds

information provided by aesthethics.wiki

with love, 𝒯

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day0fnight · 3 months

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the last of us part II remastered ~ abby anderson [icons 2/2]

developer: naughty dog software

#the last of us part II remastered #the last of us part II #the last of us #tlou part II remastered #tlou part II #tlou #abby anderson #the last of us part II icons #the last of us icons #tlou part II icons #tlou icons #abby anderson icons #game icons #icons

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chokemejesus · 11 months

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ᴅɪɴᴀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ

"𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵... 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺."

1/???

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frostfire-17 · 5 months

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What is cuneiform?

@ipsomaniac asked if I could explain the cuneiform system, and so I am going to give it a shot. Here goes! (Update: it got long! But there's pictures!)

Part I: What does it look like? How do we work with it?

This is the cuneiform script:

This is a first-millennium BC text of Sargon II, in Akkadian (specifically Neo-Assyrian). My user icon is a much older Sumerian text. In a second we'll see some Hittite. Just like the Latin script is used for English, French, Turkish, and many other languages today, the cuneiform script was used for lots of languages in the ancient world. It changed a bit over three thousand years of constant use, but it remains pretty recognizable because of the wedges. "Cuneiform" is just Latin for "wedge-shaped," because scholars love giving things banal names and then translating them into Latin or Greek so no one can tell.

This is a Hittite tablet:

This particular tablet is part of the royal funerary ritual (which has many many MANY tablets, many of which are way more broken than this one, and/or missing entirely). It's been pieced together from lots of fragments, all excavated separately. (You can see their excavation numbers written on the fragments, e.g. 39/c.) It's written on clay, like most of their texts were. This is a pretty good amount of preservation for a tablet this size - many are more fragmentary. I wish the picture were better, but tablets are not catalogued by how good the pictures are and it would have taken a million years to find a really hi-res one suitable for our purposes.

You can see that each symbol is made up of a bunch of wedges. These were pressed into the clay with a stylus while it was still wet. If you look closely, you can also spot spaces between words (more obvious at the end of a paragraph).

Here's a little slice of our tablet:

And here's a drawing of that same little slice. This is how scholars usually interact with texts on a day-to-day basis, because taking readable photos of tablets is difficult and going to see the tablets is more difficult. Drawings are made by experts in the presence of the tablets and published so that everyone can look at them.

Here the scholar who did this drawing (published in Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi vol. 39, text no. 4) was working with only some of the fragments, and so has written in the transliteration of the left half, which they weren't copying. So you can see how each cuneiform sign corresponds to a written syllable, sometimes in lowercase, sometimes in all caps, and sometimes in superscript.

What does all this mean? How does it work? Okay. Cuneiform is a really difficult and frustrating writing system to read, for a few reasons. 1) It grew organically from a time before writing existed, so people were just kind of slowly figuring out how to use pictures to represent words; 2) it lasted for thousands of years, so there were all sorts of innovations tacked on without necessarily jettisoning any of the old stuff; and 3) it was borrowed through quite a few languages, almost none of which were related to one another, so it had to twist around and adapt to totally different sounds and word structures. So it's weird! And hard to learn, especially for us, because we are not native speakers of any of the languages that used it, and also we're not a single person existing in a snapshot of time, where cuneiform had a specific form and iteration - we're looking at its whole span of three thousand years.

THAT SAID. I can explain some stuff about it and how it worked! Here goes!

Part 2: How does it work as a writing system?

We start with a picture. Let's use a star. Like this: 𒀭

Or this:

(this is a student text copying the star sign over and over - ignore the leftmost column. I got it from this excellent thread here)

This is the cuneiform sign for the sky, or for a god. In Sumerian, the language that first used cuneiform, the word for "sky" is AN. The word for "god" is DINGIR. So this sign could be pronounced either AN, and mean sky, or DINGIR, and mean god. This sort of usage is called "logographic" - a sign equals a word. It started as just a picture of a star, and came to mean a couple of things associated with the stars.

Eventually, there reaches a point where it doesn't just only mean the word "sky," it also means the syllable "an." That is, you could use it to represent a part of a word, or a grammatical element, that was pronounced "an." (E.g., ma-ah-ha-an: mahhan, which is a Hittite word that means "when," and which is written with four signs, including our an.) This is called the rebus principle: like a rebus puzzle, a picture of an eye can also mean "I" because they sound the same. This usage supplements the logograms rather than replacing them: you could still use "an" to mean "sky." You know which usage is in play based on context. (Or at this stage, maybe you don't. Sumerian is real hard and we don't understand it perfectly.)

You can also use signs a third way, which is designed to make reading easier: as what's called a "determinative." A determinative tells you what type of thing a word is. So if you use the star symbol as a determinative, it comes before a word and indicates that upcoming is a god's name. It's not pronounced when it's used like that. Other determinatives include: male and female markers, plural markers, markers to indicate what something is made of, what kind of animal it is, etc.

So any sign you see could potentially be a word (logogram), a sound (syllable), or a soundless classifier (determinative). In practice, only some signs take on all three of these functions.

When we transcribe signs now, we write them in Latin script based on which function they're serving. That's why, in the above Hittite texts, some of the signs were written in all-caps (for logograms), some of them in lowercase (for syllables), and some of them in superscript (for determinatives).

So then Akkadian borrows the system. They like to spell words out a lot more than the Sumerians do, so more and more signs are used primarily for their syllables, rather than their meaning. The signs also take on more syllabic meanings, because Akkadian has different words behind the logograms, and also has different sounds than Sumerian. A lot of signs end up doing double, triple or even-more-ple duty (e.g. the sign for "ag" can also be read "ak" or "aq" in an Akkadian text). Once again, you know how to read a sign from context, and in Akkadian you usually actually do know, because Akkadian is a Semitic language rather than an isolate like Sumerian, so we understand it way, way better.

Akkadian keeps using the symbols as logograms, though, too. Sometimes they'll spell out a word, but sometimes they'll just use the logographic symbol for it - like how sometimes we write out "two," and sometimes just write "2". Sometimes there are full Sumerian words or combinations of words that have become logograms: that is, they're not loanwords. They're not pronounced in Sumerian. They're written as a symbol (like 2), and the Akkadian word would be pronounced underneath (like "two.") The Akkadians also keep using determinatives.

At this point, most signs at least have a logographic value and a few syllabic values. Also (to make it extra difficult) plenty of syllables have a couple of different signs that could be used to represent them. In total there's a bit over a thousand cuneiform signs, incidentally, but usually only a few hundred were in use at any given time and place.

Then Hittite borrows it! They actually overall reduce the number of signs used, and the number of signs doing double duty, so it's generally simpler to read. Hittite's sound system is totally different from Akkadian's, though - which is totally different from Sumerian's - so they do some weird stuff with which signs represent which sounds. (The result of this is that our understanding of Hittite phonetics is somewhat imperfect.) They do use a ton of logograms whenever they're talking about physical objects, especially ritual offerings. Ritual texts are A PAIN IN THE ASS to read because they're full up with obscure logograms, and so you pore over a signlist trying to work out what the bonkers twelve-wedge sign you've never seen before is, and then when you finally find it you're like, "oh ANOTHER kind of bread. cool cool."

Part 3: Let's Read Hittite! (This is probably excessive.)

So finally, let's read some together! This is two lines from the Ten-Year Annals of Mursili II, an account of the first ten years of that king's reign. It's mostly conquering, but this bit is calmer.

(ANNOYINGLY, Tumblr will not do superscript, or I cannot make it anyway, so I will put determinatives in parentheses.)

nam-ma (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši ú-wa-nu-un nu (URU)Ha-at-tu-ši

gi-im-ma-an-da-ri-nu-un nu-za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM i-ya-nu-un

That's the text rendered sign-by-sign. Everything that is separated by a dash, a period, a space, or a parenthesis is a separate sign. Words are separated with spaces. Here's a more normalized rendition of the words (still with the logograms, though).

namma (URU)Hattusi uwanun nu (URU)Hattusi gimmandarinun nu=za EZEN4.HI.A ŠA MU.6.KAM iyanun

"Then I went to Hattusa, and I spent the winter in Hattusa and performed the festivals of the sixth year."

The ú in uwanun in the first line is written with an accent because there are several signs that can mean "u" and this is the second one. Similar for EZEN4: there's more than one sign for EZEN, and this is the fourth. Scholars always write logograms and determinatives in Sumerian, because that's where the meanings were fixed. URU, used before Hattusa, is both the determinative for "city" and the Sumerian word meaning the same. ŠA in the last line is italicized and capitalized because it's a logogram that comes from Akkadian: "ša" means "of" in Akkadian, and the Hittites used Akkadian words as logograms just like the Akkadians used Sumerian words.

Anyway, that's how cuneiform works! If you made it this far you're a hero! <3

#hittites yay!#cuneiform

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stuckinthedeadlights · 11 months

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Ellie Williams Icons

free to use, credit appreciated but not necessary. if you have a request or want to be tagged for any of my edits send me an ask. don’t repost, reblogs appreciated. all of my edits can be found here

#the last of us #the last of us game #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #icons #dana's edits #the last of us part ii #the last of us part 1 #the last of us left behind

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shesjustanothergeek · 5 months

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Seven

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I just wanted to start by saying thank you, and I'm sorry. Life has been so hectic these past few weeks. I met a guy, and we dated. Then we broke up, celebrated my birthday, got another job added to my current one, and got invited to parties while trying to care for myself, which is already a struggle. It may take some time, but this story will be finished! Everything is planned out; I have to write it. I promise!

Chapter Warnings: Misogyny, sexism, blood supremacy, the iconic dinner scene.

After the much-awaited arrival of your family came, it quickly went. The Keep was a buzz with a tense thickness of worry for what would come. With the petition of Vaemond Velaryon for the Driftwood throne and the other faction of Targaryen's appearing, the Lords and Ladies of the Court were anxious. The last time the entirety of the House of The Dragon was together, a Prince was maimed, and a Princess was cut, creating an irreparable divide.

You thought nothing of it. The court was always tense in your presence. What was the added chance of another physical confrontation?

Rhaenyra had sent you to fetch your brothers, saying she needed a moment to gather her bearings after being away for so long. You bid her farewell as you strolled along the stone halls, already having a place in mind for where the troublesome duo could be.

As you suspected, the boys were in the training yard, Jace enthusiastically wielding a short sword and showcasing a prideful stance to Luke. Rolling your eyes, you descended the stone steps, focusing on not tripping as your brothers approached a crowd of cheering onlookers. You had your suspicions of who would be within the circle, cautiously hurrying your slippered feet.

Just as you were moments away from pulling Luke, a smooth timber carried throughout the yard.

"Nephews, have you come to train?" the One-Eyed Prince asked. You knew the query was rhetorical, swiftly pushing yourself between your brothers and taking their hands.

You challenged Aemond with the firm line of your mouth, an arched brow within your hard stare. Before either of you could think to do something foolish, the thundering creak of the courtyard doors opened, revealing Lord Vaemond and his entourage of blue-grey seahorse banners.

Instinctively, you put Lucerys behind you, the sword Daemon gifted you hidden beneath your cloak of crimson and black. Both your brothers clutched at your hand as if it were the only thing keeping them from withering under their Great Uncle's stare, and perhaps it was. You heard a chuckle from behind, your head quickly snapping at Aemond to fix him with a stern look.

"Come, brothers," you announced, tugging their larger fists in yours, "let us find Mother before we must attend this farce."

Jace and Luke followed solemnly behind. The elder hunched over with a wrinkled brow, the younger desperately clinging onto you like a babe to its rattle.

***

The Great Hall was bustling with the sounds of anxious voices. All the court members were gathered in a display of what you could only think to be an attempt at public embarrassment by the Greens. Petitions such as these only required some of the Lords and Ladies to be in attendance, yet here they were, making a chilled and open space incredibly stuffy and small.

The Iron Throne stood imposing with its presence, the swords of Aegon the Conquerer's enemies smelted into a seat that could cut those who came too close to its rug of pointed metal.

Your Father was conversing with Rhaenyra, his strong fists clasped over his stomach, leaning into your Mother's ear. Lucerys was at her side, his slender fingers picking at each other as he cowered beneath his cloak. Rhaena and Jace were beside you, and you glanced at your half-sister, her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locks piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, and you stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his more petite body.

He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him, subtly leaning into your side as the announcement for the petition commenced.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds," Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, "we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, removing your arm from your brother and replacing it with your palm. "The Crown will now hear the petitions."

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, the sense of someone watching your movements too closely to be fleeting. Aegon's violet eyes were trained on you and your connection with your brother; his lips curved into a frown. You brought Luke tighter into your side, fighting the urge to get him into your chest as a mother would, only to spite Aegon. The Prince could no longer stand the infuriating sight of you holding someone so close and trained his darkened eyes on the floor.

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon," the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.

The man who caused this stepped forward, dressed in a rich velvet doublet of deep navy, nearly black, and sparing a glance to the wife of Lord Corlys, the Queen Who Never Was, Princess Rhaenys.

"My Queen," he greeted with a nod, "my Lord Hand."

Luke bristled beneath your touch at his Great Uncle's voice, retreating further into his cloak.

"The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind." You glanced at your Mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her gaze downcast with a disapproving smirk. "Our forebears came to this land, knowing they were to fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name."

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother's skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with your Lucerys and his claim vanished as you noted the anger on her face, the fury at Vaemond's claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys' absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands.

"I have spent my entire life on defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys' closest kin, his own blood," the second son petitioned.

Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through. "It's a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins."

"As it does in my son's, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon," your Mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her.

You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to Rhaenyra as you gnawed on your lip. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the King. Perhaps since it wasn't her Father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King shouldn't be allowed such liberties.

"If you cared so much about your House's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-"

"You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra," the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering anger to spike into a rolling boil. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

You understood Queen Alicent's opinion but couldn't quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your Mother. She was a wife to the King; she held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.

Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it."

A tugging at your dress sleeve brought your attention to Luke, swiftly nodding that you were all right as he stroked the back of your white knuckles. Your hand long forgetting its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.

"This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours," Vaemond finished, staring hard at your brother as he cringed.

You did not let the Lord frighten him for long, standing in front of Luke like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor's Holdfast. You came face to face with Ser Vaemond for the first time in your life, his facial hair a mix of salt and pepper from the decades of life he held above you. You were still determining if you could best him in a battle of swords. Yes, you were skilled, but you were not a fool.

The Lord turned from you, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. "This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor," Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, "the Lord of Driftmark-the Lord of The Tides."

"Thank you, Ser Vaemond," Otto announced, the second son giving one last sneer toward your family.

With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body.

"Princess Rhaenyra," the Hand called, "you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon."

Your Mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Luke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-"

Rhaenyra's words were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Gasps were heard collectively around the large room, your Mother turning to see her Father in public for the first time in years. Lord Vaemond watched the King of The Seven Kingdoms as he hobbled across the great expanse of the throne room, a golden mask covering the right side of his face.

You recalled that nearly a year ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire's cane, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure. You knew it was only time until Viserys became the Lepers you saw within the slums of Flea Bottom as a girl, but your memories did not serve the disease any justice. It was worse than you could have imagined.

The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.

"I will sit the throne today," the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.

"Your Grace," Otto acknowledged reluctantly, taking his place next to his daughter and her children.

A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn't watch this, watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors.

The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire's Crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents' love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.

Luke tugged your hand at your side, making you lift your gaze from the floor to him. "Sister, you're crying," he whispered just below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheeks.

"I must admit my confusion," your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. "The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin's words. "Indeed, Your Grace," she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.

Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed."

The collection of emotions within the room was a whirlpool. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief whirled around the Great Hall like the beating of a dragon's wings. Ser Vaemond was fuming, indignant at his good sister's words. He was a true Velaryon, not his bastard nephew born of a harlot disguised as a Princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen dishonored his family and the realm with her illegitimate offspring, parading them as pure. He would not stand for this. Vaemond's blood was thick, and it ran true like the sea.

"As a matter of fact the Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son's Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys' granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartedly agree."

The rate at which your head snapped to Luke was supernatural, nearly causing you to lose your balance. His expression mirrored yours, shocked with mouths parted like a fish, then turning to look at your Mother. A graceful smile painted her pink lips, swiftly lowering her gaze with a protective hand over her round stomach.

No one besides your Mother shared the proud sentiment, the Queen's countenance souring far more than you thought possible, the Hand still aghast at the sudden turn of events.

"This will be good," you leaned into your brother's ear, his gaze unsure.

Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold. You couldn't pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. Perhaps he enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.

"Well," the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, "the matter is settled. Again."

You leaned your head atop Luke's, wordlessly expressing that everything would be well, that there was nothing to worry about anymore. He reciprocated the notion with a squeeze of your hand.

"I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, to the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of The Tides."

The proverbial sigh of relief let out by your family was deep, the heavy-bearing weight of the future being lifted off your shoulders and placed onto the Greens. Princess Rhaenys sauntered to her position beside her eldest granddaughter, an almost annoyed yet prideful gate to her walk.

A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. "You break law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir," Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. "But you dare tell me who deserves inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

Your brown and violet orbs flickered from the man to the King, your posture changing from the reserved and proper Princess to a warrior, ready to protect.

"Allow it?" Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

The fallen silence was too thick to cut even by the sharp blade of Darksister, everyone waiting with contained breaths to see what would follow.

"That is no true Velaryon!" the second son shouted. Your hand went to the sword concealed within your large cloak, the other going over Luke as you stepped before him. "And certainly no nephew of mine."

"Take him to his chambers," Rhaenyra ordered you before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. "You have said enough."

"Lucerys is my true born grandson," your Grandsire declared. "And you no more than the second son of Driftmark."

"You," Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, "may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides."

He turned to you and your brother, feet firmly planted with the grip on your longsword. Your gaze stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. "And Gods be damned I will not see it ended on account of this..."

You tilted your head to the side, eyes wide as you dared him to utter the words that desperately wanted to leap from his tongue.

"Say it," a voice whispered behind you, your Father's soft and menacing timbre.

Onlookers watched with bated breath as Vaemond thought over his words, his gaze flickering from your Father to you, your Mother, and then finally, Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.

"Her children are bastards!"

You inhaled, a near-inaudible growl emitting from your throat as you took a charged step forward only to be yanked back by your kid brother. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.

"And they," he glared at you, then to your Mother, his jaw tensing, "are whores."

Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon, your body moving on its own accord as he stared at Vaemond. His eyes were no longer their sullen purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards, fists blanched. Did people know of you and the Prince's dalliances? Had you not been as careful as you thought? Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being understood, with the chance that Helaena that your family knew of your sins.

You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing facts of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.

"Disarm him!" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.

"No need," your Father protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.

Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid seeped into the cracks of the stone floor. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones, Alicent and your Mother running to his aide.

You felt nothing of the inferno of emotions from before, your mind replaying the images of bloodied hands stabbing, stabbing, stabbing and slicing, cutting, tearing at muscle and tendons until you saw nothing but red.

"Little one?"

The name startled you into reality, your hands no longer dripping the essence of life, Vaemond's body carried away.

Aegon stood before you, his face etched with worry. You merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb. What could you say to him after everything that had happened? After the night he cared for you so tenderly, it rivaled that of a mother's touch, proving that he would keep your secrets without being asked.

You parted your lips to speak, suddenly finding your throat too dry as you swallowed. Aegon extended a hand to yours, fingers brushing each other as fire ignited in your veins, sending bolts of heat through your limbs.

Oh, how you missed his touch.

"I-" you started, the Prince's amethyst orbs searching your own.

"Sister. Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper," Lucerys called, his tone clipped.

You yanked your limb away from Aegon as if it burned, nodding curtly to Luke as he replaced it with his own. You followed your brother out of the Great Hall, refusing to look back as the Prince's stare bore holes into your head.

***

The sun had set upon King's Landing, but none slept. The flagstone streets bustled with life, men with several drinks searching for a championship with anyone willing for some coin.

You, too, nursed a goblet of firewater, your cloak long forgotten as the drink slid down your throat. The intricate strings of bronze fabric woven into your gown glimmered with every movement of your body in the dim candlelight.

The atmosphere of the dining hall was tense on both sides, idle chatter amongst family filling the space as servants prepared for the first meal. All waited patiently for the King to enter, joyful albeit subdued smiles on their faces. You observed your brothers' interactions with their betrothed, each dutiful and respectful, speaking with them in hushes about the future and what it might be.

You and Aemond were the only occupants without a respective partner, Alicent with her Father, Rhaenyra and Daemon with each other, Aegon and Helaena worlds apart but still connected by the rope of marriage. It made your skin crawl to have more in common with your estranged one-eyed cousin than your own family, taking another hearty swig of your Arbor Gold as the Prince locked gazes with you.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, leaning unceremoniously into the back of your high chair, staring at the dozens of foods before you, begging to be eaten. You were growing impatient with waiting for your Grandsire and decided to steal a purple grape from the platter before you, your Mother scolding you with a tsk.

Aegon was six cups into his wine before the King arrived, his face sullen as he observed his sister-wife delicately stroke something within her hand.

Viserys was escorted into the hall on his makeshift throne, all rising in respect for his title, his crown long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your Mother. Sores you hadn't seen before in the throne room were more apparent, causing your eyes to sting with the threat of tears and stomach churning. He leaned heavily onto his cane despite already sitting, his extravagant Targaryen robes weighing on an already frail body.

You were not to cry. Not here. Not in front of the very people who already held little respect for your existence.

"It both gladdens my heart," the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, "and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world." Viserys looked toward his left, your Mother, Father, and brothers in his line of sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. "We've grown so distant from each other in years past."

You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen's unwavering grudge against your Mother that festered into a hatred of her life and choices. Or the Lord Hand, previously removed from his position for his corruption, created an environment hostile to those who interfered with his plans. The permanent injury of a young boy only solidified the foundation of hatred.

Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright violet eye should be was sunken in a hole of partially healed and rotting flesh in its wake. The wound in his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.

Aegon's previously intense stare faded, looking at anything except the live corpse before him. The urge to comfort the Prince as you would Luke manifested into a twitch of your fingers, crossing your legs to distract yourself.

"My own face is no longer a handsome one, if it ever was." Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire's throat, creating an almost repulsive noise. "Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your Father..."

Aegon met the eyes of a man who was his Father only in name, his glare dark, filled with an anger you had never seen before. You bit your lip, hard to focus on anything other than your heart aching to run and kiss the malice from his face. Why were you thinking this way? Aegon murdered your kin, murdered an innocent maid who was simply doing good.

He deserved this.

But why did it hurt?

"...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided."

The Sullen Prince's eyes turned to you, your gazes locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths.

"Set aside your grievances!" Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. "If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your Mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King's words as her chair scraped against the stone floor, a cup in her hand as all eyes turned to her.

"I wish to raise my cup to, Her Grace the Queen," she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your Mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. "I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyaly by his side than his good wife."

The Queen stared at Rhaenyra, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.

"She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology," Rhaenyra concluded, returning to her seat.

You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds' eyes. Turning to Aegon, you realize that he did not remove his stare from you, his violet eyes a glassy pool of amethyst. You were sure you mirrored him, your chin slightly quivering as you focused on the empty plate before you.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We're both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common then we allow," Alicent spoke, her voice barely stuttering. "I raise my cup to you and to your House. You'll make a fine Queen."

Otto's disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.

Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, lurching forward to catch the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.

It had been so long since he felt his love's warm embrace, the softness of your skin on his, and the melodic laughter at one of his raunchy jests. Aegon longed to have anything of you, whether it be your smile or the icy sting of your glare. You ruined him. No one could compare to you, the finest ambrosia he ever tasted, forever aching for another sip. The Prince truly and deeply loved you and needed you to know.

Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat.

The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.

You ignored the piercing stare burning on the side of your face, focusing your attention on your Father and adoptive Mother. Daemon whispered something into your Mother's ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled and a blush bloomed.

The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs, longing to find a love like your parents before you, but it could not be. Men like your Father were rare in more ways than one. He was more devoted and loyal to Rhaenyra than her sworn shields, ready to defend her honor even at the cost of lives. It was a love you could only dream of. You were a bastard, nothing more.

Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore. The ache. The constant throbbing in your head and heart. It was sometimes too much to bear, seeking solace in a few things. Your days were spent with the swirling storm of thoughts and memories. They plagued your mind like the diseases of your childhood, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, and isolation.

It was small at first, smiling and shaking your head when Helaena and your maids questioned what was wrong. Gradually, anger backed every motion you made, and guilt for acting in such a way, for the actions of the past. Your lust for revenge soon consumed you, not long after. Your only focus in the loneliness was to wrong those who wronged you, and now that it was done, all that was left was... nothing. Simply nothing.

"Sister," a kind voice whispered beside you, a gentle hand coming to land on your shoulder. You placed your own over your younger brother's, flashing him a brief smile. "Would you like to dance?"

You accepted Lucerys' invitation, the sudden rising movement causing you to lose balance slightly, resting your weight on him. You both giggled as he glanced down at your awkwardly positioned body, helping you upright as any gentleman would. The musicians started a lively tune, Luke beginning to lead you in dance as several pairs of eyes turned to you.

Daemon and Rhaenyra watched their children with a smile, sharing looks as your Mother leaned against him. Rhaena observed with a wistful look, her gaze to the future rather than the present. It looked bright-- distant time with the sound of running feet and laughter, living in the seat of her ancestors.

You turned to peak a look at your half-sister, ready to congratulate her on securing a good husband as you saw Aegon. His face contrasted with the others-- blue-black circles sunk underneath his violet eyes, his pale skin devoid of the flush of life. You brushed his stare off you and followed your kid brother's lead, catching the glimmer of a look that made your stomach churn.

The murmur of Viserys' voice registered in the back of your mind, too focused on your slightly unbalanced movements to comprehend them. You heard a deep sigh, the soft screech of a chair, and a flash of green. Aegon was on the other side of Jaeceryes, glass in his hand as he whispered something into his ear. The loud cutlery clanking sliced through the air, and you pulled yourself from Luke, watching the eldest Prince saunter back to his seat, and two others stood.

"Jace," Baela called noiseless, her mahogany eyes flickering between her betrothed and the One-Eyed Prince.

Beats of silence echoed in the dining hall as everyone stared at Jace, waiting with curious yet cautious expressions.

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond," your brother spoke, raising his drink. "We have not seen each other in years, and I have fond memories of our shared youth." Jace turned, exchanging a sidelong glance with Luke. "And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends as well as allies. To your family's good health, dear uncles."

Each table member raised their cup, Aemond, albeit reluctantly, and took a drink. You took that as your cue to return to your seat, the next course soon to start. Princess Helaena stood moments after you sat, hiding a laugh at yet another toast.

"I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. 'Tisn't so bad," Helaena's melodic voice said. "He mostly just ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk."

Daemon's chuckle pierced through the unease, the two full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone's gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him.

The next King rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed, walking to the moonlit Princess, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space you and your brother once were, his face one of surprise. You brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk.

It serves him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.

Adding a few more spoonfuls of boiled potatoes, you observed the returning smiles of your kin, a warm fuzzy feeling replacing the hollowness.

It was over a year since you had been with them like this, laughing and merry as you feasted until your stomach was full. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself on Dragonstone, your darling Cannibal curled inside the caves of the Dragonmont, the smell of Brimstone and salt in the air.

A glint of gold caught your eye, breaking you from your fantasy. Viserys' brilliant mask shined in the candlelight as his head lulled to the side, fighting off a bout of pain. Rising from your seat, you went over to him before Alicent or Rhaenyra could react, kneeling on the side of his Lady Wife.

"Grandsire," you gently spoke, bringing his attention to you. "Would you like a drink?" He nodded as you grabbed his goblet, head tilting to the nonmarred side.

You could feel Alicent's gaze from behind, disregarding it as you continued to help him. Perhaps it was guilt that made you feed your dying uncle and Grandsire. Or perhaps it was instinctual to care for someone moments away from meeting the Stranger. It did not matter. Not now, at least. All that did was ensure Viserys' time would be filled with the love and kindness he desired, no matter how short it may be.

"Thank you, Granddaughter," the King rasped, smoothing a bony hand over your braided hair. "You always bring me such... peace when you are around. Please, before I rest tonight, read to me... The stories of Old Valyria."

You nodded hastily, a downturned smile on your lips as you grabbed his fist, your thumb rubbing the crepey flesh. He had never asked this of you before, and though you agreed without a thought, it set an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Signaling the guards, they swiftly went to his side, lifting the chair as you kissed his scalp. The skin was so cold it nearly froze your lips as the men carried your Grandsire out of the dining hall.

The merriment soon returned, melody and song embracing all who sought to take it. Jace and Helaena quickly returned to dance as if their King had not been escorted from the room with a wail of pain. Lucerys conversed with Rhaena and Baela, speaking of things only betrothed couples could as your Mother and Father continued their private conversation.

Once again, you were out of place and next to your family. It had always felt that way. When you were whisked away from all you knew on the back of Caraxes, it felt like you did not belong—constantly teetering on the edge of being legitimate but not being treated as such. You didn't have the powerful ancestry of your half-sisters nor a claim to any lands or titles like your brothers. Yes, you were of noble descent, but only partially. Bastards should not have the privileges that you do.

Sometimes, you convinced yourself it would be better if you had not been born. Your true Mother would still be alive, and Lyra and Sara would, too. Your Father would not have to live with the shame of having a child born of sin, and Aegon would not have to know the pain of never having the one he desires the most.

As if the Prince could read your thoughts, he looked at you, his annoyed expression disappearing into a concerned crease in his brow. You flew away from his inquiring one, focusing on your Mother and Father's joined hands. When you were sure he was no longer staring, you found yours returning, Aegon's eyes now on his younger brother as they spoke without words.

Soon, the main course arrived. A succulent pig glazed in a coppery crisp of honey, cloves, and cinnamon lying on a large platter with a crimson apple in its mouth. Your own began to water as you eyed its tan skin, hearing a snicker to the left of the long oak table.

Luke barely subdued his delight as the pig was placed in the middle, his dark brown gaze connected with the One-Eyed Prince. You were unsure of the reason for his laughter, seeing as Prince Aemond did not share the same sentiment, slamming his fist down onto the table with an attention-grabbing thud.

"Final tribute," he announced, his pink lips in a firm line. "To the health of my nephews Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise," Aemond paused, sparing no one but the boys a glance, his violet eyes wide with something feral, "and strong."

The soft plead of the Queen and a disapproving look from your Mother were cast aside as the Prince continued, Aegon raising his drink far too enthusiastically as you released an irking sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Come. Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys."

You followed as Aemond said and downed your drink, not for his insulting excuse of a toast but to tolerate the inevitable uproar he created.

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys shouted, his chin high.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment," Aemond countered, rising from his seat. You mirrored his actions, standing from your own far too quickly as you fought for balance, the wine gone to your head. "Do you not think yourself strong?"

Before anyone could blink, Jace swung, hitting the One-Eyed Prince on his good side. Luke shot up, ready to defend his brother, but was thrown forward as his face was smashed into his plate, rattling the silverware. Your legs carried you surely despite your sway as you grabbed Aegon by his choppy silver hair, yanking an arm behind his back.

"First, you take my only kin from me and now you feel you are entitled to their misfortune." The Sullen Prince whimpered as you brought his wrist higher, shoving it between his shoulder blades. "Hurt my family again, and you will wake up with your cock flayed and no hands to drown your sorrows."

"Daughter."

You need not look to know who it was and what he was asking, releasing Aegon as he struggled like a caught fish.

A dull sound captured your attention, and Jace was on the ground with a smirking Aemond standing above him. Guards made their way over to you and your brothers before you could even think to retaliate, restraining you all with iron-like grips as your Mother and Father surrounded you.

"How could you say such a thing before these people?" Alicent's heated words spat into Aemond's face, her fist gripping his forearm.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond cooly spoke, removing himself from her touch. "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

You had never wanted to kill the One-Eyed bastard more than you have at this moment, shoving free from the guards. How could he think he could get away with saying such a thing? Had the Prince not seen a man beheaded hours prior for spouting those words? Just because he was the son of a King, he felt laws and declarations did not affect him. No.

Hiking your skirt, you reached for the dagger hidden at your ankle, charging forward without the repercussions of attempted kinslaying.

"Wait! Wait!" Daemon shouted sharply over the sound of stomping feet, holding you back with a mere finger. "Not now," he whispered so only you could hear, glancing at your Mother behind you. You slowly retreated, obeying your Father's command as any good daughter should, Jace gripping your shoulder roughly.

"Go to your quarters," Rhaenyra commanded, repeating her words as you hesitated. "All of you. Now."

Aemond's smirk left his thin lips as quickly as it came, face to face with your sighing wall of a Father as you exited in acquiescence.

You did not visit Viserys that night as you promised; your mind was a maelstrom of thought and emotions not even the most skilled seaman could navigate safely as you fell into the warm fur of your bed.

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Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomfloewerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk

Y'all know the clip of 50 Cent where he says, "fuck T.I., fuck Nelly, fuck 50. I'm like, what he'd say fuck more for?"

That was literally the reader when Vaemond called her a whore. I just thought that was so funny, lol.

Also, special thanks to all those who kept up with me during my small hiatus. Now that there ain't no boys in my life no more, I can finally do what I love again! Never give up what you love for anyone. Ever.

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason. Message me so I can fix it!

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