#and yes she does refer to him as a dragon and of course

[navree]

Thouggts on alys? And alysmond

Oh God do I have thoughts on Alys and Alysmond, anon, you have no idea. Alys is likely going to become my second favorite character in the entire show the second she shows up (provided they don't screw her up) because I literally just love her so very much. And Alysmond is literally peak for me, they're my number one ship on this show.

I think Alys is a very interesting character. There's a lot about her that's shrouded in mystery in Fire&Blood, because she's not a Targaryen and she was only involved with the Targaryens for a very brief period of time, but even the stuff we do know lends itself towards a fascinating character. Alys as a character is a type of person we don't see a lot in stories in Westeros, particularly when it comes to points of view. She's a bastard, but unlike our other fave bastard, Mister Jon Snow, she's not treated nearly as well (not to say that Jon didn't suffer at Winterfell, he clearly did due to his bastard status and also the way Catelyn treated him). For one, she's a woman, which in general is cause for concern when living in Westeros, and for two, Lyonel treats her far worse than Ned treated Jon. Ned made Jon a part of his family, did treat him as his son, raised him as a brother to his trueborn children, and while he didn't do much when it came to Catelyn's shit of "oh he can't sit with us on Such and Such occasion because he's too bastardly" and "oh yeah no once you leave I'm gonna kick him out of the house at the ripe old age of fourteen unless he decides to join the cult border patrol that tells him to never have a family or a wife or kids and also has to fight ice zombies" he does still love Jon and care for him and look out for his emotional and physical wellbeing as best as he can. None of that seems to be present for Alys and Lyonel, by all counts he looked at his own daughter and made her a freaking servant! Sir that is your child! So Alys comes from this place of living amongst the privileged but being disprivileged in so many different ways, due to her birth status and her gender and her class, to say nothing of being an apparent old gods worshipper in a location of Westeros that was pretty firmly vested in the Seven.

I think Alys was very molded by her circumstances, that she's not just crafty and fiercely intelligent but also incredibly observant, that having been someone who would likely be in the "should be seen but not heard and even then barely seen" category of life, knows what to look for and how to use the information she can process to her advantage. I also think that Alys is a very neutral person, personality wise, very even keeled, given that we see her being the level head in several situations, like stopping Aemond from killing that messenger. Alys is gonna live her life to the best of her abilities and not feel too much about things, because having strong emotions about nonsense isn't really useful for surviving in the real world and as such doesn't serve. But she's still got her moments of softness. For one, we know that she had children prior to her son with Aemond, and also that all of them were stillborn, so that speaks to some intimacy with someone at some point, and, given that she's a "woods witch" and that people do have access to shit like moon tea in this world, a desire to at least have a family rather than just be firm on contraception. I also have a theory that she and Larys were actually close when they were younger (since I think she's around the same age as Harwin and Larys), due to their respective disadvantages drawing them close, the servant bastard daughter and the clubfooted second son. I like the idea of them hanging around in the forests around Harrenhal, Larys looking for special bugs and Alys wanting to gather fun herbs that she'd heard about to see what they do. I think that they're actually close, and that Larys probably does consider her the person he's closest to emotionally (my own pet theory is that he sent a warning to her about the fire at Harrenhal so that she'd be able to survive, and knowing she wouldn't stop it due to likely not having any sort of relationship with Harwin and her antipathy towards Lyonel and the way he treated her in childhood). I also do want to remark on just how smart Alys must be, to have survived in such a dangerous world for as long as she did, and to thrive. I picture her as someone who is oddly charismatic, charismatic enough to win over the people at Harrenhal in the absence of their actual liege, and keep herself alive. Harrenhal was taken by the Blacks first, and Daemon is not a very patient or understanding person, not to mention something of a raging misogynist, so it's entirely possible that the situation could have gone badly for her if she hadn't played it really well, which she clearly did, since Daemon let her live. She's smart and resourceful but also true to herself to the utmost degree, doesn't hide her magic or her old gods worship (which she likely took some sort of comfort in during her early years) and has made herself a survivor without losing any of her humanity in the process. She's so rich and layered, she has the potential to be the best character in the entire GOT/HOTD TV franchise.

As for Alysmond.........oh baby. It makes me fucking nuts. Even the way it starts off is so feral, given that Aemond basically wiped House Strong out in a single day and for some reason, the only person he didn't kill was Alys. We have absolutely zero clue why he did this; did she just not show him any fear? Did she appear apathetic enough about the deaths of the other Strongs that he thought it was interesting? Was there just something about her? Who knows, but from minute one there was something about Alys that jumped out to Aemond, and like vice versa. Again, Daemon took Harrenhal first, spent time there, and as Lyonel's only child in the castle, Alys would have likely engaged with him. But there's no record of them having an affair, and it's not because Daemon's a faithful family man who'd never dream of cheating on Rhaenyra; Alys is likely the one who just was not interested. But something about Alys and Aemond drew them to each other, and there's so much space to think about why. Aemond's had a much easier life than Alys, but that doesn't necessarily make it an easy life in and of itself, he's had to deal with the bullying and the being attacked and maimed and all the trials that came with his physical disability after losing an eye, to say nothing of the emotional issues he's had already that have only gotten worse by the time he's at Harrenhal (remember, his time at Harrenhal comes after Blood and Cheese happen as revenge for his "murder" of Lucerys and after Aegon names him regent after saving him at Rook's Rest, Aemond's got so much guilt and fear and self loathing and family issues wrapped up in him by the time he gets to Harrenhal it's a wonder he didn't explode). Having both had childhoods feeling disconnected from their families, albeit in a different ways, is a connection that they actually share, feeling like you're living on the margins of your society due to things outside your control is a connection that they share, even just feeling like they don't fit in and that they're wrong somehow is something they share, though Alys probably got over that a while ago while Aemond is still young and angsty. I also see Aemond as someone who's felt that he has to work for love, that it's conditional (I blame Viserys) and who feels that if he's not perfect, the people he cares about most, like his mother and his siblings, are going to stop loving him, and he's never had a relationship where he feels he can be himself with no reservations and whatever softness the other person is feeling won't go away. His relationship with Alys, even before it got physical/romantic, is likely the first time in his life where he's feeling like he doesn't need to strive for someone's love or affection. For Alys, Aemond's likely the first person who actually sees her as someone entirely herself. We know from Jon's ASOIAF chapters that part of the issue with a bastard growing up in the lord father's castle is that everyone they know sees them as "Lord X's bastard" first and foremost, even members of their family (like the way narration about Jon from other Stark kids have them refer to him as "bastard brother" even if they have a good relationship, like Arya or Bran). Everyone around Harrenhal, for her entire life, views Alys through the lens of "Lyonel's bastard daughter" and "Larys's bastard sister", and Aemond is probably the first person who doesn't, who just sees Alys Rivers as Alys Rivers, and even if she's less emotionally fragile that Aemond just through age and experience, that's still profound. I also like that there's a lot of room to play with how they went from just cohabitating Harrenhal to being out and out lovers. Aemond could tell her the truth about Luke, Alys could use some of her woods witch knowledge to help him with some chronic pain with his eye, there can be a moment where Vhagar lets Alys touch her in a sort of "Meemaw approves" thing. The possibilities to build up to them as a couple are endless and also extremely compelling. And romantic.

And once they become a couple, it's romantic as all Hell. For one, even with some of the power dynamics involved (Alys is technically a prisoner of war), it's still a pretty equal relationship. They listen to each other and their counsel, given that Aemond is willing to stay his hand when Alys stops him from killing that messenger, and that this does seem to be a relationship where they were both clearly enthusiastic and also able to trust each other, like Alys not being worried once Sabitha Frey takes her hostage after Aemond leaves. And the canon stuff is just...Aemond being so into Alys everyone can tell, being so besotted that he can't bear the thought of leaving her, having left Harrenhal and then doubling back, into enemy territory, to set an entire castle on fire just so that he can save her and get her back. The way that after that, he literally refuses to part with her, and they stay together until God's Eye, until the literal end, and the horrible doomed tragedy of the fact that they both likely knew that God's Eye was It, given that Alys has her old gods magic that helps her see the future and Ewan said that thing about Aemond having some sense of when and how and where he's gonna die, ugh the Tragical Romance. And I know there are people who are like "Aemond just dicking around Harrenhal and get a girlfriend while his family's in trouble makes no sense for his character" but like here's the thing. For one, he's not dicking around, he and Criston are in the Riverlands for a reason and they're doing shit, not to mention this happens pretty late in the game. For two, he can't go back and just retake King's Landing. Beyond the logistical nightmare, he needs to worry about his family. No one knows where Aegon even is, and most importantly, Rhaenyra does have hostages in King's Landing, Aemond's mother and Aemond's sister, that she can absolutely kill if Aemond's attempt to retake King's Landing isn't one hundred percent perfect on the first try. So him staying at Harrenhal and doing what he needs to do for the war out in the field is in fact in character, and if he happens to fall hopelessly and desperately and utterly in love with the hot goth witch in the meantime, that's just one of the perks. And it is love, I wholeheartedly believe they're in love. It's the coming back to Harrenhal that clinches it, if Aemond didn't really care, he wouldn't have done such a fast U-turn on Vhagar and gotten so vicious, but that's exactly what he did because maybe he can't save his family but he can save Alys, save their unborn child, allow himself to be well and truly happy for a little while longer. And if Alys didn't care, then she wouldn't have gone with him afterwards. She wouldn't have left Harrenhal with him, or stayed with him through their journey, or told him where to find Daemon, or even stayed to watch him die. Plus, I mean, the last thing Aemond ever does with two feet on solid Earth is kiss Alys goodbye, most romantic shit I've ever seen.

Her dragon. His lady. His Alys.

TL;DR I think Alys is going to be a top three character for me when she appears cuz she's already a top ten character for me in Fire&Blood, and Alysmond's relationship is literally so important to me it's the epitome to true love on this show no one else is even going to touch it.

#personal #answered #anonymous #alys rivers #alysmond #(also re: the jon stuff i'm not anti catelyn) #(well i kinda am but that's more that her personality rubs me the wrong way so much of the time even tho i really enjoy her chapters) #(but even beyond that i do think it's fair to point out that she treated jon badly) #(she had her reasons for it and they're understandable and sympathetic but she still did it) #anyway anon i could kiss you on the mouth i ADORE alys #and i adore her relationship with aemond so much it's literally my fave hotd ship #it's my third favorite f&b ship in general cuz first and second place go to the conquerors #and yes she does refer to him as a dragon and of course #aemond does out loud say 'my lady my alys' in front of like god and everyone #those are basically his last words

[zukosdualdao]

through all of the shadowy corners of me

zutara month, day three: (re)meet ugly/meet cute. @zutaramonth

summary: as katara's plans on the anniversay of her mother's murder fall apart, she ducks into a teashop to wait out the storm and finds herself familiar with the rude tea server she comes face to face with and promptly bursts into tears. because of-fucking-course.

warnings: grief, nightmares, references to kya's murder (and ursa's disappearance, though that is less explicit), and references to ableism wrt facial differences. also, just, some lightly gratuitous swearing, on behalf of katara's no good very bad day. she deserves it.

other notes: title taken from landon piggs’ falling in love at a coffeeteashop. because i am basic in that way.

Katara’s pretty sure the universe is conspiring against her.

First, it was the fucking felt-tip markers being all dried up—damn it Sokka—she needed for the posters for the protest she was supposed to head.

(She tries not to think about how really, first, it was the dream she woke up from, that she wakes up from often, but especially on this day, the dream with fearful eyes and the ominous drip of blood and the feeling of too late too late too late. The dream that is also a memory.)

Someone had to make the posters—because seriously, why was the school shutting down the campus food bank when a third of the student population was food-insecure?— so she missed her first class of the day to get new ones from the closest craft store, over half an hour way with traffic. There was supposed to be a quiz, too, and the professor is notoriously stubborn about absences and make-ups. 

And then there was this huge storm, so they couldn’t even have the protest today like they’d planned.

Now, as Katara ducks out of the rain and into the tiny little hole-in-the-wall ambient tea shop—The Jasmine Dragon, the sign had said—which is all warm lighting and soft ringing laughter from the bare few patrons inside, she figures she can at least get a cup of something hot to drink. It’s been a truly horrible day, and she can’t wait to get back home, sleep for ten hours straight, and wipe it from the record of her memory, but right now, this is her one saving grace.

So, when she gets to the second place in line, very patiently waiting as the server at the front snipes at the man in front of her, part of her wants to reel up to confront him. Sure, she knows customer service can be a day-in, day-out nightmare—she didn’t spend her first two semesters waiting tables because it was fun—but really, he could at least try to be a little nicer. The man wasn’t doing anything wrong, as far as she could see.

When she gets to the front, Katara opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know what—and is caught off-guard to find that she recognizes him faintly. With his eyes the color of amber, swoopy, dark hair, and a shiny, painful-looking burn scar set against the left side of his face, on her right—yes, he was a boy who was in Sokka’s class back in high school. And he was a total jerk, barely speaking a word to anyone except to get into arguments, whether with teachers or other kids. She didn’t know him all that well herself, but she’d never liked him from the stories Sokka told or for the way he seemed to bristle at everyone and everything as she watched from a morbidly curious distance.

Zuko. Yes, she remembers him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice almost a snarl when she spends a beat too long taking in his features, though he’s not looking at her, instead glancing down at his scratchpad. “I’m supposed to tell all of the customers we’re out of the oolong,” he adds in a rough voice, without looking up.

Katara wants to rage, wants to scream, why does he think he gets to treat people like that, god, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and treat me like a person when you’re being a dick—but instead, she bursts into tears. 

Very loud, messy tears. It’s been a long day.

And, well. He certainly looks up then. 

“Um,” Zuko says in lieu of an actual reaction, his right eye wide. His expression has softened considerably, his mouth shaped in surprise, his browline furrowed. “We have jasmine?” he tries.

Well, she thinks as he stands there stiffly, the perfect image of a deer in headlights, before reaching over the counter to push the napkin dispenser toward her, this is humiliating.

At least it’s not terribly busy in here. There’s no one standing beside her, and she only feels one or two worried glances from the tables, the shop mostly empty.

“Sorry,” Katara says through her tears. “God, I’m sorry. I just—I’m having awful day,” she says, motioning to her face as a way of explanation before yanking a napkin out from the dispenser to dry her face.

Zuko’s lip curls in what she thinks might be sympathy. 

“Me, too,” he admits on a sigh. “Sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” she says, shaking her head and smiling through still teary eyes. God. “A cup of jasmine tea would actually be nice.”

“Sure.” 

She pays quickly and tries to ignore his eyes as they follow her over to the tiny round table she chooses in the corner. One cup, she thinks. She’ll drink one cup of tea and be out of here quicker than even the lightning flaring outside, before anyone can say anything about it, and then head back to her apartment and think through every turn in life that got her there, sobbing in line at a tea shop as a mean boy she knew from high school tried not to call her on it.

But he has other plans, because when he brings her order to her, he doesn’t just leave like he’s supposed to, standing there for several awkward moments that feel as though they’re spanning lifetimes.

Yeah. The universe is definitely conspiring against her.

“So… you’re… good now?”

Katara stares at him blankly for a moment, feeling her jaw grow a little slack.

“Are you… checking on me?”

A beat. “I’m just very committed to customer service,” Zuko deadpans, and Katara can’t help but laugh.

“Right,” she says. “Yeah. I’m… good. Thank you.” He nods—just once, a rigid jerk of his head—and starts to turn on his heel to leave.

But for some reason, she suddenly doesn’t want that. He’s being… almost kind of sweet, and it’s so incongruous with the memory she has of him that it kindles a new kind of curiosity.  “We went to school together, you know,” she says quickly, before he can fully turn around. He pauses in his tracks. “You probably don’t remember, but—”

“I remember you,” Zuko says before she can even finish. She frowns, intrigued. “You always wore your hair up in a braid and those loops. And once, even though we barely knew each other,” he adds with the faint traces of a smile, “you told off that kid when he was… uh…” The smile fades.

Katara remembers suddenly. It was an overcast day, not unlike the way this one had started, and Zuko had been sitting alone in the courtyard, not bothering anyone (for once) as Katara made her way to lunch when she saw some other kid go up to him to start needling him, saying horrible things about his scar. Very loudly.

Katara hadn’t liked that, so she’d marched right over and told the kid so. Also very loudly.

She’s pretty sure that’s the only time she and Zuko even tangentially interacted, and even then, they hadn’t spoken any actual words to each other. Everything else she knew about him came from stories and distant observation.

“When he was being a dick,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Peering through his eyelashes, he adds more quietly, “I’ve always remembered that.”

“Really?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway.”

“I don’t like cruel people.” He nods, hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly downcast and looking almost a little ashamed. It makes her sort of sad. “Do you have time to sit?” Katara asks suddenly.

He looks surprised as he glances back at up her. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re working, so don’t worry about it if not,” she adds in a hurry, tripping over he words. “I just thought maybe…”

“My shift’s actually over,” he answers, and suddenly, there’s a soft, sort-of-shy smile playing on his lips. “I—I could sit.”

He pulls the chair out and sits while Katara sips at her tea. It really is quite good.

“This is almost making up for the rest of my day,” she laughs, and his face scrunches up, maybe almost amused.

But then, the expression morphs. “Why was your day so bad, Katara?”

She’s surprised to find he ever knew her name, let alone remembers it now. He really is full of surprises. 

She could tell him the simple version, the actual events without the why she was taking it so hard, without divulging what it was really about… but, well…

He seems sincere enough in asking, at any rate.

“I just… I lost my mother when I was really young,” she begins to explain, feeling sort of choked-up and tight in her chest again, but no tears threaten to fall right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and she looks up to meet his gaze, swimming with undeniable sympathy. “That’s something we have in common.”

She looks at him for a long moment, surprised. This is something they share, then. Something they can understand about each other. “I’m sorry, too. It’s awful. And… today is the anniversary. I usually just try to keep busy, but…”

“But everything went wrong?”

Katara hums.

“That’s the fucking worst,” he says bluntly, and Katara laughs then. He has very little tact, it seems, but also, yeah. It is. And it’s nice for someone to be able to… just say it. To feel it with her.

“It is the fucking worst,” she agrees. “But… I really am doing better now.”

“I’m glad,” he says, but he frowns, staring down at his hands, which are splayed on the table. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your day."

“I mean… the rest of my plans for the day have sort of fallen apart, and I should probably wait out the rain anyway, so I might, uh,” she says, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. “I might stick around for a while. Get one more of these,” she nods down to her cup, warm and solid in her hands. “You know.” She takes another sip.

His smile glints, but it’s soft, too, definitely as shy as she feels. “I could do with a cup.”

Katara’s own smile grows wider.

The kindly older man who runs the shop—Zuko's uncle, Katara learns quickly—brings them out another round of jasmine, two cups this time, and Zuko slowly raises his in a cheers motions motion, a little awkward and a lot funny.

“To awful days?” he says with a raise of his brow.

“And to perfect storms,” she adds in agreement, laughter bubbling in her chest.

They clink their teacups together.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutara #zutara month #my fic #me internally: idk how i feel about writing a modern au i don't feel like i can get into their headspaces the right way #also me: writes almost 2000 words about it #atla #zuko #katara #trigger: grief. #trigger: nightmares. #trigger: murder. #jic #trigger: ableism.

[slexenskee]

can i ask for any details about the hotd/jjk fic?

you mean aside from this lil WIP snippet?

I think I'm gonna call it "Write myself out of the history books" a line from All Time Low to match the rest of my 'Dropping Gojo into fandoms he didn't ask to be in' works 😂

His name is Soren and let's just pretend its Valyrian when in actuality it's just one of my favorite Fire Emblem characters (I feel like Gojo would appreciate that though, prolly a Soren stan himself lol)

His dragon hatches in his crib and idk I headcanon that Rhaenyra would wait to let him name it himself because she probably did the same with Syrax? But then 2 yr-old Gojo is like 'her name is Blue Eyes White Dragon' and Rheanyra is like 'wtf no' and also, this is why you shouldn't let kids name their own damn dragons. Rhaenyra refuses to let him name his dragon after what she doesn't realize is a Yu-gi-oh card, and in they settle for Sylvion, which she thinks is just some obscure Valyrian word/reference his 'Uncle' Daemon taught him, but is in fact a Pokemon that bears striking resemblance to his dragon. It's one of Dreamfyre's eggs, mostly bright white, with blue accents and some slight pink in the membranes, hence, Sylvion. Which is also Gojo's favorite pokemon, so he's two for two with references in this life.

He knows damn well that Daemon is not his Uncle, and they (Rhaenyra, Daemon, Laenor) all know he knows even if they collectively don't acknowledge it. He's Daemon and Rhaenyra's 'accidental brothel baby' that she had to get shotgun wedding'd to Laenor for, which is why he's much older than canon-Jace.

The age gaps are: Satoru/Soren (0), Aegon (+2), Helaena (-1), Aemond (-2), Jace (-3), Luke (-4) idk if Joff or Daeron will be in this.

Aegon is in love with him literally at first sight. He's going to PINE FOREVER. Like so much angst when he realizes he doesn't just adore his nephew in a purely platonic sense - which his mother/grandfather already dislike - but is in fact homosexually and audaciously in love with him lol. He definitely tries to fuck himself out of his own gayness, which absolutely does not work, esp when he starts ending up gravitating to regular female whores to male whores who all bear a striking resemblance to his nephew.

Does Gojo know? Hmm yes but not really. It doesn't even cross his mind even though he is also very gay, and also knows incest is casually a normal thing in the Valyrian family. But to him, Aegon is his uncle, and also a man in a 'don't say gay' world, so he kind of intentionally doesn't look too deeply into it. He does notice Egg is very attached to him, but he's not sure how much of that is familial and platonic and just Egg's very handsy personality versus romantic. They played a lot together as kids, slept in the same bed etc back when they were young enough it didn't mean anything, and obviously Gojo never felt that way about what he thought was a 'cute sticky dumpling of a kid who thinks he hung the moon' so it'll be a longgg and difficult shift for him to see Egg in any other way.

Aemond worships him in a strictly platonic sense that totally feeds his god complex. Gojo is literally the warrior reborn to him. He's a one man army and everyone knows it and he's so out of any mortal's league instead of being jealous about it Aemond just straight up adores him like a god. Daemon and Laena don't get together in this fic (RIP Baela and Rhaena) so Laena is still alive and has Vhagar, so idk maybe Aemond has Vermithor.

On a related note, everyone worships him as a god (or a Valyrian devil, *ahem* Hightowers *ahem*) bc to them he may as well be one. He has all his OG powers, he's invincible and untouchable and literally unstoppable. He achieves infamy the world over during Stepstones Round 2 where he absolutely obliterates an entire army and a few islands besides. He straight up asks his 'grandfather' Corlys if he should just eradicate the whole island chain and permanently solve the problem. Of course, the story gets convoluted with the whole medieval 'he said she said' chain of communication so there are plenty of non-believers still. LOL jokes on them.

He adores Rhaenyra. Like he likes Laenor a lot, and is partial to his little brothers (yes Jace and Luke exist, idk if they're Laenor's or Daemon's yet tho. They would't be Harwins bc Rhaenyra took one look at Gojo and was like 'shit he's 100% Valyrian its gonna look weird as hell if his siblings dont look like him at all') and has a soft spot for his 'Uncle' Daemon, but the reason he even bothers to stick around and not just fuck off to Essos to raise his own empire is because of her. I headcanon Gojo to have zero relationship with his parents in JJK - which unfortunately is expected from 'the patriarch' aka his father, but deeply hurt him in regards to his mother, who also cared nothing for him. Yes total double standard, but that's patriarchy for you. Anyway Rhaenyra is the opposite - she cherishes him from day 1, and whether that's because she truly loved him at first sight or just loved the idea of a child of hers and Daemon's who knows. But she doted on him and took care of him in a way anomalous for mother's in Westeros, and Gojo always took note of that. He'd burn the world for her - or in this instance, cower it into submission so she can have her throne in peace.

He doesn't mind playing the 'radiant prince' for her, being the faultless and impossibly perfect heir to the throne, because he knows it strengthens her claim immeasurably when his achievements so obviously outshine her direct competitor (Egg, who in fact does not give a shite about the throne and just wants to run away on his dragon with Soren). He even quietly submits himself to the idea of taking a wife because he knows that's also expected of him, although he plans on copying Laenor and having some threesome magic going on. Will that have to come to pass though? Hmm idk yet

THERE WILL BE ZOMBIES. No Night King, but I absolutely believe that Gojo accidentally would become the Prince who was Promised. His birth once again upsets the balance of yet another world, and shifts events into motion that would have laid dormant otherwise. Does he bring magic back into world with his birth? That would be interesting. Idk yet tho.

I also believe in the Maester conspiracy, so that might be in this fic too

#HOTD fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru

[m3r1m4r5u333]

Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies.

Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down!

...

The Wizard of Oz:

You're out of the woods,

you're out of the dark, you're our of the night,

Step into the sun, step into the light.

Keep straight ahead for the most

glorious place on the face of the earth or the

sky.

Hold onto your breath, hold onto your heart, hold onto your hope,

March up to that gate and bid it open.

...

Eddie: Maybe I'm just not a therapy kind of guy.

Buck: Right, right... You prefer to work it out in the ring.

Eddie: There was no ring, Buck. There was a fence.

...

So, gates, or fences, rings? Sounds like a locked yard mystery. Maybe there's love, locked somewhere in there.

Ring around the rosie

A pocket full of posies

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down

Interesting choice, Marisol's shirt. An image of a dragon (like Maleficent is) and a text that says 'Dreamed'... Yes, Maleficent's been busy cursing imposters, posies!

Ana of course was one, too. She dressed incredibly similarily to Shannon, the red dress with the white pattern is super similar to Shannon's. Kim is obviously one too.

And the way Tommy is reintroduced in an imposter-themed episode. Tommy, who like Eddie is also a firefighter, who was in the army like Eddie, who like Eddie also fights, and likes monster trucks, and on his first date with Buck says almost exactly the same line as Eddie does earlier to Buck's words..

"... Can't save someone from themselves, not if they don't want you to."

Eddie mutters: "Ain't that the truth..."

"Ain't that the truth, right Evan" is also what Tommy says, on the date, it's his reply to Buck inventing a story about him and Tommy being on their way to pick up hot chicks.

Anyway, after Eddie says the thing about there never being enough closet space, and Tommy goes "Ain't that the truth, Evan?"

It's really a subtle reference to the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. The cowardly lion being someone who sings stuff like this:

Yeh, it's sad, believe me, Missy

When you're born to be a sissy

Without the vim and verve

But I could change my habits

Never more be scared of rabbits

If I only had the nerve

I'm afraid there's no denying

I'm just an awful dandy-lion

A fate I don't deserve

But I could show my prowess

Be a lion, not a mouse

If I only had the nerve...

Anyway, in the end the Cowardly Lion finally finds his courage to help rescue Dorothy, and receives a medal of courage for it.

That is why "Ain't that the truth?" really does refer to pride and courage. Because it's very similar to something the Cowardly lion, in Wizard of Oz, the capricorn of queer subtext, repeats after he finds his courage!

"Read what my medal says:

"Courage".

Ain't it the truth? Ain't it the truth?"

So Tommy's and Eddie's lines... They are really sarcastic quips, and point out someone lacking courage or pride because the line is iconic words of a Cowardly lion....

And would be falsehood when the topic of the conversation is actually someone making silly, cowardly decisions instead of being someone who found their courage, and is being admired for that courage.

#abc 911 #eddie diaz #buddie #911 buddie #evan buckley #buddie 911 #911 abc #evan buck buckley #911 on abc #tv: 911 #eddie díaz #Cowardly lion #Ain't it the truth #the wizard of oz #Tommy Kinard #ring around the rosie #pocket full of posies #intertextuality #the sleeping beauty

[dragonagecompanions]

Why do you think Varric made the Inquisitor a Comte? Wouldn’t that make them outrank him? Dumar seemed pretty powerless and I always thought that Varric got shoved in the rule to make him in charge of the recovery of Kirkwall but not actually of Kirkwall?

Sweet gentle anon, I know it was not your intention but you have stumbled into one of my favorite conversational topics and I hope you are ready for the fall out.

Welcome, children, to Fereldone talks about Thedas' Geo/Theopolitical bullshit!

(tl:dr at the bottom)

So, very important things to know going in: Kirkwall's political history is weird. Founded by the Tevinter Imperium in -620 Ancient (which is DA equivalent of BC/BCE, or the time before the ages ascribed to history by the chantry), it was a mining city. After a slave tried to kill the Archon the Magisterium decided they needed to start importing- and presumably breaking the will of- slaves farther from the heart of the imperium and thus the City of Chains gained purpose.

I could throw a lot of facts and names at you, but here's the basics-- it housed millions of slaves over hundreds of years, at the end of the ancient age they rebelled and overthrew it. Kirk means black in Alamarri, the stone they mined there was jet black, and so Kirkwall (black walls) becomes a Free city. It suffered during the fourth blight in the Exalted Age (fifth age, for those keeping score at home), was conquered by the Qunari in the Storm Age (seventh age) and was then conquered by the Orlesians. Orlais was on a roll with the whole 'we own everything whoops killed your ancestral leaders', but in the Blessed age (eighth age) the people retaliate and overthrow the empire to regain independence.

For reasons I can only assume are laziness and a desire not to change all the paperwork, the leader of Kirkwall is still referred to by the Orlesian word Viscount/Viscomte. Bear with me, this is important later.

We are now in the early dragon age (9th age, and when Inquisition happens). The first two rulers of free Kirkwall sucked. Basically they blockaded their own port and made people pay a fortune to get in and trade. This didn't sit well with the Chantry, who would much rather do that themselves, and in 9:14 Divine Beatrix II (later saved by Cassandra!) tells the Templars to strong arm him into submission talk some sense into the viscount.

The knight commander is killed in the exchange, and so his second command Meredith Stannard steps up to try her hand at negotiations. It goes poorly, so she arrests and jails the Viscount and essentially takes control of the city with full Chantry approval. Now the Templars are essentially in control of the city, and so they appoint a puppet leader (Dumar) to play act in control. But Meredith is actually in charge, and everyone knows it.

Including Elthina, who named her Knight Commander. This is why the Chantry never actually does anything about templar abuses.

So! If you are still with me, this is where Viscount becomes important. There are some wibbly bits about how you treat Sebastian Vael in DA2, but essentially Kirkwall decides that it's time to be an actual city state and not a poorly run Theocracy. As the only man with a plan (and the money and influence to do it), Varric steps in to help his home town. Ecstatic at not being responsible for that, the nobles (comtes) band together and put him in charge.

So while yes, in Orlais Viscount be beneath comte, Kirkwall has been so broken up and conquered and messed with over the years that names and titles are meaningless. In my personal opinion, Varric ennobles the inquisitor so that they will always have a staunch ally amongst the backbiting Kirkwaller nobles. It's also a nice and generous a decent thing to do, of course, but Varric is very good at making something do a lot of things for him all at once.

(Also, Varric knows exactly what that key does. He just ensured that someone smart enough and invested enough in peace will always be able to either open or close the harbor--making sure that the people who depend on him will be safe no matter what.)

Personally, the Trespasser epilouge is useless. It's the result of not having a head writer to review things, and the sweet but misguided attempt to give us closure if DA4 never happened. Hawke doesn't come back to Kirkwall. They are in Weisshaupt (if not in the Fade), and that plotIine will likely be in the final game. The Inquisition in whatever form it still has will be heading north, possibly with Kirkwall as an operating base, and this way the Inquisitor (who is confirmed to not be playabe in DA4) will have a reason to be there and not in Tevinter.

That's my read, anyway.

tl;dr Kirkwall has weird history that led to odd ways of organizing their nobility, Varric wants friends in places almost as high as him, shit's going down in the north and I think the inquisitor will be in Kirkwall so the writers needed a reason to put them there.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Mod Fereldone

#not a reaction #kirkwall #mod fereldone talks Thedas #this shit is weird: geopolitical discussion #varric is clever like a fox #i really hate his writing in trespasser and so this is how I retcon it #dragon age inquisition #trespasser #dragon age dreadwolf #tevinter imperium #dragon age 2 #hawke #meredith stannard #fuck the chantry for real though

[blackmoonlightexpress]

TTEOTM Easter Eggs Part 2 (Production Details)

Anyone still rewatching Till the End of the Moon? Here's another round of easter eggs!

(1) Does this shot look familiar? In Ep 1, we see a visual reference to the first teaser poster released back in Nov 2021.

(2) In Ep 1, we already see Xiaoyao Sword formation, which Cang Jiumin learns from Zhaoyou in Ep 30.

(3) In Ep 2, we are introduced to Ye Bingchang, who is feeding the poor. What is she serving? Congee. (Not poisonous, of course)

(4) Throughout Ep 3-7, there are many shots of observing crows which explain how Tantai Jin gets his intel, e.g. the location of the dream demon's forest, his maid Yingxin's plot to poison him, Ye Xiwu's plan to set up her sister with the unplesant fifth prince, or Ye Xiwu and Xiao Lin's conversation about TTJ.

(5) When we first encounter Mingye in his dragon form, he is shown holding tightly onto a broken clam shell.

In addition, the dragon has two eye colors: TTJ enters Bo're dream through the black eye (half god) and XYW enters through the red eye (half demon), foreshadowing Mingye and Sangjiu's fate.

(6) Sangjiu actually manages to drag Mingye (drugged and drunk) all the way back to her own bedroom to complete her wedding night.

(7) Tantai Jin finds out that the congee Ye Xiwu cooked for him is poisoned through the butterfly that dropped dead after tasting the congee. As you may recall, TTJ's mother has an affinity to butterflies. There's a fan theory that this is his mother protecting him.

In fact, the butterfly also shows up in Ep 6 when Ye Xiwu goes on an acid trip conjures an illusion to cheer up Tantai Jin.

(8) During Tantai Jin and Ye Xiwu's wedding night where the Dragonheart Shield flew out to protect Tantai Jin from the three final nails, we briefly see Mingye's eyes as though he is protecting him.

(9) In Ep 36, an impressive one-shot-through sequence is shown to represent the evil and suffering of the world. We follow a sick man who is too poor to buy medicine. We've actually seen the man and the montage before as he was kidnapped by the dream demon and his experiences harvested to grow nightmare flowers in Ep 3.

(10) In TTJ's own Bo're dream, we see YXW's father walking around with crutches even though he was physically fit and died fighting TTML's army. That is because the dream was created in TTJ's mind, and TTJ never found out that he was faking the injury the entire time.

(11) Sangjiu and Mingye's wedding is an exact mirror of Tantai Jin and Li Susu's wedding, from the entrance on a flying carriage to the procession. Even the dancers are the same!

(12) Ye Xiwu's grave in the Jing mausoleum says "beloved wife of Tantai Jin", but TTJ's grave only says "husband of YXW". TTJ wasn't sure he was loved by YXW at that point (but it would also be slightly presumptuous of him to etch that after the events of Ep 39.)

#till the end of the moon #black moonlight holds the be script #luo yunxi #chang yue jin ming #cdrama #chinese drama #tteotm #bai lu #tantai jin #ye xiwu

[edupunkn00b]

The Game is Afoot!

Photo by Ashni via Unsplash. Edited by edupunkn00b.

Rated: G - WC: 1036 - CW: None

Three weeks after Christmas and Logan is still working on his puzzle from Virgil. Is it any wonder why?

"The game is afoot!"

“But I thought you said Virgil’s game is a puzzle, Logie!” 

“Patton! It’s a—” The Moral Side’s head tilted far to the left, brow knit together in deep confusion. Breathing slowly through his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose, he nearly missed the quiver at the corner of Patton's mouth. He groaned. “Okay, okay, you got me.”

“So can I play, too?” Patton bounced on the balls of his feet, Watson scarf already tied in a neat knot around his neck.

Logan groaned again. “No, not this time, Patton.”

“Yeah, Popstar, I get to play Watson and Moriarty for this one.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Remus purred from his spot behind the television. “You can help me air fry fish fingers.”

“Um, do fish have fingers?” Patton asked, his perplexed expression genuine this time.

“Doctor Who reference?” Logan asked, eyes darting up from the frayed newspaper in his hands. Christmas had been over two weeks ago and he was still working through the mystery puzzle Virgil had created for him.

The Anxious Side chuckled. “Focus, L…”

“I dunno!” the Creative Side laughed, either not hearing the other two Sides or simply ignoring them, and grabbed Patton’s hand, his new—well, formerly new air fryer tucked under one arm. The thing reeked of a mixture of pickle brine and peat, and its once pristine white plastic casing was charred and cracked on the sides. A neon green mold had begun to grow around the control panel, nearly obscuring a flashing ERR-80085. “Let’s go find out!”

Before Patton could say another word, the two had sunk out to the Imagination.

“And then there were four—err, well,” Logan cleared his throat and returned his attention to the newspaper. 

“Yes,” Janus purred from the corner of the couch. “Don’t mind us, we don’t want to play your silly little scavenger hunt—”

“It’s not just a scavenger hunt, Jay! Ugh, why do you—” Virgil cut himself off and adjusted the ties on his hoodie. “Nope, not gonna engage. Not worth it.”

“That’s right, Tall, Dark, and Stormy,” Roman agreed from the staircase. He leapt over the side of the banister with a flourish, the new gold—was that real gold?—trim clinking gently with the impact. “I shall keep the living room safe from any of Janus’ dastardly plans.”

“Oh, no, you caught me drinking wine,” Janus slurred.

“Off you go,” Roman said to Virgil and Logan, pretending not to hear Janus’ mocking. Virgil and Logan exchanged a look. Selective hearing seemed to be a tool in each of the brother’s kits. “I’ve got everything under control here.”

“If you’re sure, Princey,” Virgil began, gaze trained on Janus’ oh-so-innocent expression.

“Wait, Virgil!” Logan grabbed his arm in a remarkable imitation of Remus dragging Patton to the Imagination. He held the newspaper to Virgil’s face. “Does this symbol represent the meter outside?”

Worry shifted into a wicked grin. “Only one way to find out, Detective Holmes.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Logan grinned and ran toward the door, Virgil at his heels.

They flung open the door together and stood on the sunny first step, just as Thomas’ neighbor walked by, well, more like was led by her noisy dog.

“Oh! Good morning, uh, Thomas?” she called as she jogged past, barely managing to slow the pace of her five pound monster of a chihuahua, Craig the Dragon. 

“Good morning, Betty!” Logan called quickly, stepping to obscure her view of Virgil’s face. “You’ve met my brother Jake, have you not?”

“Yes, yes, of course…” she agreed, voice fading. She was already three doors down. “Nice to see you, Jake!” Betty called one more time before Craig spotted a lizard in another yard and dashed after it.

“That was close,” Virgil muttered, peering around Logan’s shoulder to watch Betty stamp her foot and shout, Leave it!

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, scanning the newspaper. “Is this the only outdoor clue?”

Virgil nodded, eyes fixed on the race between the lizard and the chihuaha. “Yeah.” The chihuaha won.

“Well, then…” Logan adjusted his deerstalker. “Shall we?”

Another neighbor ran out to help pry the lizard from Craig’s maw and Logan and Virgil used the distraction to swing around to the other side of Thomas’ house. Logan began counting the meters. The final meter in the row showed was lettered LUC.

“Is that meant to be ‘look?’” Logan asked, eyebrow raised.

“What do you want? I was outside and in a rush,” Virgil shrugged, keeping watch around the corner. “L, hurry up, she’s on her way back and I look nothing like Jake.”

Nodding brusquely, Logan examined every inch of the glass casing. Finally, he found a series of tiny scratches. Running his fingers over the markings, he grinned. “Morse code? T-h-e—space—n-e-x-t—space—g-l—Wait—” He rubbed his fingertip over another section. “Ha! You thought you could catch me with pre-1874 Morse code!”

He fell quiet, studying the scratches. “C’mon, L, we gotta get back inside now.”

“Ha!” Logan crowed, triumphantly. He grabbed Virgil’s hand and dashed around the back of the building. “Let’s go through the patio. ‘The next clue is in the kitchen.’”

Virgil was the first to smell smoke. The pair exchanged one last quick look and raced to the door.

Before either could reach it, the patio door slid open with a crash and Patton stumbled out. “They’re moving! The chicken fingers are moving!” he screeched, smacking at his own shoulders. Embers sparked in his hair and on the sleeves of his catigan. A wall of acrid smoke soon followed and they all stepped back.

“Come back, Daddy!” Remus called, his voice and the tromp of boots growing louder. The Creative Side emerged from he smoke, arms full of wriggling—and burnt—breaded somethings. “I think I got ‘em all this time!”

“Remus!” Roman shouted from inside. “They got in my crown!”

“Oops. Almost all of ‘em,” Remus winked and ran back inside. "Keep your pants on, Ro Bro! Believe me—you don't want those little stinkers getting in there!"

The trio shared a moment of confused silence before Janus sauntered out, an uncorked bottle in one hand and a tray of four glasses in the other. “Wine, anyone?”

#sanders sides #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #patton sanders #ts patton #roman sanders #ts roman #janus sanders #ts janus #remus sanders #canonverse #after the gift exchange #three weeks after‚ to be precise #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic

[bl00dlight]

i saw this ask on another blog and then recently i came across a reddit post abt this exacttt thing. but it did make me wonder, cause I know u got some opinions but, what do u think about Aemond being a blood supremacist? alot of team greens deny it but idk... he literally says it in the show? the blog also disagreed I think to. also love love love ur fic nd I like how u haven't made aemond and visenya like besties. cause I agree with ur other rant to, there is soooo much soft, Mary Sue stuff with aemond and it dosent really fit him as a character at all.

First of all thank you sm for reading the fic. I literally just cracked open my mother fucken laptop one day and was like "IM OVER IT!!!". But yes, I agree, so many fics really like project an idealised version of Aemond. Which is totally fine, no hate no hate but, I just prefer canon accurate characterisation with everything.

But to answer your question, I feel like it's pretty straightforward and I'm also really surprised this a debate? Yes, Aemond is obviously a valryian supremacist. Almost all the Targs are to some degree and the Velaryons. But Aemond quite literally references the importance of keeping their valyrian blood pure and is deeply obessesed with dragons. "It would keep our Valyrian blood pure." Coming from a 13 year old boy is like a clear indicator that, yes homie is pro-targ supremacy. He is also the mirror of Daemon... who is also pro-targ supremacy.

I don't believe that Aemond commented on Helaena in ep7 just to display how "dutiful" he is. We know for a FACT Aemond is not dutiful, he is ambitious/power hungry. That is his whole arc, especially in Fire + Blood. Homeboy is dutiful in the same way Daemon is. It's not about actually caring for what is right or wrong, it's about his own proximity to power. I think alot of people really misinterpret Aemond's lines regarding duty as being a display of dedication. When in reality, it's narcissistic grandiosity lol. Like straight up. His envy of Aegon isn't "ugh I'd be a much better King because I care about protecting the realm, helping the smallfolk, maintaining order, doing what is right." It's "ugh, I'd me a much better King because I'm BETTER." We can see that in ep 9 when he literally gives out a list to Cole, why he would make a superior King to Aegon. Not once does he mention anything outside of what he perceives as his own brilliance. This is a book Aemond quote when he becomes Prince Regent and wears Aegon the Conqueror's crown "It looks better on me than it ever did on him,". So here we have another indicator that this isn't about being a good dutiful brother, this is about him living out his Rogue Prince fantasy.

I feel like people may bring up Alys Rivers as a counterpoint but again, I don't see why? Because remember, Aemond literally slaughtered her entire House because he hated the Strongs. He would make fun of Jace and Luke's appearance in Fire and Blood for like lack of Valyrian features. He left Alys alive so he could take her as a "prize" to use as a 'bedmate' / 'paramour'. This wasn't recorded as a consensual reltionship, and of course Alys went with it because what else is she gonna do? Fight him? He just slaughtered her entire bloodline, just BECAUSE of their blood. She's on thin ice. By today's standards she was put into sexual slavery. (unfortunately fire & blood is an unreliable text and it was written to be contradictory, so literally there is no actual canonical understanding of their relationship) Also a significant amount of fire and blood was written by those from the Greens side, and there are claims she bewitched him etc etc so that he wouldn't kill her. Regardless, the point is, Aemond fucking Alys isn't a marker of his progressive belief that Targaryen's aren't superior? If anything it reinforces it because he has literally chosen a woman who in every single way is completely socially 'inferior' to himself. Again, it's about power and vengeance. Him taking Alys is saying "look at me, I can do whatever the fuck I want. I can burn the Riverlands down, I can slaughter an entire House and then, I can fuck the last very last woman left because I CHOSE TO KEEP HER ALIVE." And he did it again, he abandoned Alys at one point and left her captive to another mother fucker just to get more vengeance on the Blacks after Helaena's last child dies (i can make a post on the suspicious Helaena x Aemond parallels in fire and blood) and then eventually came back to get her again. He don't really give that much of a fuck, in my opinion. She is not an example of him not being a bigot. And we see this in the real world too. Powerful bigots have historically sexually enslaved whom they oppress. *cough cough, literally ww2*. Sex is a power exchange in many ways, and Aemond taking Alys to fuck, after he spent his entire life loathing her family and KILLING THEM, is not some star-crossed lover shit. It's him continuing his reign of abuse on the Strongs. He kept one of them alive, just to fuck. That is an active example of his supremacist beliefs. There is also speculation Alys got pregnant, but it's never confirmed. However, his son would be another Strong bastard. And it wouldn't mean shit to him, because is that not the ultimate "haha im superior" to interject himself into the Strong line? To be the one which controls it's survival?

Also again, we see it time and time again with Targ men. They believe in Targ supremacy, actively want to participate in their 'traditions', while also wanting booty calls. Daemon does the same thing, homie fucks women left and right, yet still loved /married Rhaneyra because she was a Targaryen like him. Viserys iii also, fucked other women, yet canonically wanted to marry Daenerys once he assumed the throne to continue their bloodline.

Because marriage is very different from sex in this universe. Marriage and sex are two completely separate ideas. So it makes sense for Aemond to believe that Targaryen's should maintain their Valyrian blood through marriage because it is a marker of supremacy; while he also wants to exclaim is dominance through having sex with a woman who is 'beneath' him. Aemond is also an actual misogynist in the books too. So again? In what world does he look at Alys as his equal?

Thus, why marriage/love/legitmate children is reserved for Targaryen women, and sex is reserved for prostitutes, bedmates etc. People be forgetting, in this society women are used at the whims of men, LAWFULLY - like it's their right to do so, and women are very much given social status based on how men view them sexually. Madonna/Whore complex.

Which is kinda interesting if we even go further to talk about Helaena and Aemond...

Funnily enough, this exact topic will come up in my fic. Anyway, that's my take on it. That's kinda why the strong niece fics never made sense to me, because it is so contradictory to the motives behind what he does.

#hotd #targaryen #aemond targaryen #got #daenerys targaryen #house of the dragon #rhaneyra targaryen #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #aemond x reader

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (34/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 6792

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: The King is dead. Aegon, his heir is missing. While Aemond ventures into the heart of Flea Bottom to find him, Arianwyn is left in the castle with the Queen as she realizes her fairy tale has likely come to an end.

Warnings: References to sex; references to Aemond's brothel experience.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Search

Though she had given him her permission and had every confidence that he could keep himself safe, Arianwyn felt worry settle in her heart as Aemond disappeared from her sight.

He was venturing into a part of the city she had never seen – had never wanted to see. A place where the worst men and women the realm had to offer gathered to engage in sins far beyond her imagination.

It was in that place where her father had earned his first title – “Lord Flea Bottom.”

Yes, Arianwyn would need to pray often today.

“What will happen?” she asked, bracing herself on the back of the chair he had just been sitting in. Though she addressed the Queen, she was unable to tear her eyes from the door, some small part of her hoping that her husband would come rushing back in. “After they find Aegon, what happens next?”

“We must crown him as quickly as possible,” Alicent explained, still picking at her nails. “Before Rhaenyra arrives, if it is possible.”

Arianwyn’s face twisted with confusion and no small amount of fear. For wherever Rhaenyra went, Daemon followed. “I don’t understand. Rhaenyra is coming here? Does she mean to attack? To take the throne by force?”

“No, darling,” the Queen quickly corrected. “She is coming so that we may make peace in the family. We arranged it after you and Aemond left the dinner.”

“Oh.” Arianwyn wrapped her arms around herself as she felt the ghost of her father’s fingers around her neck. While Alicent and Rhaenyra had been planning for peace, Daemon had tried to kill her. “Will she still come? Since… well, since everything that happened?”

She was surprised when the Queen hugged her then, and even more so when she laughed.

“We were going to discuss a formal betrothal for you and Aemond,” she said through her girlish giggling. “It was to be a symbol of the family reuniting. Now that you’ve already gone and been married, I haven’t the faintest idea what we will do instead.”

Arianwyn couldn’t help but smile. “My apologies for the inconvenience?”

The Queen gasped, suddenly pushing her back to arm’s length. “No, Aria! No, it is I who should apologize to you! Your wedding celebrations must now be set aside for the time being. I’m so sorry.”

A barking laugh escaped Arianwyn. The King was dead, the heir was missing, and the threat of civil war loomed like the darkest storm clouds. Yet the Queen was concerned that a wedding feast – one which was not particularly wanted by either the bride or groom – had to be delayed?

“Alicent…” she sighed. “The wedding celebrations surely don’t matter anymore.”

“Of course they matter!” Alicent exclaimed. “My wedding celebrations were some of the happiest days in my life. I want you and Aemond to have the same.”

Arianwyn wanted so badly to change the subject. To ask more questions about Rhaenyra’s return or what would happen with the succession when she found out Aegon had been crowned. Whether there would be war.

But the Queen had just smiled. She had laughed.

If Arianwyn could provide a happy distraction on the worst day of Alicent’s life, even for a moment, she would.

“You have never told me much about your wedding,” she said encouragingly. “But I imagine it was far grander than mine.”

Alicent smiled back as she slipped into the memory of the past. “It was quite grand. I imagine the Crown had every flower in Highgarden brought to the capital. Everything was so beautiful.”

“You were married in the Grand Sept, yes?”

“Yes, we were,” she said with a smile. For such a devout woman, it must have been an honor to be married in such a holy place. “It was said to be the largest gathering of nobility since the Great Council. It certainly felt like it. I was so nervous, with all those people staring at me. I had always been content to fade into the crowd, but suddenly I couldn’t hide anymore.”

“What about your dress?” Arianwyn asked, trying to keep the conversation light and happy.

She did not know that that was the worst question she could have asked.

“It was equally as lovely as everything else, and the finest thing I had ever worn. The three-headed dragon was emblazoned on the silk – white, obviously. But the lining of the sleeves was a rich red. And the bodice had the most delicate gold embroidery that ended in these beautiful dragon’s wings that…” As Alicent’s voice trailed away, her face fell once more into heartbreak.

Arianwyn wrapped a hand around the Queen’s wrist, concerned by the sudden change in her. “Alicent?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Aria,” she said, though her voice was nearly as distant as her eyes. “I just remembered… the wings, you see. They… Rhaenyra kept getting caught on them.”

“Princess Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, she was helping me to dress,” Alicent explained. “She dismissed the servants when she came, and dressed me herself. As I had done for her so many times. And she asked me… whether I truly wanted to marry Viserys.

“I think she wanted me to say no. To beg her to help me escape, to sneak me away to Syrax so we could fly away together. But, as much as I loved her… I did want it. I loved Viserys, too. Not in the same way, of course. But he is – was – the King. And he was so kind to me. I felt the gods had called me to fulfill a sacred duty to my country and my King.

“I tried to explain it to her, but she would not listen. She only saw it as a betrayal – of her and her mother, Queen Aemma. Things were never the same between us after that.”

Arianwyn was stunned. She had never seen the Queen so vulnerable. Alicent had always been so poised, so together, so strong. And she had never known… “You and Rhaenyra were friends?”

Alicent squeezed Arianwyn’s hand to the point of pain. “She was my greatest and dearest friend. We were raised together, learned together, played together. In truth, we were quite like you and Aemond.”

With all her heart, Arianwyn prayed it was not true. For if Aemond ever treated her as she had seen Rhaenyra treat Alicent… she was certain it would kill her.

She had a thousand more questions and apologies, but before she could voice any of them, Orwyle walked into the room.

“My apologies, your Grace, your Highness,” he said. He looked nearly as tired as Alicent, and just as nervous. “You asked to be informed when the Silent Sisters were ready to begin their work.”

Alicent wiped away tears that had not fallen and released Arianwyn. “Thank you, Grand Maester. I will be there shortly.”

Orwyle bowed and left as quickly as he came.

Turning to the door, Alicent again looked every inch a Queen with her back straightened and her head held high. But now, Arianwyn knew the scared, lonely woman that hid behind the crown.

“Ser Warren, please return Aria to her rooms,” she commanded. Then, with a look of regret towards the Princess, she added, “I will need your help after I’ve attended to the King. I expect you’ll want to change your clothes. It will be too warm in the Keep for leathers.”

Arianwyn curtsied, her head bowed. “Yes, your Grace.”

-

As the pleasure houses came into view, Aemond felt his heart begin to race. Every time he blinked, he saw flashes of the past.

It was not mid-morning, but the middle of the night. The windows were filled with candlelight, and glowing lanterns filled the street.

The street was not nearly deserted, but teeming with bodies. The nauseating smell of so many different perfumes and oils threatened to make Aemond empty his stomach of his nameday feast.

He was not a man. He was only a frightened little boy, shaking with fear of what would await him past whatever door Aegon pushed him through.

Arianwyn was only his best friend and favorite cousin. She had no idea where he was, for she had already gone to bed, exhausted from her boisterous dancing at his party earlier that evening.

Aemond had to remind himself, over and over again, what was really true.

It was the morning. He could see that the sun had not yet crested in the sky.

The street was mercifully clear. Yes, there were whores and hungover patrons milling about, but he had more than enough room to breathe easily. There was no scent of unwashed bodies and heavy perfume, only of stale ale and sea air.

He was no longer a boy, but a man.

A married man, for Arianwyn was now his wife. She was still at the Red Keep. She would be there waiting for him when he returned. She would wash away every memory of this horrible place with her sweet words and gentle kisses until no other woman existed but her.

Aemond wanted desperately to return to her now, but he could not.

First, he must find Aegon.

If the gods were kind, they would find him at the first brothel they checked. It was the only brothel Aemond knew, and he would prefer not to acquaint himself any further with the debauchery of the city he, unfortunately, still called home.

“May I ask where we are going, my…” Ser Criston only just caught himself before letting Aemond’s title slip. Espionage was not typically a skill required of a Kingsguard. He still fiddled restlessly with the common clothes they borrowed from the Servant’s Hall.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth nameday,” Aemond explained. The tale came surprisingly easily, far more so than when he had told Arianwyn. Though perhaps it was his nerves that set his tongue loose, for the offending brothel was now only steps away. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was.”

He stopped in front of the brothel’s doors. Even now, they were large and looming, the same terrifying image that had seared itself into his young mind. He took hold of the iron door knocker. Though the metal was cool, it seemed to butn his skin.

“At least,” he mused, “that’s what I understood him to mean.”

Then, along with the pounding of his heart, he knocked three times.

Criston looked puzzled as he scanned the street around them. “I don’t follow.”

Aemond leaned forward, almost envious of Cole’s ignorance. Or he would be – if he didn’t have Arianwyn. “He said, ‘time to get it wet.’”

Cole blanched, looking anywhere but at the face of the boy he had practically raised. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.” Then he, too, seized the knocker and pounded thrice, eager to put an end to the conversation.

Aemond decided not to tell him that the name of this particular brothel was “Mother’s.”

“Perhaps not every woman,” was all he added. The image of the whore that Aegon hired for him appeared in his mind. Her wide blue eyes that beheld him with condescending curiosity and amusement. Her big nose and small chin. That horrible smile of hers, suppressing a laugh that the pathetic little boy below her couldn’t get hard.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to summon Arianwyn’s face. Her sparkling silver eyes that held nothing but love. Her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly upturned nose. Her brilliant, broad smile that lit up the entire world with unbridled joy.

The memory soothed him, letting him nearly relax, despite where he was and why he was there.

Until the brothel door opened.

He did not know why, but the gods were punishing him.

It was her. The same woman – the same whore.

He hastily turned away, needing every ounce of restraint he had to prevent him from turning tail and running all the way back to the Red Keep. To Arianwyn.

“We’re closed ‘til midday,” she said, running those devilish blue eyes over both men. “The girls need their rest, don’t they?”

Aemond couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. He was in hell. Right in the middle of King’s Landing, he had stumbled into hell.

Thankfully, Criston took the lead. “We are not here for business, madam. We simply wanted to ask a question, if we may?”

She leaned against the door and gestured for him to continue.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” he explained. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your… fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“And describe him,” the whore said, suddenly intrigued by Criston’s request – or, more specifically, his fine manner of speech.

He sighed. “That is a delicate matter.”

Aemond finally turned back to warn him not to give too much away, but he again startled at the sight of the whore and had to turn away. He could not stop Criston from leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“You see,” he said, “the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon.”

Now she was truly intrigued.

“I may trust, I hope,” Criston continued, “in the discretion of your trade.”

“The Prince is not here,” the whore laughed. The sound cut through Aemond like a blade as he looked at her, frozen in panic at the sound that had haunted him for years.

Criston was not fazed. “Has he been here? Earlier, perhaps?”

“Quite a bit earlier,” the whore replied, finally catching a glimpse of Aemond and grinning in the same horrid way she had that night. “Years ago, in fact.”

“But more recently?” Criston asked.

The whore continued to glare at Aemond, and he ducked his head in shame. He was a warrior, a Prince, and the rider of the largest dragon in the world. How could a single whore make him so afraid?

The object of her amusement out of sight, she turned back to Cole. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?”

“I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She looked directly at Aemond then, and every drop of blood in his body sang in terror.

He could face a dozen dragons larger than Vhagar, an army of ten thousand men when he had no sword, or the Stranger himself, and still, he would never be so scared as he was at that moment.

Cole stepped away from the door, leaving Aemond alone to face his tormentor.

“How you’ve grown,” she crooned wickedly.

His mind raced, and every hideous memory of that night shot through his head faster than he could think.

But then, there were new memories.

The memory of the whore’s dry, blistered lips faded away as he remembered the feeling of Arianwyn’s cool, soft kisses.

The rough, calloused hands that had forcefully held him down to the rough linen sheets of the brothel gave way to Arianwyn’s loving caress, tracing her Runes on his chest, his arms, and his face.

The whore’s mocking laugh was drowned out by Arianwyn’s cries of pleasure, and her countless declarations of love.

Aemond would never truly escape what this woman, at Aegon’s behest, had done to him. But he would fear her no longer.

For he had nothing to fear from her anymore. Not when he had Arianwyn to go home to.

He let out a hum, the remnant of a swallowed retort, as he turned from the whorehouse door and followed Ser Criston to wherever their next destination lay.

She was trapped in this hellhole at the heart of the city, and he was not. Once they had found Aegon, he would leave this wretched place and return to the castle – where his beautiful, wonderful, perfect wife was waiting for him.

This whore and what she did to him would, eventually, be no more than an unpleasant memory.

Arianwyn – her kiss, her touch, and her love – would be with him forever.

-

Despite the approaching winter, the day was growing hot, and Aemond and Ser Criston Cole were swiftly losing their patience. They had knocked on a few more brothel doors but only ever received the same answer: Aegon no longer sought his pleasure on the Street of Silk, but in some other, unnamed den of sin.

“It seems you were mistaken as to Aegon’s habits,” Cole remarked as they strode down a particularly foul-smelling alleyway.

Aemond huffed, wishing he could take off his cloak to escape the heat. “He could be in the hands of mercenaries. On a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead.”

“Let us hope, for your mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

They continued searching for the most loathsome parts of the city for what felt like days. When they found somewhere suitably offensive, Criston would ask the most repellent people they could find some decidedly non-subtle questions – never to any avail.

After another failed interrogation with a man who smelled worse than a sewer and clutched more half-empty bottles of ale than he had teeth, Aemond reached his limit. If where Aegon enjoyed himself was somehow viler than where they had already been, perhaps their father had been right to so long deny him what was his by birth.

And yet, if Viserys had chosen his heir only by their suitability for the role…

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier, in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” he spat with disdain when they were finally mostly alone in a back alley. His rage had grown so hot that he stilled, his feet rooted to the broken pavement.

Cole continued for several paces before he realized Aemond had stopped. The exasperated look on his face only served to further infuriate the Prince.

“‘Tis I, the younger brother, who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be –”

He cut himself short before speaking his treason aloud, licking his lips to try and quell the dryness that had settled into his skin. He cursed himself for voicing his traitorous desires. It had been foolish giving in to such weakness, no matter how right he was.

Aegon had abandoned his studies when he was fifteen years old. He had given up on his training not long after. When he wasn’t absent from their lessons with Cole, he was too hungover – or worse, still too drunk – to ever pay attention. To Aemond’s knowledge, he had never attended a meeting of the Small Council or offered even the slightest insight into any matters of court.

Beyond that, he openly debased himself for the whole city to see. When he couldn’t sneak out to the Street of Silk – or wherever it was he no doubt sired countless bastards – he had his way with the servant women in the Red Keep. Some willing, some not. Orwyle must have brewed more moon tea during his time as Grand Maester than any of his predecessors.

It was Aegon who acted as if he were the second son, not Aemond.

Aemond had never done anything but what was expected of him, and more besides. And what did he get as reward for his years of study and training, his steadfast devotion to his duty?

Nothing.

Less than nothing, actually. His eye had been stolen by his bastard nephew without justice, and now the burden of making his degenerate brother a King fell to him.

His scar was burning again. Just as it had when Luke had laughed at him at that hateful dinner. But now, Arianwyn was not here to calm him.

Cole gave him a look of pity and approached him. “I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” he said, trying to calm the raging Prince.

A growl escaped Aemond as his lip twitched, another jolt of pain running through his skull. He had to look away to avoid turning his furor on the innocent knight.

“We can’t find him, Cole,” he snarled. “We are decent men with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own. And he is welcome to them.”

He stepped forward, baring his anger in his one eye as he leaned in to make another near-treasonous declaration. “I’m next in line for the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found.”

-

Arianwyn smiled when she saw Rhaenys leaning at the window, trying to offer sympathy and friendship. But when she beheld the anger on her cousin’s face, she quickly dropped her gaze to her clasped hands and settled into her position behind the Queen.

“I will do you the considerable courtesy of assuming there is a good reason for the outrage of my treatment here this morning,” Rhaenys spat, glancing briefly at her young cousin and the bruises still marking her throat.

So that was why Alicent had wanted her here, to temper Rhaenys’ rage. What had been done, Arianwyn wondered, to warrant such anger?

“My sincerest regrets for the lack of ceremony,” Alicent said, unable to keep the exhaustion and grief from her voice.

Rhaenys sighed, reading the Queen with ease. “The King.”

Alicent nodded.

“And you are usurping the throne.”

It was the most matter-of-fact accusation Arianwyn had ever heard. She wanted to argue, to defend the Queen, but it was unnecessary.

Though she was weary, Alicent still had the strength to defend herself. “It was my husband’s dying wish.”

Rhaenys scoffed.

“Believe it or no,” Alicent continued, “It is of no consequence. Aegon will be King.”

Again, Rhaenys looked to Arianwyn. “Why have you come here? Why bring the girl?”

The Queen bit her cheek before speaking. “I came here to ask your support.”

“Well, I must credit you for your boldness.”

“House Velaryon has long allied itself with the Princess Rhaenyra, and what has it gained you?” Alicent asked, reaching a hand out to pull Arianwyn along as she approached Rhaenys. “Your daughter dead, alone in Pentos.”

Arianwyn had to again look away from Rhaenys as her eyes went wide with indignation at the mention of Laena’s death. She knew why Alicent invoked her, but still, she wished she did not have to be so cruel.

“You son, cuckolded. Rhaenyra’s heirs are none of yours,” Alicent pressed. “It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne. And even he has abandoned you: gone these six long years to fight a desperate battle, returning grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course alone.”

It was clear that the words had struck a chord, but Rhaenys was far too proud to admit it. “The word of my house is not fickle,” she said, turning away and returning to the window.

“No,” Alicent called, chasing after the Princess and taking her by the arms. “But, dear cousin… you, more than any soul alive, understand what I say now. Princess Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I will speak the truth we both know now: you should’ve been Queen.”

Arianwyn’s heart wrenched. What would her life have been if the Great Council had made just that decision? Would Daemon have calmed without the constant temptation of the throne? Would he have been a true father to her? Would she ever have been born?

No matter the answer, she still felt a pang of regret that her beloved cousin was only the Queen Who Never Was.

“I little thought to hear those words from you,” Rhaenys said, grasping the Queen’s hands.

“The Iron Throne was yours,” Alicent insisted, “by blood and by temperament. Viserys would’ve lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories. But… here we are. We do not rule, but we may guide the men that do. Gently away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace.”

Rhaenys scoffed and tore away from the Queen. “Is it in the name of peace that you’ve imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?”

“You are not a prisoner!” Arianwyn shouted, running up to embrace her cousin, but stopping and shrinking away when faced with her furious violet eyes. “And neither is Meleys. Right, Alicent?”

The Queen looked to the floor.

Arianwyn was taken aback, at once consumed with horror and disgust. “Aunt Alicent? Please say they are not our prisoners.”

“If we are overmatched,” Alicent explained, “Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us, and war will ensue. Without your dragon, she may be persuaded to negotiate.”

Both Rhaenys and Arianwyn turned away from her. Neither had ever thought Alicent capable of such action. Such cunning and stealth was far more like her father.

“I’m so sorry,” Arianwyn whispered, at last taking Rhaenys’ hand. “I did not know you were here against your will.”

Rhaenys started to reply, but Alicent again cut in.

“If it’s Driftmark you want, you shall have it,” she pled. “for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit.”

Not releasing Arianwyn’s hand, Rhaenys turned to face the Queen. “You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower.”

“A true Queen counts the cost to her people.”

“And yet you toil still, in service to men,” Rhaenys taunted, dropping her young cousin’s hand to approach Alicent. “Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison.”

She whispered something then, something that Arianwyn could not hear. But she could see the devastation on the Queen’s face and knew whatever it was had somehow been more cutting than all she had said before.

“Do you not do the same, cousin?” she asked, drawing the shocked faces of both women.

“Lord Corlys has abandoned you,” she continued, “and Driftmark, and indeed all his duties to wage his private war. He has returned only long enough to instill his restlessness in Baela, but he abandons her, too.

“And yet you don’t fault him any of it. No, you manage his castle, his island, and his fleets. You raise your granddaughter. All of it, on your own. But still, you came all the way here to… to what?” Arianwyn could not hide her confusion, nor her anger at Rhaenys’ false righteousness and hypocrisy.

“You know Jace, Luke, and Joffrey are not Laenor’s sons. I know that you love them, despite it. But you love your house, too,” Rhaenys looked away, her cheeks flushed, but Arianwyn pressed on. “You may be a Targaryen by birth, but you are a Velaryon by choice. You are the Lady of Driftmark, perhaps even more than Corlys is its Lord. So why did you argue for a bastard to take the Driftwood Throne, if not simply because it is what your husband wanted?”

“History remembers names, not blood,” Rhaenys sighed.

“Are those your words, or his?” Arianwyn asked.

Rhaenys did not answer the question but posed her own. “Did you know your grandsire, Lord Yorbert, cast a vote at the Great Council? Twice, in fact. Once as the Lord of Runestone and again as the regent for young Jeyne Arryn. Tell me, Aria, do you know for whom he voted?”

“He voted for you, Rhaenys.”

She smiled and nodded. “With his two ballots, he was likely the majority of my supporters. But how could he vote any other way? As Jeyne’s regent and defender, and with his own daughter – your mother – as his heir. Women ruled in the Vale since even before the Andals came, just as they do now.”

Arianwyn ducked her head in shame, but Rhaenys lifted her chin to face her as she went on. “If you believe the King changed his mind on his deathbed, I will respect that. But answer me honestly. Who is best suited to rule, Aegon or Rhaenyra?”

Neither, she wanted to say. But that was not an option.

Aegon was a drunken fool. Rhaenyra a self-important egotist.

Only one of them was married to a monster.

“Daemon cannot be King,” she finally replied.

Not the answer Rhaenys wanted, but one she could accept.

“Baela and Rhaena are on Dragonstone,” she murmured, dropping Arianwyn’s chin.

“I know,” the girl replied.

“What will he do to them, I wonder? When he learns that I was in attendance at Aegon’s coronation.”

“We will find a way to get them out – safely. We will negotiate, or you and Aemond can fly to their rescue. Or… well, I don’t what, but we will do something.”

For a moment, the hopeful, determined look in Arianwyn’s silver eyes almost convinced Rhaenys that it was possible. But all her life, Daemon had always gotten what he wanted.

“Thank you, Aria. I should like to be alone now.”

“As you wish, cousin,” she said, stepping to the Queen’s side.

Alicent nodded to Rhaenys before moving to leave the room. “We will leave you with your thoughts. Ring the bell when you have an answer.”

Arianwyn dutifully followed the Queen, leaving the room in a heavy silence.

“Aria?” Rhaenys called as the girl stepped through the door.

“Yes?”

“I am glad you did not listen to me. That you did not leave when I told you to.”

“As am I.”

-

Aemond was admittedly thankful that they had still not found Aegon by the time his anger faded. If they had located him when his blood was still boiling, it was all too likely he would have throttled the new King. But it was difficult to hold on to anger when the day was so gods-damned hot, making the putrid smells of Flea Bottom all the more pungent.

At least they were no longer in the heart of Flea Bottom. They had only just made their way back to the Street of the Sisters – and with it, some semblance of civilization – when Ser Criston stopped before a small square.

“My Prince,” Cole whispered, indicating a collection of tables outside a tavern with the tip of his chin.

Scanning each of the patrons, Aemond’s eye finally settled not on the uneasy face of Ser Erryk Cargyll but on that of his grandsire, the Hand. What in the name of the gods was he doing in this place?

Of course. It could only be one thing. Aegon.

But why here?

They did not have Aegon. Not yet. If they did, they would have brought him back to the Keep, or some other, more secure place.

That was when he saw the woman. Though she was dressed far too finely to not stand out so deep in the city, no one looked at her as she made her way to the table.

Where she calmly sat across from the most powerful man in the realm.

Otto leaned in, and Aemond recognized the look of fury on his hooded face. He had never been the recipient of that look himself, but he knew it was a look that all wise men should fear.

He turned away from the woman, nodding to ser Arryk, who sat at the other end of the table. The knight leaned forward, depositing a large sack – no doubt filled with an obscene amount of gold – on the table.

The woman handed the bag to her attendant, who wasted no time counting their take.

Aemond did not know who this woman was, though he had to admire how she set his grandsire on edge. But he knew one thing for certain: she had Aegon.

He grabbed Cole’s arm and moved them from the center of the alley to a small nook between a cart and a pile of crates. They could still see what was happening at the table, but hopefully, they would be hidden from those they watched.

The meeting did not last long. The woman leaned in, and the Hand’s face resumed its regular haughty impassivity, muttering only a few last words before he stood. Then, with no farewell to either the Cargyll twins or the mysterious woman, he strode casually back down the Street of the Sisters. South, towards the Red Keep.

The twins did not wait long before they, too, stood and made their leave. Erryk gave the woman a brief nod and possibly his thanks before following his brother to the North.

“Follow them,” Aemond commanded, not waiting for Cole’s reply before setting off in the same direction.

They followed at a distance. Thankfully, the twins seemed too engaged in an argument between them to keep too careful a watch for any pursuers.

It was not long before Aemond realized where they were heading.

The Grand Sept.

Any admiration Aemond had for that woman from the way she handled Otto dissipated instantly. What kind of person used the holiest place in the city to stash their captive? It was a wonder she had not been struck down by the Father for her blasphemy.

After the doors to the Sept closed behind the twins, Cole drew his sword and moved to follow.

“No!” Aemond hissed, stepping in front of the door to block his way. “We will not spill blood inside the Sept.”

Cole looked at him with apprehension. “I am afraid bloodshed may prove necessary if we wish to deliver brother to the Queen, and not the Hand.”

“I will not desecrate a holy site,” Aemond replied through gritted teeth. No matter the monster others may think him to be, he was gods-fearing.

“Very well, my Prince,” Cole sighed as he lowered his weapon. He gestured to the landings flanking the entrance, immediately reverting to the role of Aemond’s dutiful instructor. “We will stand on either side. When they come out, we will have them surrounded.”

He looked at Aemond sternly as he gave his final instruction. “If it comes to a fight, only come to my aid if it is absolutely necessary. Your priority must be securing Prince Aegon. If you must leave me behind to do it, then leave me behind.”

Aemond nodded and took his place on the landing, his back pressed against the wall.

After only a few moments, a shout came from within the Sept. From the many times he had seen Aegon drunk, Aemond easily recognized his brother.

So, the twins had found him.

Aemond crouched on the landing, whispering a brief prayer. To the Father, for forgiveness for whatever Aegon did while he was inside the Sept. And to the Warrior, for the strength he needed for whatever was about to come.

There were more shouts, each slurred and unintelligible. As they grew nearer and nearer, and louder still when the Sept door opened, Aemond willed his heart rate to slow and his mind to clear.

Then it was time.

Ser Arryk was holding Aegon’s arm behind his back as the Prince flailed uselessly against his captor. Even as they stilled, when Cole emerged from his hiding place with his sword drawn, Aegon stumbled to find his balance.

Aemond stood, stepping toward his brother but not drawing his weapon.

Still, when Aegon saw him, there was the sting of betrayal in his hazy eyes.

That wound, the fact that his brother was so quick to doubt him, cut deep. It sent a pulse of pain through his scar that momentarily blurred the sight in his good eye.

Aemond only had to blink to clear his vision, but even that put him one step behind.

Aegon had thrown his elbow into Arryk’s stomach and freed himself to bolt down the stairs opposite Aemond.

Cole’s blade was still out, and Arryk had drawn his, as well. They both blocked Aemond’s shortest path to his brother.

He had no option but to turn and run down the other stairs to try and intercept him.

Thankfully, Aegon was slower than him and much, much clumsier. Especially when drunk.

He had barely made it off the steps when Aemond barreled into him, sending them both tumbling on the pavement of the courtyard below.

Aegon tried to get away, but he could hardly stand. As he crawled across the ground, Aemond caught his ankle and pulled him down.

“No!” Aegon shouted, flailing his arms to try and push Aemond off him. “Stop! No!”

It was not a convincing plea, not when he began to giggle like an idiot immediately after, as if all of it – the fleeing Septon, Septas, and passersby, as well as the swordfight now raging between Ser Criston and Ser Arryk– was simply a game.

Aemond growled as he struggled to restrain his brother’s arms, not caring that his hood had come down, exposing his hair – his identity – to all those who looked on. “I was hoping you disappeared.”

“Is our father truly dead?” Aegon asked, his voice momentarily clear.

“Yes,” Aemond answered, ignoring the pang in his chest. It was inconsequential compared to the rage that was again rising within him. “And they’re going to make you King.”

He shouted when Aegon spat in his eye and bit his hand. It was instinct, the primal need to protect his remaining sight, that had him releasing his grip on his brother as he reeled back.

With another prayer of thanks that Aegon was still drunk, he surged forward again, catching him around the waist.

“No!” Aegon continued to struggle, even as they both stood.

But he was at too much of a disadvantage. Aegon was not half the warrior Aemond was, and his mind was still clouded by whatever he had done the night before.

“Let me go!” He pleaded as Aemond wrapped his arm around his neck, trapping him. He repeatedly shouted as he was pushed toward Ser Criston, who had finally defeated and disarmed Arryk.

“I have no wish to rule!” he bellowed. “No taste for duty! I am not suited!”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Aemond conceded.

Aegon turned, spinning himself partway out of Aemond’s grasp, but he did not run. Instead, he only faced his brother to beg once more.

“You let me go,” he implored, clutching Aemond’s face as if it was his last grasp on reality. “I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found.”

Gods, Aemond wanted to say “yes.”

Surely, it was what duty demanded. He would spare the realm the inevitable disaster of the depraved, drunken fool’s reign and free Helaena from the constant abuse of her husband.

Had he not told Cole less than an hour ago how he was far better suited to the throne?

But the more he considered the possibility, the more he knew it to be impossible.

To crown himself King would be to make Arianwyn his Queen.

He had no doubt that she would be an excellent Queen. She would be more than that – she would be perfect. For she was far bolder and more brilliant than most of the Kings that had gone before them. And she had the knowledge and blood of the First Men, the Andals, and Old Valyria.

Together, they stood a chance of building something greater than them all combined.

But to put a crown on her head would be to invite death.

Daemon was already itching for war – with Viserys’ death, it was all but inevitable. If Aemond made Arianwyn his Queen, her father’s destructive rage would be centered on her.

The Rogue Prince would burn the whole world just to bring his daughter down.

Aemond once told Arianwyn that he didn’t want to conquer the world, only to save her.

Now he was faced with that very choice.

It was so easy to make.

Ser Criston approached and wrapped an arm around Aegon’s shoulder.

“The Queen awaits,” he murmured.

Neither Prince looked at him.

Aegon tightened his grip on his brother, his face red as he silently, desperately plead for his freedom.

Aemond only stared blankly back.

For a moment, it looked as though Aegon would weep. But he held on to that last shred of dignity. He bit his lip and dropped his hands, letting Cole lead him away.

Aemond stood, frozen in place.

He had just given away what most men would kill and die for, yet he felt no regret.

That morning, he had agonized over whether his duty was to his brother, his King, and his country, or to his wife and true love. Ser Warren had given him a way out of making that choice.

There was no way out now. But all along, the answer had been simple.

Arianwyn. It would always be Arianwyn.

Next Chapter

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x oc #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell

[suchawrathfullamb]

FRANCIS/REBA + WILL/HANNIBAL

I came across a TikTok talking about the correlation between Reba, Dollarhyde and Hannigram, and although throughout the whole Dragon plot, it may not seem like there is any correlation, after Reba's plot, we have her last scene and it is essentially confirmed that it was, indeed, related, and it is confirmed by Will himself, by speaking to her in a way that is very obvious he understands what she's been through on a personal level..."not just the blind". And also him projecting, telling her "there's nothing wrong with you", clearly talking to himself there. So this scene is the grounding point for this messy rambling.

With that in mind, if we go back to the other episodes where we were getting through the Dragon's plot, there's a lot of interesting points to correlate to Hannigram, such as the scene where Reba feels the tiger, "the beast", a word that has been used to refer to Hannibal before. Reba is in awe of the creature, yet it is harmless because it is sedated. We could look at it as Will being Reba ("blind" to danger) and the tiger being Hannibal, as the TikTok creator proposes, she talks about Will/Reba being able to feel the soft side of Francis/Hannibal that the world does not see.

Alternatively we could look at it as Reba being Will, the tiger being his wild instincts and his own darkness, and Dollarhyde being Hannibal: he took Reba to the zoo and watched in amazement as she delighted in the experience of feeling the tiger, much like H delighted in seeing Will "interacting" with his own darkness.

"The beast's heartbeat" could be a symbol for how even though the man (Francis and H) are conceived as separate from the beast (Will implies that in the conversation with Reba, saying "you didn't draw a freak, you drew a man with a freak on his back")...But now as I write this it's making think about how Will could just as easily be referring to himself, as if he perceives that H is the "freak" on his own back...Hence why he wants to help Francis, and yes, we know he was jealous, yet Will has the tendency to be extremely compassionate towards the criminals he feels are fighting something within, and says so in the same convo with Reba...He says Francis was trying to stop, says, again, that Francis isn't a freak, just "has a freak on his back". He relates somehow. He tries helping them because he wants to believe he can help himself, which was directly shown in S2, in the horse episode, with the social worker and Peter, the guy Will related to.

They (Reba and Dolarhyde) also shared a deep (and quite mystical) sexual connection. It was the first time Francis experienced love...or what he perceives love to be. The symbolism of Reba being blind could be saying that, for Francis, one needs to be blind to truly accept him (he thinks he's ugly/deformed)? Maybe. Maybe it's even the opposite...She can't see how he looks so she likes him on a deeper level (in his perception, at least). It's an interesting aspect to contemplate nonetheless, I have no definitive answer to that.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the biblical text this plot derives from, the Woman Clothed With The Sun, or The Apocalypse Woman, is said to be carrying a child, a son, and the Dragon (Satan) wants her child, but isn't able to get him or able to even attack her, though he tries. We see that on the show, where after they make love, Francis' Dragon wants her. He tells Hannibal this and we have this interesting line:

This makes me think of how Hannibal thought he needed to eat Will (in that conversation with Bedelia) but never actually did it. I wonder if he came to a similar conclusion, "having him alive", although of course Hannibal doesn't kill or eat people because there's a greater force inside him making him do so, but he does have the whole idea of needing to eat in order to forgive (which is ambiguous).

This dialogue happens immediately after Hannibal says he feels love for Will. Obviously H is extremely arrogant or downright delusional and doesn't seem to consider that what he did to Will in the first place, was betrayal, and what Will did was merely a reaction to the hardcore betrayals he experienced, and so he still thinks he's the one who has to forgive somehow. Or perhaps he's just lying to himself. Either way, we have a similar situation with Francis, the Dragon, H and Will. The *extremely* ambiguous dialogue between H and Bedelia seems to imply that he does not accept feeling love? He "blames" Mischa for making him feel something he cannot control (picture above).

Is that why he feels the "need" to consume Will? In the original work H is fed his sister unknowingly, but in the NBC version it's implied he simply ate her to honor her death. Mads says so in a s3 special, he found the caged man molesting and killing her, therefore this cannot be the same as people feeding him Mischa without his knowledge or consent. Bedelia also implies this in the bathtub scene, she asks what was his first "spring lamb", then immediately asks "what did your sister taste like?".

All of this to try to make sense of why he said that to Francis. He couldn't have predicted Francis was interested in Will, so that's not what he had in mind when suggesting to keep her alive, and "not worry about feeling love for her". Did Hannibal finally came to this conclusion/acceptance himself? That he doesn't need to consume Will just because he loves him, just like Francis doesn't need to kill Reba because the love he felt for her incited the Dragon? Maybe. H actually contemplates killing Will when they're at the cliff house (see WOTL script) but his "compassion is inconvenient" and so he doesn't.

What's the point of this? God only knows. Anyway,

Closing this useless mess up with canon Hannibal is Will's God. I'm sorry if you came this far and thought I actually had a point. This show destroyed my brain and before that I was on the Supernatural fandom so, imagine my state of being, pray for me.

#hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #murder husbands #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta #i haven't sleept

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 10: A Wedding

MASTERLIST

Summary: A wedding. A joust. Some simping.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

The Sept. Sept – Hept – Seven, referring to the Seven New Gods that prevailed over the Faith. It was filled with people, nobles, high merchants, children old enough to not disrupt the proceedings, and guards. There were a lot of guards.

Princess Naera Targaryen stood behind a mostly closed door in the most prominent Sept in King’s Landing, running her fingers over a clear red ruby within an iron crest that dangled from her neck, as she pondered the customs. It was the door behind the Crone and the Stranger, though she did not know the reason. The Crone symbolised time—the future, perhaps? The Stranger held little significance to her.

Her father stood beside her, looking the best at his health than he had in a very long time. His maesters had outdone themselves, it seemed.

The High Septon’s quiet, drawling voice echoed through the Sept within, reading some prayers and extracts from the Seven-Pointed Star. It did not help that it was the same book which had been cited to Princess Alysanne before she married her brother who later came to be known as King Jaehaerys the Reconciler—there were none more deterred by their ways than those who held Faith in the Seven Gods. Naera did not understand why her family agreed with the commoners and their beliefs in this regard, when the commoners so rarely hid their dismay over the marriage of brother to sister as done in he Targaryen family. 

House Targaryen had been fueled to stray above the petty crowds, as it was obvious in the height of the Iron Throne above those who stood on the grounds, as it was obvious in the soaring might of the dragon riders above the main populace. They were above them—as they had been, for a hundred years, and a thousand years before that also.

She stared through the inch-thin parting of the doors before her. She could see solemn light, and crowds, and the High Septon leaned over his book between the statues of the Mother and the Father. A stair below and to the right stood Daemon, dressed in black, arms clasped calmly as he struggled through the prayers—struggled, yes, for she knew him better than to think he felt no irritation or ire. She recognised faces by the statues—Aegon, by his height, Helaena, by the dress, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and her two older sons, and Aemond by the black spot of his eye-patch—she almost pitied the boy, were it not for his crime—and a woman in Green, extravagantly dressed, with a gleaming golden Seven-Pointed Star at her neck. Queen Alicent. Yes. That is why the dragon dared heed the wishes of the sheep. Her weak father was the reason.

Naera made an effort to not frown but pulled her arm away from her father. Not for long. Yes. House Hightower of Oldtown shall soon fall. She shall ensure it. The Greens shall forever be defeated, as Aegon’s enemies had been. The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, and it was time they returned to a reign ruled with Fire and Blood, and not compromise and faltering diplomacy. 

Naera ran her fingers along the edge of the cloak on her back—ash black, as the remnants of a most disastrous fire, with a blood-red dragon—a dragon has three heads—inscribed in a circle. Fire and Blood, but perhaps she just needed to rediscover her fire—perhaps the man, her uncle, her blood who she had never really known, who stood irate, about to wed her would help her. Perhaps, he’d warm and rekindle her lost flames with his own fire.

Before she guts him, of course. Although, perhaps the pyre of his funeral shall burn her with a delight so strong, a kind of joy which would burn through her blood for all her life. Perhaps.

The doors were heaved open by priests from within, and Naera gave her father her arm. The crowds hushed silence as the King walked in his daughter, his Visenya Returned, down the aisle to where the High Septon stood. Every step felt numbing on her feet, a strange anticipation boiling in her throat—the urge to destroy, surely, but she did not like the sensation. It felt like she had seconds before she had been enslaved for the first time, with no hopes for escape, the way she had felt every second in Stygai before the world came crashing down, the way she had felt when Raiden had first taken to illness. Nothing good came of this feeling.

Naera did not look down; she did not dare blemish the rites and her family. No, she wore the Targaryen cloak with pride, despite the implication, despite the sighs of contempt and aversion at her blood. It had not been her choice, she thought. This was the crown’s disdain to bear and it was an insult to the King to ignore.

Naera looked up to the blinding morning sun that gleamed through the windows, and her own regal lilac eyes caught those of nourishing soil brown. Elysabeth Tyrell stood in a gown of gold and pink, as the rose she was, a teasing look stuck on her beautiful face as she stood closer to the Septon than the rest, ready to receive her cloak.

Her father grasped her arm a little tighter as they ascended the stairs to the Septon—to Daemon, who stared down at his struggling brother with a shielded stare of pity, and then looked upon his Valyrian bride, and smiled. Viserys settled to the side, standing on the left, behind his dear daughter, besides the Queen, and their children.

Naera ascended the final stair alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and she stood before her smiling uncle—smiling, still, at her decorated face, her silver hair, and at her silver gown, her black cloak, and he refused to stare between her breasts where the red ruby dangled. He would not let himself be reminded of that ordeal, tubis daor—not today.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” and Naera turned with mincing steps to face the statues behind her. She felt Daemon lift up her cloak and saw Lady Tyrell accept it with glee, and he spread another fabric—near perfectly identical—across her shoulders, and yet it felt heavier than her maiden’s cloak, as though a symbol of the weight that came with the ties of marriage. It crushed her from within, and without. Naera turned once the cloak was secure, trying her best to keep herself from frowning.

Suffer through this night, and relish in what comes after.

“My lords, my ladies,” the Septon drawled on, “we stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife,” and Naera thoroughly frowned at his words. Man and wife—not husband and wife, then it should be man and woman. To denote a woman by her man is the simplest form of enslavement. “One flesh, one heard, one soul, now and forever.” No. It would not be forever, Naera knew. Nothing is forever.

She turned to face the Septon, as did Daemon. She held out her hand, and he covered it with his own, as the Septon wound a white ribbon round their joint hands, once, twice, thrice, until he approached seven loops. The Septon spoke as he wound the ribbon around their hands, “Let it be known that Naera of the House Targaryen and Daemon of the House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” His hand over hers felt warm, comforting, caring.

“Look upon each other, and say the words,” and Naera turned to Daemon, their hands still held.

They spoke the names of the New Gods of the South, in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” and never breaking their flow and rhythm, never cracking their unison, Daemon spoke, “I am hers, and she is mine.”

Naera spoke in a voice quieter than Daemon’s, but heard nonetheless, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” he finished.

“From this day, until the end of his days,” and the threat in Naera’s voice went unnoticed by all—by the Septon, by Elysabeth Tyrell, by her father, and her step-mother, and their children, and Rhaenyra and her family. It went unnoticed by every man and woman in the Sept, other than Daemon.

He tightened his grasp on her hand, smiling fake yet again, but she knew the joy of finally attaining his Valyrian Bride outweighed the possibility of losing her by the worth of a thousand lives. Soon enough, his eyes twinkled with the spark he must hold for a lady wife he has wanted for very long, and he still refused to glance at the ruby and all it represented.

“With this kiss,” and his voice adopted a dulcet tone she had never heard in it before, “I pledge my love.” And the destruction of House Hightower, was that which he did not voice. They knew—oh, they knew the promise very well. Naera couldn’t resist a smile, oh, to watch the perfect Alicent cower and weep to her false gods after all she holds dear is gone, and Naera yearned for the kiss that would promise it all. Daemon leaned forward, tilting his face to the side, the heat that radiated off his face, his eyes, his hands adding up to be too much, and pressed his warm lips against hers for a moment only—a moment of fire and storm that sent a chill down her spine, before pulling away. Yes.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” In perpetuity. Naera blinked, as the High Septon unwrapped the white ribbon. Daemon’s eyes smiled down at her, as did his lips, but Naera heard, in the euphonious voice of the woman from her dreams, or do I have my facts wrong?

I wasn’t there, your grace, a deeper, lower voice answered, quieter, smaller, inferior.

No, of course not, the voice of the Conqueror, the Targaryen Princess, the Breaker of Chains echoed in Naera’s mind, but still, an oath, is an oath, and an ounce of guilt ran down Naera, and in perpetuity means…what does in perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

Forever, surely, Lord Tyrion, whoever he was, spoke.

Forever, and the voices faded away. Naera blinked. No. This was a sham wedding—it was not binding, it was not a promise—valar morghulis, all men must die, and she held no obligation to them all. Didn’t she?

“Are you alright?” Daemon asked her frozen face, concern colouring his joys.

No. No, no, no.

“Of course.”

There was always a portion of theatrics that came with tourneys. The cheers of the spectators, the clink and clutter of gamblers handing their silver and gold to barterers, the whispers amongst high nobility all boldened the knights. The thrumming of drums in a rhythmic setting boiled anticipation. To feel the heave and weight of one’s armour, to hear the hammering of one’s horse’s hooves against the mulch-ridden ground, and to stare into the eyes of your opponent, all those feet away, through the cages of one’s helm, was brilliance.

Daemon rode out on his horse—midnight dark, to match his obsidian armour. He heard the crowds and their cries and their praises, and it cemented a sort of pride he couldn’t source elsewhere. There were a series of knights lined up, bearing the emblems of houses on their chests, their horses lined up in a row—He always chose first. A man dressed in red and black announced his ordeal, as he rode past each and every mounted knight to find one worthy.

The first he faced was Jason Lannister, with his silken cape of red and gold and a lion that roared within. Dragons didn’t duel with Lions—no. The next was a Stark, and a Bolton, and Daemon had no desire to fight a man who stood no chance—no. Baratheon, Hightower, but he had already injured them before, so no. He passed by the Tyrell rose who dared have his beauty tainted, but oh, Targaryen.

With her wedding gown still in place beneath gleaming silver armour, and it made sense why she had chosen one with wide ankles—his lady wife, his beloved niece, his Naera had been serious about the tourney. The cloak he had settled on her shoulders just hours ago now acted as a cape, though hidden behind a sheer white cape that glowed in the sun, and when Daemon passed his horse by her, he saw a lilac eye wink through the bars of her helm. Well, he decided, as he turned his horse and lowered his lace to her shoulder.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, has chosen his opponent…” and the man was certainly confused beyond words, but he found them nonetheless, “It is…Princess Naera Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and, uh, the Silver Knight!” The crowds roared aloud, about to witness a match that wouldn’t be seen for another two hundred years at the least.

The man backed away thus, as Daemon approached the King’s bracket, his black stallion clucking its way to the front. “I request the favour of the Heir to the Iron Throne—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” and if his old love did resent him for caving up thoughts and memories she had buried away, she did not show it.

“Good fortune to you, uncle,” she announced with a diplomatic smile and threaded a wreath of green leaves and yellow blossoms through his lance. He heard claps and excitement of those who watched, and wondered if he should be gentle—what would they think of him, if he disarmed his lady wife. Surely, that he was cruel and merciless, Maegor Returned, as she was Visenya—nothing they did not already believe.

Naera’s grey horse approached the bracket also, as Daemon took his place by one edge of the track. He saw the irritation on her face as she flicked off the visor of her helm, for he had known without a doubt that his niece would have asked the favour of her own sister.

“I ask for the favour of his grace, King Viserys,” and the crowds took a minute to register her request before they cried out in approval—this was hardly a conventional match, of course. “Shall I have your blessing, father?” Naera used her words to coax her laughing, joying, priding father off his chair. He fetched a wreath of gold and twine and dropped it through her iron lance.

“I wish you victory, Silver Knight—my Visenya Returned,” said the King, after which, he returned to his seat, and the happiness was evident on his ageing features. Naera let her horse neigh and directed it to turn and take its place on the opposite end of the track. The drums were beaten with vigour, with a rhythm long imbued into Daemon’s mind from all the tourneys he had won, and as the beats came to a still stop, he reined his horse to stagger and run forth, aiming his spear at an angle meant to disarm—to not hurt his lady wife at all.

Naera, at the other end, rode faster than he did, for she understood that the strength she did not possess would come with the speed her lord husband could not gain, and angled her spear further out into his space—to harm, and not just disarm.

Her armour caught the glow of the noon day’s sun, but her momentum made it all blur into a streak of silver, and as the cape of red and grey-black that hung off her back caught wind in the air, they clashed spears with a brassy, deafening blast of metal and wood.

Daemon’s spear cluttered against her wooden shield, splintering the wood and streaking the symbol of the dragon. Naera’s spear caved in a metal place near his shoulder, throwing him off his balance, and she turned, as her grey stallion blared past, to watch her uncle’s midnight dark horse cry out and run, throwing him off its back and down to the muddy, mulchy ground.

His arm collided against the fence pole, sending a crackle of pain through his shoulder.

There were at least a thousand men and women—and as the Rogue Prince was demounted by his new lady wife, every single man, woman, and child shored up a riotous, thundering uproar. Daemon pushed his way to his feet, gasping and groaning.

Oh. She was not bluffing, it seemed.

Naera turned her stallion, and shouted, “Get him a sword!” Happy.

A squire approached Daemon, holding out the sheathed Black Sister. Oh, he had been wrong—how terribly wrong. He watched Naera dismount her horse, tugging off the heaviest of her armour around her shoulders and arms, and dropping it to the ground, but leaving the breastplate in place. He watched her remove her jousting helm, letting her silver hair fall across her shoulders.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister with a shrill sound, throwing away his helm, making his way towards Naera as the man from earlier announced their intentions. Naera held a thin blade, not very strong or sturdy, but he did not know what to expect.

“First blood,” he named his terms, and she hummed her approval above the noise of the people.

“Very well,” but neither of them failed to notice the panic in the King’s eyes as he leaned against the veranda, face contorted in worry. Eh.

Naera held her blade in her high hand, extending it straight, as though it was a part of her arm. Daemon lunged at her, his sword aimed straight, and she leaned away, stepping back, not daring to try her hand at a straight clash. No, Naera instead leaned away, stepped back, whipping her grey gown against the wet mud, and swiped her sword against dark sister as it heaved down, and again, and again—three quiet hits and her sword pointed at Daemon’s face. Ah.

He drew a long breath, whipping around and slashing at her, but Naera—his Naera, leaned away, again, and again, and she managed to catch him off guard with a drastic flip of her hair, and pushed down her leg against his chest. Daemon slipped against the mulch, colliding against the ground yet again, and Naera pointed the thin, flimsy blade at him, at his neck, and the fear of the nights before returned.

A man has lost to a girl, he almost heard her say, but with the fear turning to singed panic, and the panic being the fire that fueled his blood, he kicked her down onto the mud, staggering to his feet, and Naera had already twirled back to her feet—agile, elegant, quick. He watched the silk and silver of her gown tear and screech at the hems, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered—not when her eyes were smiling unlike he had ever seen them do.

Naera clashed her sword against his armour, against his Valyrian Steel Blade, and it clattered off into two pieces. She hissed at the loss, taking a large step backwards, and lunged at Daemon with the broken blade, aiming at his neck. Daemon pulled the blade out of her hands, throwing it somewhere near the shouting man who informed the people of their deeds.

Daemon heard the pitched sliding of metal against metal, as Naera unsheathed the dagger he had once gifted her. Oh, she was being sentimental, in a way.

He gasped a laugh, clutching Dark Sister as hard as he could, and he slashed at her again, and she knelt down to avoid it, piecing her second blade through the joint plates of his obsidian armour. Daemon groaned out in pain, and Naera was again throwing him down with her weight, her Valyrian Steel dagger striking across his cheek in a blur of grey and silver.

Daemon faced the skies, and he watched Naera raise her dagger, coated in his blood, smiling, happy, almost ecstatic, he’d even dare word. He felt warm blood pour down his face, and the sting of a wound well cut spreading through his mind.

Every woman in the crowd—Rhaenyra and Elysabeth in particular, screamed out their joys at her victory, but the face of King Viserys, clapping at his daughter’s victory shone through the rest.

“Well, husband?” Naera held out a hand, silver hair settled down on her shoulders, as she replaced the blade by her waist. Her lilac eyes gleamed brighter than her hair, and her breastplate shone with the light of the sun. The lines on her face had settled, a suppressed smile eating away at her face, Silver Knight. Daemon accepted her hand, unable to fight a smile. He had never enjoyed losing—who did?

He did not leave her hand once he stood but instead raised it above their heads, despite the ache in his leg and on his face. He left her arm hanging high, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, and raised her up higher. The shadow of the tracks escaped her, and the tilted sun illuminated her. The shimmer of her armour blinded him, but he looked on, at her blooming high-set cheeks, her rosy, smiling lips and her eyes—oh, her eyes, which he was sure were amethysts worth more gold than this world could own. She was perfect.

Naera laughed as she did, like a shower of crystal rain after a decade-long drought, like a wakening light in the darkest of hells, and like a little child after receiving praise or a maiden after receiving a flower from her long love. He couldn’t resist—did not wish to resist the grin that befell him.

He had lost.

He loved it.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

thinking abt ur validar post because i actually thought about that a little in my stupid werewolf fic. I had to really sit down and be like "what the fuck would people even FIND attractive about this guy enough to have a baby" and I didnt wanna just use the occult angle and it hit me that Validar isn't self-caring because he hates he's not the vessel he wanted and yeah he definitely IS the equivalent of That Parent. You know the one. What I'm saying is maybe there's a commentary to be made here abt how the Plegian people and him in turn felt so dehumanized in general after a point even the extremist sects of Grimleal were better bc well, if you become food for Grima/BECOME Grima's body then you're useful and good and righteous. What gets me is Plegia isn't poor, either, but its poor in sustainability outside the ocean... idk, a lot of food for thought with Validar here. I didn't expect to think abt him in FEH so deeply but here we are.

Honestly it's kind of embarrassing how much I HAVE deeply thought about Validar. I've been wanting him to get into FEH for a long time now. A lot of his lines in Awakening are so poorly written that it's hard to make sense of him as a person. But even though you can't really argue that he's in any way sympathetic in the text... For me at least, there's no such thing as a completely unsympathetic villain, and I can't help feeling sorry for both him and the other members of the Grimleal...

I mean, yeah, when Aversa explains that Plegia suffering under Gangrel was useful because it drove the people to worship, I think we ARE supposed to feel bad for the common people. But I think it's easy to fall into a trap of trying to distinguish those ordinary citizens from the evil, manipulative leaders like Validar just a little bit too much. Aren't they all trapped in the same vicious cycle, in the end?

Over the course of the game, we occasionally fight some Grimleal enemies who are... really just nasty, and not supposed to be given a second thought at all. But I can't help but be moved that they call out to Grima with their dying words... "Master Grima... my life force... is yours..." (Chalard, Chapter 8). "Lord Grima... Rain down... retribution..." (Jamil, Paralogue 6).

The Grimleal... love Grima. Even Validar loves Grima. Aversa says he's everything she knows of love, but she also doesn't presume he loves HER, so of course it's his devotion to Grima that she sees. Notably, it's this form of love that makes her content to die for him.

So I end up feeling deeply moved, even though (or more accurately, BECAUSE) the entire philosophy behind the Grimleal is so horrific. The deep despair these people must feel in order to see salvation in the form of humanity's destruction... It's NOT just "hee hee powerful dragon will make me powerful" because these people, including Validar, do not presume that they are special and going to survive. Even the leader of the Grimleal is nothing. Grima alone is everything.

And... okay I talk a lot about the symbolism of Grima's name meaning mask, which I love so much, but lately I've also been thinking about the meaning of their Japanese name, Gimurei—from Norse, Gimlé, referring to the place where the righteous will dwell in happiness after Ragnarok, which will stand "even when both heaven and earth have passed away." So... yes, I do think that for the Grimleal, giving their souls to Grima is a way of becoming righteous. The world is cruel and ugly but Grima will make it right :::)

(Of course, because they believe Grima is the only answer, no one does anything to make the world they have any better. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. One that Grima is drawn into as well. When this is what they wake up to, what are they supposed to do? If they don't destroy the world, they will be letting a LOT of people down.)

#ask #grima studies #yeah this one's one for the tag i think #i just... think a lot about what it means to worship someone like grima...

[genshinemblem564]

Chapter 9: Answers

Spoilers for Liyue archon quest and Zhongli's story quest and massive spoilers for Fire Emblem Fates Revelations and the Heirs of Fate dlc

Once back at the Order of Heroes castle, you and Aether sat down and had a chat.

Aether: I have to ask, why didn't you use that power of yours, you know, the one you used to defeat the imposter?

(Y/N): That's because... I... don't know how to use it.

Paimon: What!?

(Y/N): It was just sort of dumb luck that it happened when it did.

Aether: Do you want me to teach you?

(Y/N): You can do that?

Aether: I can try. After all, it is similar to how I can command the elements without a vision.

(Y/N): Then yes, please teach me all you can

Meanwhile

Most of the archons were gathered at the goddess's gathering hall, watching you from an orb Nahida had made with help from said goddess.

Ei: I'm glad they're finally learning to wield electro, but why couldn't I have taught them that? (sigh) At least they have a dependable teacher in the Traveler.

(S/N): Yes, the Traveler is quite skilled in using the elements. They couldn't ask for a better teacher, at least for average elemental use.

Venti: What do you mean?

(S/N): Well, can the Traveler summon gales that allow even humans to fly or call a meteor from th heavens?

Venti: Hmm. Fair point. Speaking of meteors, where's Morax?

Nahida: Let's see.

Nahida concentrates on Zhongli until she finds him.

Nahida: Eh?

Back at the castle, you were now practicing combat techniques when you hear a familiar voice.

Zhongli: Ah, there you are.

You, Aether, and Paimon turn to face the former geo archon.

Paimon: Ah. Zhongli! What are you doing here?

Zhongli: I came to ask our friend here something. Would you two care to hear it?

Paimon: Sure.

Aether: Of course.

Zhongli: I've heard about your device, so you probably already know this, but I'd still like to formally introduce myself. I am Rex Lapis, the now former geo archon. Others refer to me as Morax. I have come in search of an answer, and considering I was told you have intimate knowledge of the realms connected to Askr, I thought it more efficient to ask you directly. Simply put, is there any world that has a cure for erosion?

Aether and Paimon were left speechless, not only by Zhongli's question, but the fact that he trusts you enough to reveal his identity.

(Y/N): This is about Azhdaha, isn't it?

Zhongli: Yes.

(Y/N): There is one and only one world where erosion or something similar was successfully combated. In this world, a dragon by the name of Anankos isolated himself from humanity because he feared his minds deterioration, but when it finally did deteriorate, he flew into a rage. Believing that he was abandoned by the same kingdom that once sung his praise, he destroyed it and severed it from the mortal world entirely. Before he succumbed to erosion, he wrote a song, a song that, when sung whilst possessing his dragon stone, would weaken him, and in the main timeline of this world, it was used to kill him. However, in another timeline, several people willingly gave up some of their own memories to ensure the singer's safety as otherwisehe'dhave endured sufferingfor the rest of his life. I can not tell you what altered his fate in this timeline, the memories sacrificed, the souls of the departed returning to aid the living, or just pure happenstance, but it does work. Whether or not this is a permanent solution, I also do not know

Zhongli: I see. Thank you, but might I ask? Azhdaha doesn't have a dragon stone. What do I use for him?

(Y/N): Dragonfall. It doesn't need to be a dragon stone, just something close to Azdaha's heart, and considering that's what got through to him last time it might work.

Zhongli: And the song?

(Y/N): Oh! That might have been what altered Anankos's fate. Azura sings the song, but she's only ever sung three of the four verses. Her son, Shigure sang that final verse. Oh, but you'll have to wait if you're thinking about asking for their help, we're kind of going through something here ourselves.

Zhongli: I see. One more thing, do the lyrics matter?

(Y/N): Um. I'll have to ask Azura, but probably not considering how similar Anankos's and Azhdaha's situations are.

Zhongli: Understood, thank you. I shall await word of your duty's completion and lady Azura's answer. I'm afraid I can not assist you with whatever troubles your land, as I have my own duties to attend to.

(Y/N): Understood, have a safe trip back Zhongli.

As Zhongli departs, you turn back around to see Paimon and Aether holding their heads in confusion.

Paimon: Ugh, Paimon's head is spinning. What was all that about. Um, spirit dragons I think.

Aether: Don't ask me.

You were about to try and get their attention when Anna burst in.

Anna: Summoner, Traveler, that woman we rescued is waking up.

The four of you rush to the infirmary.

___________________________________________

Sorry for being absent. My hyper focus was jumping all over the place recently.

#genshin impact #sagau #crossover #fire emblem heroes

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

What characters could be in Camilla's kin list? Same question about Lance and others :D

Eyyyy 💕

Thank you very much for your question! I hope I was able to choose characters close to our lovely SVE people. This is my first time making this list, I hope I understood everything correctly 😅

Camilla:

Carmilla ("Castlevania"), the queen of vampires (in the Netflix series, she is the general of Dracula's army). She is shown as a femme fatale, seductress and manipulator. Dangerous, bossy, does whatever she wants. Of course, in the games and Netflix series she is terribly selfish and cruel, but still she reminds very much of SVE Camilla (I thought at first that it was Carmilla who inspired the creation of Camilla. Even their names!). High kin.

Bayonetta (game "Bayonetta") - if SVE Camilla was carrying around guns, I'd scream that this is the "Literally Me" category.

Fujiko Mine (manga/anime "Lupin the Third"), a talented thief, cunning and seductive. Able to go to great lengths to achieve those riches, has had many relationships, loves to live luxuriously and is very talented at everything. I prefer Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro and anime season 4 for SVE Camilla, as there Fujiko showed more or less (kinda?) tender feelings and compassion, whereas in the original manga she acts solely out of her own interests. Nevertheless - a strong, intelligent and capable woman that almost always gets what she wants. High kin.

Lance:

Zagreus (game "Hades") - Zagreus is often shown to be humble, good-natured, and sarcastic in the game. I mean, his cheerful, though somewhat unruly nature allows him to easily befriend many people, treating those of lower status as his equals, though he respects his elders. In my opinion - he's almost like Lance's SVE. So "literally me" category.

Zorro (I will choose 1975 film, because it's my favorite) - man with a mask, a master swordsman, a noble defender of the weak and a punishment for criminals. Not without a sense of humour, always ready to rush to the aid of those in need and has a high sense of justice. It would be funny to see Lance in a mask, where after he would then reveal his identity to us.... Maybe a little controversial, but I still think it would be the high kin here.

(There was supposed to be information here about Lance the dragon trainer from Pokémon and a joke about how he and SVE Lance are very similar, but then I remembered that SVE Lance was inspired specifically by Lance from Pokémon. So we'll skip that one).

Isaac:

Geralt of Rivia (book version + game trilogy) - monster hunter, loner, sarcastic, builds himself up to be emotionless and cold, yet has a sense of empathy, stands up for the weak, intelligent and almost always sensible - should I go on? Very high kin.

Van Helsing (2004 film, not the book version) - somebody give me that meme with the two Spider-Men pointing fingers at each other, because oh boy, those two monster hunters are like two peas in a pod! "Literally me," period.

Dettlaff van der Eretein (The Witcher 3: Blood and Wine) - a reserved and cold loner vampire that is trying to find his place in the world, carries a universal sadness inside him and harbours a small hope for simple happiness? Yes, please! I could write a whole list of how similar Dettlaff and Isaac are in character traits, but we'd sit here all day. So I'll give him the "literally me" verdict and we'll go down the list.

Alesia:

Tyrande Whisperwind ("Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos") - Alesia's constant references to the Yoba, kind nature, determination and desire to protect the people made me think of the phrase "By Elune", which I often heard when going through the company of Night Elves (ah, good old Warcraft...). So considering that Alesia leads the men to defend the walls of the Castle Village from the threat, is full of bravery and courage, and always mentions her god, with Tyrande she is very similar. I can safely call this a "literal me" category.

Elita-1 ("Transformers: Generation 1"). Autobot, a skilled and ruthless warrior, yet gentle and kind to her allies. In the animated series and most comics, Elita is cautious and constantly strives to make sure her squad is safe. However, if something goes wrong, she is willing to do anything to keep her friends and subordinates safe. Not much is known about Alesia yet, but from the dialogue we have so far, I get the impression that Alesia will be the same - brave and willing to lay down her life for her friends. High kin.

#hope I was able to get it right #don't be shy to write who would in your opinion be in kin list #I'm very curious #SVE #stardew valley expanded #sve alesia #sve isaac #sve lance #sve camilla #I skip Jadu because it's so hard to make kinlist for him. Like #He was arrived in Stardew Valley once and have some couple dialogue in Castle Village outpost. #thanks for the ask!

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Another Crossover No One Asked For [AKA RotBTD]

What is up, everybody! My gals, nonbinary pals, and all other flavors in between! So~ as per usual, my brain cooked up yet another AU that is nowhere near as thought out in comparison to say, the Mystery Kids verse

In its rearing stead is Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons, one of the crossovers I consider to be the OG's. (And yes I know I said AU but shhh)

Honestly, I love the little skrunklies so have the most randomly-spewed nonsense about the crossover~

Background Lore

To start, I always see an alternate version of canon- at least in the case of Hiccup and Rapunzel where they chose to run away; with the case of Hiccup, he bonded with Toothless as usual and then prior to the match with the Monstrous Nightmare, he takes off and leaves- not feeling confident enough. (this might change, but bear with me here for now lol)

Rapunzel however, was with Flynn already but due to sudden circumstances- they were separated and it leads to Rapunzel leaving. I know she technically wouldn't do this but again, this is the first thing that came to my mind; mostly this post is just for me to ramble and then flesh it out later when the time comes.

In the case of Merida, however, my plan is that she didn't run away and did complete her canon but something happened, and she ended up... stranded. There is no reasoning to this either

Now, with our boy Jack Frost, my plan for him is that his canon will play out differently- but this will come into play later!

Something to keep in mind is this is in a completely alternate 'canon', but the point I'm trying to make: they can easily be influenced if they aren't careful, and this is important

Following Hiccup running away, he inadvertently runs into Jack who he can see- mostly due to plot-convenienced lore, since not only are there literal dragons but Hiccup is a Norse Viking and is likely to believe in spirits (which Jack Frost technically is); I like to believe both of them would hit it off, as would Rapunzel to Merida

Eventually all four meet and things start becoming a little more... concrete; Jack ends up introducing them to the Guardians, and this is where things begin to get a little... chaotic to say the least

Main Lore

Sometime during this is when the first shift in the storyline hits; in other words, I want to use Pitch Black as a possible antagonist and use this as a central arc (but this could change; again this is literally just me wanting to spew ideas out and hope something clicks)

Pitch is of course, causing his usual amount of trouble and well, it does catch the attention of the Main Four... (but then things start hitting the fan)

As a result of his shenanigans- things start getting snuffed out, somehow his power has gotten stronger; thus it's now proving a threat and if matters couldn't possibly be any worse: the Guardians (the OG four) can't figure out a way to stop it

which of course, leaves our main four to handle the situation

i do want there to be a reason to reference the villains of the respective films, whether they are going to be there as supporting antagonists to Pitch is entirely up in the air right now

Main Four + Thoughts

~ (potential spoilers/unconfirmed): the main four likely will be made into guardians during the first part of the series

~ I do want there to be symbolism across the four of them, and is going to be a prominent theme as the story progresses. Honestly for right now, that could be based on the four seasons (but it could easily be something else)

~ this is going to dive into characters acting on impulses of fear. With Pitch as one of the overarching villains, this is going to be a highly important plot element-

~ not all of the members are going to get along right off the bat- there's going to be tension, especially as no one knows what's happening but they will become allies; just give it time lol

~ i honestly do not want there to be a 'true' leader, as they're meant to work as a team and anything less than that will hinder them in the end

~ magic is going to be a prominent theme!!

~ Jack is the oldest out of everyone- I think this goes without saying, but honestly the ages of the main four goes in this order (oldest to youngest): Jack, Rapunzel Merida, and Hiccup. Part of the point is them still being young-

~ i am not going to be playing nice with these characters. the whole first arc of the series is going to be an emotional rollercoaster filled with sharp turns; with Pitch as a primary main, if that is the route I go on, there is going to be a lot of focus on fear and the lengths people are willing to go- among other themes. this is not for the faint of heart the entire time

~ i do hope this project can kick off and make a sort of trailer for it, but we'll see how that plays out-

Headcanons and Under-the-Cut Information

Concepts of magic are ridiculously important as part of the series. Elemental magic for instance- but for now, I will leave this vague, but it is going to be there. The only exception as of right now is Jack Frost, and not because there isn't a correlation to an element- it just simply is fairly obvious that he does have ice powers and will likely be connected to water coughs-

As mentioned before, this is likely going to end in the main four being guardians; however, what they'll represent will be left in the air and I'd hate to ruin the fun so soon!

While the OG guardians are going to be there, they're not as important- the main four will have to go through trials alone, there is something they have to face. what they've been avoiding this entire time

I did take some elements from old trailers I watched when I first joined the crossover, but also- all of the main four have different attributes that let them work better as a team; I'm only going to use Hiccup as reference here because this post is getting incredibly long but- he's a natural leader (and he also is an inventor)- he has a display of selfless attitude and this can easily be countered by Jack's more aloof personality though even then, our wintery child does have some growth he needs to (he's so traumatized- but he also is a protector of children, we'll save the character analysis for another day though)

I do not plan to have Rapunzel be with any of the others- romantically, at least; I can however, see her and Hiccup being good friends, they both have a shared artistic side and I want to explore this more

Jack and Merida would honestly clash so much at first- but warm up to each other later in the storyline

(Author's Ramble;

Jack and Pitch are excellent foils to each other- there's a lot I want to do with their dynamic, and how inherently Pitch is just as much needed as the Guardians are

In regard to how important the other villains of each respective fandom will be- honestly, it would be like this - most important to least: Mother Gothel, Mor' Du (?) - is that how you spell it? - and the Red Death

These characters are young and will be making tough decisions at times; they will not be perfect, they're going to make mistakes. Most of them are literal teenagers in their OG canon

I want to hopefully use my skills as an editor to make a trailer- we'll see how this pans out, but this is where I end my ramble)

Once I have a proper storyline set, I'll come back with a more coherent post

#rise of the guardians #how to train your dragon #brave #pixar brave #tangled #jack frost #hiccup haddock #toothless #httyd toothless #merida #rapunzel #pitch black #rise of the brave tangled dragons #alternate reality #alternate universe #crossover fandom #crossover project #ramblings #rambles #i am not making any sense right now #crossover idea

[midnightsun-if]

Thanks for the 🥺🥺🥺 information in my last ask! Okay so, I don't know if you answered this but I was wondering about the werebears/bear shifters. And Koda's ... clan specifically(is it called clan?). He seems like such a happy and sweet dude. Did he get that from his family? Is that general werebear temperament? Will we get to meet his family? Also I was curious, this is prompted by Koda's uncommon for black folk hair color, are werebears hair color [and eye color?] influenced for their bear ype? Do Panda bears have black and white hair ala Fruit Baskets?! Thanks for your time!!

Of course, I’m not the best at coming up with fun facts on the spot— unless they’re based around events that happen— so I’m glad you enjoyed it!

I’d love to talk about Koda!

So, Bear-Shifters don’t truly have clans or packs— like Wolf-Shifters do— but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a “clan” mentality. They’re just more independent for the majority of the year until the gathering (an event where all bear shifters within a certain area meet).

A Bear-Shifter Clan, I’ll just refer to them as that for the moment, mainly consists of themself or their family— if the family bond is strong. The people within Koda’s?

Arthur: His father— Arthur is a soft spoken man that typically keeps to himself, but he’s never willing to turn down an opportunity to spend with his kids.

Ursula: His mother— Ursula can be a bit stricter at times but she’d be the first person you’d look to if a prank happened. She adores her family more than anything.

Calysta: His aunt— Calysta is bit hardened due to events that have happened in her life, but she always has a gentle smile on her face whenever looking at her niece/nephew.

Pola: His little sister— Pola was adopted when she was a baby, and Koda fell in love with her instantly. There’s not a thing you could see Pola doing without her big brother nearby.

Koda’s temperament is a mixture of teachings from his family— that he should follow his heart— and just from naturally being Koda. And I wouldn’t say it’s the general temperament, but it’s not super uncommon either… It just depends on the individual (like it does with Wolf or Dragon Shifters).

And you’ll definitely get to meet his family! You’ll get to meet all of the ROs Families within the story!

Koda’s hair color was influenced by his bear form, yes! His hair used to be a bit darker before his first shift and then it slowly morphed to what it is now as his bear settled within him. Some shifters are affected by this— so some Panda-Shifters do have white-and-black hair, while others don’t. It’s an interesting thing for Bear-Shifters to see who will get said attribute or not. I wouldn’t necessarily say the eye color is influenced that strongly by it, but brown/black eyes are common among them.

Thank you for sending this ask in! I hope I was able to give you the answers that you need! ❤️❤️❤️

#midnight sun #asks #ro: koda kingston #grapecaseschoices