#hard to be a god chapter 9 spoilers

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

Compiling these two asks for convenience.

  YES ANON YES THE ANGST I LOVE THAT WHOLE CONVERSATION! 

And it’s especially great coming right after the one in chapter 8 BUT ALSO Why... anon... why did you have to remind me of this... this hurt me too you know!

 Rest easy anon I don’t hate you at all for shipping them. While I personally see it as a complicated friendship with a lot of doubts and regrets I won’t hide that I do like the dynamic/relation of the alien space god and the medieval rebel peasant A VERY NORMAL AMOUNT. And while for the story you don’t need more scenes of them, it’s all there and doesn’t overstay its welcome, I’m simultaneoulsy a hungry fiend so I too need and crave more of them.

 I don’t know if the fact that they have similar sounding names is supposed to prompt the reader into reading more into it because Roadside Picnic also has two characters with similar names and in that case I really don’t think you’re meant to think much about it. But with Rumata and Arata it seems more intentional and deliberate, nudging you to see them as a two sides of the same coin type of deal and really hold them up to the light and contrast the two, I don’t know, I do it anyway, authorial intent or not! 

 There’s a lot to dig in and I wish I had the time and headspace for going ham and dropping a whole essay right here right now! Instead I take your hand in solidarity of also being hurt by that convo, I offer some disparate thoughts below and also have this, it’s them.

I have to say right off that I really like the reverence and admiration Rumata has for Arata:

“Arata was the only person here for whom Rumata felt neither hatred nor pity,”

Just... the way Rumata talks about him, describing him as “an avenger by divine grace”, among other things, and the insane risk of going to rescue him on a helicopter... oh also! the fact that he is the one guy that is name dropped in the Prologue when the earth kids are playing their medieval roleplay games who appears later on, I personally like to think Arata’s sort of hero, a kind of Robin Hood to the children of Earth, especially to young Rumata/Anton. And honestly to his adult self as well (only probably not as romanticized). The idea that Rumata dreams he’s just like Arata sends me:

” (...) in his earthling’s dreams—the feverish dreams of a man who had lived for five years surrounded by stench and blood—he often imagined himself as such an Arata, having received the high right to murder the murderers, torture the torturers, and betray the traitors for having passed through all the hells of the universe.”

There’s so many good lines here in the excerpts you sent though, I think this one is just glorious I just feel it in my bones, I love the condemnation Rumata gives towards himself and his fellow earthly colleagues, I adore that last line it just puts it perfectly:

He knew that he was right, yet in some strange way, this rightness lowered him before Arata. Arata was clearly somehow superior to him— and not only to him but to all those who had come to this planet uninvited and who, full of helpless pity, watched the tumultuous bustling of its life from the rarefied heights of dry hypotheses and alien morality. And for the first time Rumata thought, There is no gain without a loss. We’re infinitely stronger than Arata in our kingdom of good and infinitely weaker than Arata in his kingdom of evil.

and the whole exchange after you have there, the idea that Arata feels weaker now that he has “god’s” help behind him IS JUST ARGHHHH it seems counterintuitive but it makes so much sense actually I love that bit so much I- I can’t go into it or I’ll be here all day! Maybe one day though!

This other bit oh man, OOF like yes Arata tell him but also no don’t yell at my son he’s trying his best and failling:

“No, we will talk about it. I didn’t summon you. I’ve never prayed to anyone. You came to me yourself. Or did you just decide to have some fun?”

Same here:

“You shouldn’t have come down from the sky,” Arata said suddenly. “Go back to where you came from. You’re only doing us harm.” (...)

Go back to the sky and never come back.

 I joke about these, that they sound like those scenes in films where a child has to shoo the dog away, but only because they hurt me too much if I don’t. They also tie in nicely with these lines of the conversation with Budach in chapter 8:

“Then, Lord, wipe us off the face of the planet and create us anew in a more perfect form … Or, even better, leave us be and let us go our own way.”

In short anon, I love them too and I share your pain.

#hard to be a god chapter 9 spoilers #asks/replies #anon #welcome anon welcome to what I like to call: #the rumarata angst #ship away anon you'll get no judgemental remarks from me #I'm sorry it took me so long to answer and then when I do I don't have a lot to say... or better yet I DO have a lot to say #but it's just these incoherent thoughts in my head #for now... #I want to draw the one convo in chapter 8 so bad but this one is up there too #screw it I'm tagging it too as: #too draw #Arata #Don Rumata #Hard to be a God #Strugatsky Brothers #if I make typos or something doesn't make sense I blame it on the heat today

[wiezumbeispiel]

Favorite Portal moments?

Obviously the moment in chapter 8 where glados hatches a new plan to defeat Wheatley so they go up in front of one of his screens and chell starts sloppily kissing potatOS in front of him and his little orb head explodes from the sheer power of lesbian love and everyone dies because the nuclear reactor breaks--

....that didn't happen, but in all seriousness:

Momentum-based puzzles (wheeeeeeeeeee)

The escape sequence in portal 1 where glados is begging you to come back to the testing annex and she's like "didn't we have some fun, though (:> someday we'll look back on this and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. O-o-oooh boy..."

The escape sequence in general. There are just so many fun puzzles and i love the dialogue

Glados epic wiggle moments* (portal 1 edition)

The cake in some storage room in the facility I'm pretty sure you never get to eat, but was real anyways

GLaDOS's reawakening [Wheatley crunching noises]

Basically all of chapters 2-5 of portal 2 tbh, i loved spending time solving GLaDOS's chambers and the escape sequence is super fun to go through

GLaDOS epic wiggle moments* (portal 2 edition)

Reuniting with potatOS as she gets pecked by birds

"YEAH TAKE THE LEMONS!!!" "burning people!! He says what we're all THINKING!!!"

Glados and her moments of vulnerability telling chell about remembering her conscience and how much it terrifies her. Also her hyped up to defeat Wheatley, you're in this with her together (:

The entire ending sequence. I cried real actual tears. I'm so sad it's all over....

Glados bird mom moments from the co-op campaign (which i haven't played but have seen bits of anyways)

(* = i love the wiggles but both times she's scared for her life so i feel really bad for her)

#portal #portal 2 spoilers /? #not art #did you mean to send this to my main blog?? not that im complaining i love getting asks #here are my least favorite portal moments now thay we're here: #portal 1 test chamber 18 (just the worst i spend hours on it every time even if i can get through the rest relatively quickly) #portal 2 chapter 8: the itch. wheatley please god shut up stop making those noises. i will kick your ass so hard and you don't even have 1 #ch8-9 is hard for me...... #wheatley may have been designed to have only bad ideas but he genuinely makes the most frustrating puzzles in the whole game #so props to him for that at least #the way i talk makes it sound like i hate Wheatley but i really dont. he's just.....very kickable sorry

[akumakosuke]

Yay, I finally finished the first chapter of my new fic...

†Our cursed love†

This is my first time writing an actual fic so it might not be that good, constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged! I would really like to know your opinions on what I'm doing right and wrong, things I should change and so forth.

A little PS this is not going to be absolutely canon, there will be some changes to the lore and techniques so be warned. I am also fully up to date on the manga so there will be manga spoilers.

Please enjoy the first chapter of ‡Our cursed love‡.

No warnings

~_Our cursed love._~

Chapter 1- Our pedestal.

~No one POV:~

The day is like any other day to most people. The sun blazing high in the bright blue sky, perfect white fluffy clouds dot the sky, moving along swiftly with the breeze. The sound of streets full of vehicles and streets full of people fills the air.

The day was like any other to non-sorcerers.

They all go about their lives, completely oblivious to the two Gods currently walking among them, blissfully unaware of the evil seeking to destroy these two Gods.

The day was like any other to the two Gods. Aware they’re being hunted but unaware of each other.

It’s true what they say, ‘ignorance is bliss’ and our two Gods will have to learn that lesson the hard way.

~3rd Person POV~

A young boy, around the age of 9 walks with an unusually cold face for a child wearing a blue hoodie with beige shorts and black sneakers. His expression isn’t the only eye catching thing about him, his eyes are quite simply breathtaking. Strikingly brilliant sky blue orbs. His short, fluffy white hair gently swaying in the breeze.

To passers by he seems like a relatively normal child with oddly spectacular looks but normal is not a word fit to describe this God.

Satoru Gojo decided to take a trip to Shibuya for no other reason than boredom. He knows it’s ‘dangerous’ because of the many, many bounties on his head but does he care? No, of course not.

Why would he care? He’s a ‘God’ right? All these fools are beneath him, besides its clear that none of them would even be a problem, he might be 9 but he knows his place in this world, he knows the ‘blessing’ he’s been born with and he knows how to use it -albeit not well- one glare is enough to dissuade anyone crazy enough to target him.

He can sense them all around him, thinking they’re hiding their cursed energy well but nothing can get past his six eyes, nothing.

~10 minutes earlier~

A young boy with long grey hair tied into a neat pony wearing a (f/c) shirt and (2/f/c) pants that are clearly too big for him and a pair of (f/c) boots steps out of a fancy black car in the middle of Shibuya. The 9 year old closes the door and the car drives off, left unattended which would be odd if he were just a boy, although his expression is somewhat normal for a boy his age, relatively bored, his eyes hidden by a pair of blacked out glasses with a circular frame.

He confidently makes his way through the busy streets, despite his small size he easily navigates a path through the much taller adults, some only sparing him a brief glance but none question why there’s a clear gap between him and everyone, a physically space none of them an seem to cross, naturally and absentmindedly moving around the boy to avoid it.

M/n Goto is aware of this gap as it’s intentional. He’s practicing although the few hungry pairs of eyes on him are distracting. M/n knows venturing out alone is ‘risky’ because of how valuable he is but hes a God isn’t he? Those fools are beneath him.

They’re clearly trying very hard to hide their cursed energy but alas it’s in vain, M/n sensed them following him since he left his estate. It’s not like any of them would be a problem for him, he knows his place in the world, he knows the ‘blessing’ he was born with and he knows how to use it -thanks to his loving father training him since he could walk-, one glare is enough to dissuade any idiotic enough to try and mess with a God, besides nothing can touch him without his permission, nothing.

~present time~

Destiny is a funny thing, many argue its existence.

If destiny exists then freedom cannot.

If freedom exists then destiny cannot.

Many argue its existence, many chose to deny its existence, they chose freedom.

The freedom of choice.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo do not believe in destiny.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo both chose to come to Shibuya today because they wanted to, they were bored and chose to do the riskiest thing by leaving unsupervised.

They both chose to walk this random street, they both decided they were tired of being followed and chose to turn around. A completely, random choice.

Completely random.

“Huh-?!”

“What-?!”

Time suddenly stops for two young, lonely, untouchable Gods.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo do not believe in destiny, so what is this feeling? Not the physical feeling of their shoulders colliding.

This sudden tug, this oddly familiar feeling like meeting a different version of yourself.

Luminous, sparkling sky blue orbs meet now uncovered blazing, blood red orbs and for the first time both are in absolutely awe of another’s appearance.

~M/n POV~

‘He- he bumped into me… his eyes… they’re… how did he-? This feeling… who is he, i feel like I should know… wait… he’s…’

~Satoru POV~

‘I didn’t sense him-? He touched me… i was sure i had it on… those eyes, they’re breathtaking… who is he? Why do i feel like I should know him? Wait… he’s…’

~3rd person POV~

“Cursed.” They both mumble at the same time causing both their eyes to widen, both taking a step back from the other.

The warm, carbon filled air suddenly feels a whole lot more suffocating, the feeling tugging at both of them gets stronger and they both know the other feels it.

It’s an odd sight, two unsupervised 9 year old standing in the middle of a busy Shibuya street just silently staring at each other in what can only be described as bewilderment.

For the longest time they’ve both believed them to have no equal. From the moment they opened their eyes they were forced to live in a word beneath them filled with people beneath them. They were put on pedestals so high no one else could ever hope to climb it and yet…

Their lonely pedestal is apparently bigger than they thought, all they had to do was turn around and be confronted with the other.

A shared pedestal is something everyone told them was impossible, they were born Gods among mortals, they were special, miracles, forever alone.

“Goto M/n…” M/n, finally regaining his brain, blurts out, feeling something he’s never felt before, nervous.

“Gojo Satoru…” Satoru eventually replies, having taken a few more seconds to recover and identify the unknown feeling in his chest, anxiety.

“We should probably lose them first before we talk…” M/n suggests, hesitantly turning his gaze away from Satoru and toward one of the groups of curse users currently hiding out in a tall building across the street with horror on their faces because the sheer amount of power coming from the two Gods is mind breaking.

Satoru turns his gaze towards another group hiding on a rooftop few building’s down with the same expression and hums in agreement. He slowly reaches out to grab M/n’s hand, he doesn’t know why but he just does.

The moment their skin makes contact they both jump, the feeling of physically touching another is so foreign, so intrusive yet so natural.

They quickly easy into the feeling, Satoru pulling M/n along and M/n following without complaint.

This action feels so normal it’s almost easy to forget the innocent looking 9 year old boys are running away from assassins hunting Gods not boys.

They both in this moment, forget they are Gods, they forget they are cursed, they both, even if only for a fleeting moment just feel like two normal boys, running freely through the streets of Shibuya, unsure of when they actually started running but unwilling to spend any time thinking about it.

They just run, the destination isn’t a concern to either of them and after running for what felt like both a lifetime and barely a second they stop in a dark, dirty alleyway, joyful laughter still bubbling from their chests as they catch their breath.

“Phew, I’m pretty sure we lost them.” Satoru comments as he leans against the wall, relaxing a bit more because he can’t sense anyone else.

“Hmm, it would be foolish of them to follow.” M/n adds, leaning on the opposite wall, also relaxing.

A short, comfortable silence envelopes the two Gods as their gazes lock, again being completely caught off guard by the other’s eyes. Millions of questions run through both of their minds, having finally found another like them is something they didn’t think possible , they were told it’s impossible.

“How… how did you touch me? Get past my barrier which I’m positive was active?” M/n asks incredulously, he should be absolutely horrified someone can bypass his technique but he isn’t.

Satoru looks at M/n in slight shock, now being made aware the other also had a barrier active at the time of contact.

“I… I don’t know, i also had a barrier active so maybe they cancelled out?” Satoru would have never thought he’d say that with such a casual tone, someone being able to bypass the one thing that makes him untouchable, he should see M/n as a threat but he doesn’t.

“So we both have a kind of barrier technique and they cancel out somehow… that should be horrifying right? Our one impenetrable defence rendered useless…” M/n’s voice drops to a low whisper but there’s no hint of defensiveness, simply taking in the fact he can be touched, he’s not unbeatable.

“It should but honestly it just makes me excited ya know?” Satoru chuckles, his eyes sparkling even more as his usual cold expression replaced a small grin, his heart is still pounding in his chest, the tugging feeling getting stronger the longer the talks to M/n.

M/n mirrors Satoru’s expression, feeling the same pounding in his chest, the tugging feeling moving his feet forward as he takes a seat on the floor next to Satoru, his barrier preventing his clothes from getting dirty. Satoru quickly joins him, activating his own barrier to stay clean.

Although both of them are just 9 years old, being born basically ‘God’s’ they naturally possessed some basic control of their techniques, both already having trained to use their techniques for a few hours none stop before they get tired.

“It is isn’t, my entire life I’ve been told no one would be able to challenge me and I thought how boring that sounds, they said I stand on a pedestal made for Gods and that I alone stand atop it, atop everyone else and then I thought how… lonely that sounded…” M/n says, pulling his legs to his chest as he rests his head on his knees, looking at his new found friend.

Satoru adopts the same pose, his mind and soul filled with pure joy as M/n speaks because he understands, he understands so well and he never thought someone else would understand.

“Mhm, they called me blessed my entire life, a miracle. Showering me in praises and gifts alike, telling me how special I am, how I’m better than everyone else. They also call me a God, put me on a pedestal too tall for a kid… They don’t see the view from the top, they don’t see how big and empty that pedestal is…”

M/n listens to Satoru, there’s something freeing in listening to him speak, like a weight lifted off his shoulders, the weight of being called the strongest and the loneliness that comes with it, a weight no 9 year old should even have to know about.

“Well it was big and empty but perhaps we can share it?” M/n asks with a hopeful tone, somehow already knowing he doesn’t really need to ask.

“I… I would like that. Our pedestal?” Satoru has never felt this type of excitement, the idea of sharing, being equal to someone else, of not being alone is enough to make him feel like a normal kid.

“Our pedestal.” M/n repeats, the word ‘our’ rolling off his tongue so naturally.

“So what do you normally do for fun? When you’re actually allowed to do what you want ?” Satoru asks, clearly excited to do whatever friends do when they hang out, he’s excited because he doesn’t really known what others do because he’s never bothered to pay attention to anyone else, they were beneath him so there was no point in getting to know them but now, now he’s never been more interested in another.

M/n grins, suddenly standing up and looking down at Satoru with a sparkles in his already spectacular eyes. Satoru still can’t believe he likes someone else’s eyes more than his own, his attention immediately glued on M/n. They both feel that tug again as M/n extends his hand towards Satoru, the idea of physical contact regardless of their barriers still seems so absurd but so enticing.

“Wanna find out?”

Satoru takes M/n’s hand, the unfamiliar warmth of another comforting their souls , penetrating their minds. M/n pulls Satoru up and their hands stay linked as they exit the alleyway, M/n leading the way, unknowingly staring the first chapter in a very long and dangerous book.

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

Tag list-

@itsgivingitalian

#malereader #dom male reader #seme male reader #top male reader #male reader #akumakosuketoughts #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto x male reader #satoru gojo x male reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru

[wonkawinka]

we’ll meet again

“we’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when…”

alastor x angel!daughter!reader

CHAPTER TWO: smile like you mean it!

— — CHAPTER THREE: weak ankles!

warnings/notes: EPISODE 6 SPOILERS! not proof read, no use of y/n, used she/her pronouns, reader is on the fem side, maybe vaggie x reader and maybe emily x reader if you squint but its all platonic

chère- french for dear

remercier dieu- french for thank god

court reporter- someone who transcribes everything said during a court meeting

wc: 2336

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

ROLLER skates. flashy lights. bursting colors. street jazz at every corner. twists and turns.

NEW ORLEANS had it all. all you could need in your heart. soft, live jazz rung through the tiny diner that everyone got their morning coffee from. skating through the diner, you tipped your hat from one couple to another. there was the occasional (and by occasional you mean somewhat often) jerk who flirts with you, a teenager, but you brush it off.

ever since the stock market crash of 1929, people have been living off the hook ‘round these parts. you were lucky enough to snag a job, let alone have a father that's able to put food on the table for you.

the bell of the door rings exactly at 9:01 am, you don’t even need to turn around to check who it is.

“good mornin’ ladies! fine morning today, isn’t it?” alastor’s voice rang through the diner, sound waves bouncing the walls and into your ears. his presence was certainly not something anyone would miss. your coworkers nodded in agreement, saying their tiny welcomes, the occasional giggle for one of them.

pouring out straight black coffee into a medium sized cup, you skated towards the counter and slipped your dad a napkin and his cup.

“mornin’ papa.” you said with a smile, taking his coins and filing it into the register.

“good morning, my dear!” he said with his chipper smile, one that made the men grumble and ladies swoon, but it just made you happy to see your father happy. “day treating you well, i hope.”

he took the coffee and took a sip. a sound of satisfaction left his lips “perfection! you know me so well, chère.”

“pa, you drink the blackest coffee on earth. it’s not hard to mess up, dontcha think?”

“ah, don’t sass me now, little miss. i’ll have you know this is the best coffee i’ve had since yesterday mornin’!”

“i made that coffee yesterday morning.”

“hmmm, did you now? seems i dont remember…” he grinned teasingly, pushing up his glasses in ‘thought’.

“yeah, course ya’ dont, ya old man.” teasing back, slipping him a slice of pie “i know you didnt eat, pops, cant have ya flopping dead during your morning show. who knows, maybe the cannibal will getcha. then i’ll have to take over the show.”

he smirked at her words, ha, if only she knew.

“well, aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” he said, taking the to-go box from her hands.

“well, you raised me, so you tell me.” you smiled brightly

his laughter rang through the diner, and soon yours as their vocals mixed together in a medley of sounds. they nearly mixed together perfectly. nearly.

some people looked at you weirdly, but you both never really minded. everyone in town knew you were his daughter and everyone in town knew he was your father. the talk of the town, especially when people found out your father of all people adopted you all those years ago.

he smiled at you wholeheartedly, something you only get to receive from him. “thats my girl.” his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing against the skin.

you placed your hand on top of his and smiled. “love ya’, pa.”

“love you more, my dear.”

you patted his hand, signing him to let go. “now shoo, before you’re actually late. you got an audience waiting for you all ‘round the area. can’t have them sitting for too long, hm?”

with a tip of his head, he bidded you and the ladies of the diner farewell, grabbing his coffee and pie, slipping out the door.

one of your coworkers called out your name “hunny, you better help a girl out! is your fatha’ up for grabs?” she giggled, winking at you.

“oh hush, lonnie! that's my dad..!”

——————— PRESENT.

“OH, don’t worry, it’s really not that hard! you just flip the book and let them in! see? simple.” st. peter directed you to the golden podium of the pearly white gates.

“are you sure i’m even allowed to do this? look.. i’m happy to help. i just don’t wantcha to get in trouble with the Seraphims.” you floated down onto the podium, scanning the big book of entries.

“it wouldn’t be for long! thank you so much, by the way. you really are heaven’s little helper, huh?” he elbowed you and gave that big smile he had. it was almost blinding. literally.

“haha, yeahhh… if you say so.” you turned and flipped through the pages for what seemed to endlessly go on.

“who names their kid breakfast?”

“now, now, we dont go and judge what those humans name their offspring!” he placed his two hands on your shoulders in reassurance. you cock an eyebrow at his word choice, but next thing you know hes already flying off to do who knows what. ‘saintly duties.’

“huh.” you continued to flip through the pages to examine the very odd name choices, nodding at some and… skipping through others.

minutes, maybe even hours went by until sudden echoes from down the golden pathway filled your ears. they shoot up in reaction to the newfound sound.

“uhhh, heelloooo? helloooo!” the blonde hair girl called out

“hiya!,” you call out , “how may i help ya’? well, getting into heaven i guess, huh?” you laughed at yourself, watching the girl’s nerves calm down a bit. behind her was a recognizable individual. you know, it nearly looked like vagg—

“OH— uh, uh, uh— hello! my name is charlie morningstar. heh.”

“alright, lets see…” you flipped through the alphabetized record only to find every name known to man BUT a charlie morningstar.

panic fills your core when you cant find it, scanning the page over and over and over again to no avail.

“uhhhh, you see, slight problem, hun...” you start, throwing in a name to ease her name. “i, uhm, can’t find your name… but you know! the trek all the way to the uh, other place, is a long way. maybe i can like… sneak ya’ in—”

“OH, no, no, THAT won’t be necessary. uh— see, my dad got me this meeting, so maybe try lucifer… morningstar..”

THAT CERTAINLY RANG A BELL.

“OH, uh.. uhuh.” you nod “i see.” you nod quicker. your eyes darted to the gray haired girl who looked at you with the same tense expression.

“i think there may have been a, um..” you put your hands together “mishap… but i am SURE it is a just BIG misunderstanding, haha!”

a mighty voice called out to you, one that could shake all of heaven’s foundation.

“remercier dieu…” you say, quite literally.

“don’t worry, we can take it from here.” sera’s voice reassured, the normal call smile present on her face. you bowed your head in respect which she kindly returns.

behind her was an excited emily which shot you an ecstatic wave. her smile was about to explode with happiness which only grew more as she approached charlie, the princess of hell.

st. peter pops out of nowhere and of course, starts singing his welcome song.

see, you didnt think it was bad, it was quite good, but hearing it over and over again for the past century really takes a toll on your ears.

after his musical number, em is basically ready to explode into a pile of rainbows and sparkles. “oh, oh! i gotta show you! the zoo, the petting zoo, the aquarium, the- the EVERYTHING!”

her and charlie jump for joy as they start running off.

“oh come on, do we need to ru— yEUP okay.” you’re dragged along the crossfire, em tugging on your wrist.

you catch a glimpse of adam and lute. they did not seem… very ecstatic.

hm.

“em. emily. emmy. e.” you bring her to the stop. her happiness was contagious, a sickness, her happiness basically flooding into your veins.

“i know you’re excited, sugar,” you start, “but maybe, i show them their room first. how's that sound?”

with some reluctance, emily allows you to guide the two girls to their temporary room.

“here, let me get that—” with an easy spell you learned, you pick up their bags weightlessly.

“follow me, i’ll show ya your room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

on the way there, you’re bombarded with questions from the princess. not that you were complaining of course, you found it quite endearing.

“wow, your sprinkles have RAINBOWS in them?!”

“yup, those are just rainbow sprinkles,” you chuckle lightly at her innocent excitement, “so.. about this hazbin hotel you were talkin’ about, mrs. morningstar…”

“oh, please, call me charlie!”

“charlie,” you smiled ,”i really do love the idea. quite innovative! you have my support. do you already have people staying?”

“oh, we only have.. two residents. but we do have lovelt staff! we have a maid.. nifty, she’s harmless, most of the time.. and a bar-tender, husker, he’s great, grumpy, but great! vaggie, my lovely girlfriend keeps the hotel safe,” she smiles brightly at her partner, “oh, and our host, alastor! he’s uh.. the radio demon, BUT HE MEANS WELL! i think.”

the name rung in your mind, bouncing off the walls and causing them to shoot jolts through your head. it was like a migraine, but worse. radio demon. it was strikingly familiar resemblance to your father (father?), but who knows! there are probably many alastors that loved radio.

“i see,” you nod, “well i wish you luck on the growth of your hotel.” you opened the entrance of there room and landed their bags perfectly in the corner.

“wow, okay, i LOVE heaven! everythings so clean and nice! AHH, and emilys going to bring me to a zoo where everythings fluffy and soft!” you zone out the rest of their conversation before charlie bids her goodbye.

“safe travels, charlie.” you bow your head in respect, earning a giggle from the princess.

“thank you sososososo much for your help! heh, alright SEE YOU LATER!”

silence filled the room.

“vaggie.” you started, not bothering to around and fully face her. “knew that was you, cant hide from me under all that hair. looks good, though.”

“uhhhhhhhhhhh—” she says your name in a frantic manner, causing you to cock your eyebrow “ah, fuck, i can’t think of an excuse.”

“look, vaggie, i dont know.” you sigh “you disappear for your ‘yearly outing’ to god knows where then you go missing for years, now you come back to be dating lucifer’s daughter.”

“i know, i’m so—“

“no no, don’t apologize. i get it. im happy for ya, vags, but damn, years. i dont know what you do on that one day, but adam and lute didnt seem very happy when they saw ya today.” pinching the bridge of your nose, you turned to her.

“look, adam tried recruiting me to god knows what when you went missing. said i got good aim or something. im just telling ya to be smart. i got no idea what he was trying to do with me, so im telling ya’ to not give in to that prick. i’ll be at todays meeting; i work as the court reporter.”

she pondered your statement for a bit, snapping out of her thoughts once you handed her the room key. you offered her a smile, which she hesitantly returned.

“ah, come on, smile like you mean it! though a smile may not mean everything, you’re never fully dressed without one.” that phrase rang in vaggie’s ears. that was oddly familiar.

a little too familiar.

it was your time to bid farewell, but before you did, she called out to you.

“thank you.”

“ah, don’t mention it. we’re friends, arent we?”

and with that you shut the door.

— — — — — — — — — — —

SCRIBBLING. writing. swirls of ink as you titled the paper in preparation. COURT ISSUE 36789127. it made you think, whos counting all these issues?

“WHAT’S UUUP, BA-BY!” the annoying ring of adam’s voice filled the court room. he was like a toddler, ironic as he is the oldest human soul known to mankind. he was mankind. a sick joke for it too.

every little thing he said you were required to write down, even if it was a dumb, immature response.

“we are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by the means of this Hazbin Hotel… Princess Morningstar?”

the blonde takes a stand and clears her throat,

“Webster’s Dictionary defined redemption as—”

you scribbled that down.

“..incredible progress..”

scribble.

“… the porn demon …!”

scribble.

“well, if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?”

that puts a halt in the discussion, causing you to lift your head and wait for an answer. she had a point. how did you get here in the first place?

a copy of adam’s terms were presented to your table: act selfless, don’t steal, stick it to the man.

well damn, if those were the terms, even your father (father?) would be in heaven, right now.

evidence was presented, words have been thrown, objections were made. the endless back and forth of right and wrong being thrown around the courtroom. not even the written word could convey the thick tension lathering the walls of the heavenly court.

all the evidence weights to charlie’s side, and yet, the judges say otherwise.

“wait, none of you know what gets someone into Heaven?”

this sparks a musical entrance from emily which you would say was surprising, but you would be lying to yourself.

good thing i took band and choir you thought. perfect pitch came in handy as you noted every chord and pitch in your work.

at this point, you were ready to combust. it was clear who won but the rulers of heaven seemed adamant to keep it from happening. it was suspicious, ironic even.

“..don’t you care, sera…”

scribble.

“..just because someone was dead..”

scribble.

“he blew the shot like the cocks in his…”

scribble.

“..come down and exterminate you..”

your quill snaps in half as you look up from your paper. extermination.

murder.

genocide.

from heaven itself.

#alastor x reader #platonic #dad!alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #platonic hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #st. peter hazbin hotel #sera hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #angel reader #hazbin hotel spoilers #french…

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

He soars above the roofs, moving swiftly with every forceful downbeat of his veiny, membranous wings. The moon shines bright and full tonight, the sky encrusted with stars glinting like polished gems against the pitch black.

Elowyn and the revolting Drow kept him far too late tonight, requesting additional samples of his blood, trying to justify their incompetent failures. If those two whelps make him miss his chance at seeing her tonight, he will punish them. Severely. The thought fills him with sadistic glee, and the lips of his snout pull back to reveal rows of sharp, needle-pointed teeth, as close as a smile as he can manage in this form.

A hoarse voice pierces through his morbid contemplation like hot steel, “Where is he, spawn?”

For a fleeting moment, he looks around, thinking someone is talking to him. He will torture whoever dares call him a spawn. He will make their death drag on for days, weeks, months, perhaps. He is a pathetic spawn no longer. He is the Vampire Ascendent, and he will not be belittled.

“Did I stutter? I said I don’t fucking know!” Her voice, usually sweet like wind-chimes in a gentle summer breeze, is bristling and teeming with bitterness that nips his ears.

He angles his wings, drawing them close to his body and dives, rapid and sure. He swerves between obstacles, beady black eyes darting around. That overly sweet scent of powdered iron vine stirs unwelcome memories as it hits his nostrils and makes his eyes water.

Shit.

He pumps his wings hard, heading straight toward that sickly sweet scent. He can feel himself start sinking into the mire that has muddled his mind and held him hostage, but he cannot allow it to swallow him in its gaping maw this night. She needs him.

Astarion, he must remind himself of his name. He is not just the Vampire Ascendent; he is Astarion.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

No. No. No.

His newly beating heart arrests in his chest, immobilized all over again, as he sees the hunter and watches them draw the stake from their hip. She... Gods, she doesn’t do anything. She closes her beautiful eyes and accepts her fate without a fight.

What in the bloody Hells is she thinking?

Fight! He wants to scream but cannot as he shifts forms in a fraction of a second, hauling one of the Gur holding her steadfast into the treeline while drawing his dagger, twirling it into his grip with a flick of his wrist and plunging it into their chest. Pivoting with bared teeth, he does not even bother waiting to revel in their dying shudder.

He is liquid lightning made flesh, and he takes the next hunter in a flash, slashing his dagger across their jugular with a satisfying spray of blood that splashes against his ivory skin and glazes his silver hair with a rust-coloured tint. He discards them just as quickly.

He does not waste a second and spins on his heel, lunging forward, every muscle and tendon in his body buzzing with the energy of 7000 souls. He rips the last Gur away from her, slinging them into the air with no more effort than it would take him to lift a speck of dust.

He regards the flailing human through narrow eyes with brows pulled down in a scowl that darkens his face. He’s going to snap their neck like a matchstick for thinking they can kill his beloved dark consort.

No, he corrects himself - his spawn, his toy, his possession.

“Please, don’t,” she pleads.

Her voice snaps him out of his grisly ruminations, and his eyes meet hers. Those round moon eyes that used to burn vividly with the glow of her blazing spirit now appear almost matte, and his heart clinches in his chest. Where is the fire he’s used to seeing in those eyes?

The scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of battle, and the gurgling sputters of approaching death stroke his ears, enchanting him.

Does she truly expect him to spare this feeble sack of shit? He does not spare lives simply because she requests it.

Yet, he is considering it. Why?

He cocks his head, straining against the insurgence of the other presence that threatens to gain control of his body. Ripping himself from the savage chomping jaws of this monster within is painful.

Agony, worse than any torture Cazador ever inflicted upon him, flares through every sinew of his body as he thrusts the hunter against the wall.

His breaths come in ragged, quick succession, but he is back, he is present, he is Astarion.

She stares at him with shock and winces. Her brows furrow with confusion as her eyes cast down and his follow their path.

He had not been fast enough.

Her body trembles as panic channels through her. She grips the stake and rips it out. The sound makes him nauseous and sends bile rising into his throat.

“... Astarion?”

His ears twitch at his name. Her eyes flutter closed as her consciousness begins to slip. Reflexively, he dives forward, arms outstretched, and for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, her name tastes like honey on his tongue as he cries it.

He catches her before her limp body can hit the ground. Gods, she’s far too light and bony with gaunt, hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. His mouth drops open, horrified. Squeezing his eyes closed, he grimaces and shakes his head slightly. He does not have time to dwell on this right now. He must get her help.

The Cleric.

He does not want to, but he can do nothing for her. He moves quickly toward that little house he has watched her return to time and time again.

He considers breaking the door down, but if he does that, the Cleric is likely to attack first and ask questions later. He slams the heel of his boot on the door with a loud thud.

“Astarion?” Shadowheart blinks the sleep from her eyes rapidly, bristles and lunges for her mace, “You should not have-”

“Shut up,” he spits harshly, pushing past her, “Put your distaste for me aside. She needs your help. If you wish to try and kill me after, I will gladly do away with you.”

The golden glow of Shadowheart’s magic recedes from her fingertips as she looks at her in his arms, mouth agape. Her eyes harden as they meet his, “Did you do this!?”

“Me?” He’s astonished at the accusation. Why would he do this? He would never, nay could never. How dare she accuse him of such barbarity!

“Yes, darling,” he drawls sarcastically through clenched teeth, “I thought it was a lovely little icebreaker. I stake my dearest spawn and then show up on your doorstep requesting your help.” He scoffs indignantly, clicking his tongue at her, “Do not be so stupid. I care not what you think of me, but this is not my doing. If I had wanted her dead, she would be dead, and I would not be here.”

“She is dead,” Shadowheart snarls, gripping the hilt of her mace so hard her knuckles strain white, “You already fucking killed her.”

“I-” He did, didn’t he? She is dead, and it was him that drained her of life. No. He pushes the thought away. He had given her the choice. She chose this, and he could not be blamed for her choices.

“Semantics,” he recovers quickly with a shrug, “I could argue them with you all bloody night. Will you assist, or would you prefer to continue glaring at me? I do love the attention, after all.”

Shadowheart scoffs, nose rising with a grimace, “Put her down and step away from her.”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. He will not lose her again. He cannot. “You have a choice, my dear. Help her as she is, in my arms, or do not. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Gods, you’re still as insufferable as you ever were!” Shadowheart stomps her foot, balling her fist up at her sides and levelling the mace at him before discarding it.

“Thank you,” he grins victoriously.

Magic encompasses Shadowheart’s hand. She steps close but warily as if he might pounce on her, and he rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff. Shadowheart recites an incantation, lays a splayed hand on her, and the spell flows over her body. The bleeding slows but does not stop. Shadowheart tries again, stronger this time, the magic suffusing the dim living area with a light blue luminescence.

“Take her to her room and show yourself out, Astarion,” Shadowheart instructs and points toward a darkened staircase, “It’s at the top of the stairs, second door in the hall.”

He chuckles at the silly notion he would leave her in this condition. He’s finally got his hands on her again, and there is no way he is letting her go, “No. She’s coming to the palace with me tonight.”

Shadowheart shakes, trembling with rage, “No. I will not allow you to take her.”

“Try and stop me,” he sneers, his brows knitting together, “She needs more healing, of course. You are most welcome to join us at the Crimson Palace if you wish.”

She will heal, although he’s not sure how fast in the emaciated state she is in. He will take her home where he can watch over her.  He will take her back where she belongs, with him, forever.

He shoves Shadowheart with his shoulder and heads for the door. He hears the crackle of her magic as it leaves her fingers and braces himself to absorb the attack. It hits his back, warming and prickling his skin.

He feels it again, the tug in his mind, demons creeping closer, trying to pull him into oblivion. He takes a deep breath, and his hands squeeze her more firmly, grounding himself.

Turning, he chuckles at Shadowheart as she stares at him, eyes wide in confusion but keen with determination, “That tickled, darling.” He taunts, “I will overlook this little altercation. After all, what’s a little quarrel between old friends? Now, I really must be getting home. You know where to find us should you come to your senses."

He wonders if Shadowheart will try again. She was a determined little spitfire, after all. He quickly slips out the door into the night and laughs when he hears Shadowheart’s livid scream.

“Fuck!”

It’s not long before Shadowheart jogs to his side, “What the Hells happened, Astarion?”

He’s surprised she did not come fully clad in her armour with every weapon she has. Surprised and rather disappointed. He thought she was more intelligent than to walk into the devil’s den defenceless.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he says mirthlessly and shrugs, “She was attacked.”

“Yes, Astarion, I can see that.” Shadowheart scoffs at him, frowning and crossing her arms with a snort, but her expression softens when she looks at her, “Can she die from this? For good, I mean.”

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, “I will not allow it.”

He walks quickly with long, ground-devouring strides. Shadowheart has to trot alongside him to keep pace.

She stirs in his arms now and then, trembles rippling through her muscles, fingers twitching, and he pulls her into him as close as he can get her. He wants to tell her it’s okay, to whisper that he’s got her and she is safe, but he bites his tongue.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is silent from there on out, and he’s thankful for it.

He lays her down on his bed as Shadowheart yanks scrolls and potions from her bag. He runs his fingers over her cheek when Shadowheart isn’t looking to let her know she’s not alone. He’s here. It’s been so long since he felt her skin. His heart feels like it palpates, skipping beats and is uncomfortably heavy in his chest. He cannot remember feeling anything similar in all his 200 years.

Shadowheart expends every scroll and every ounce of energy she has. Sweat rolls down her temples, and her magic dims and fizzles out on her fingers.

She pants, bracing herself against his bed, “I can do no more until I rest.” Shadowheart nudges him with an elbow to the ribs, “Get out. I need to clean and wrap her wounds.”

He narrows his eyes and quickly snatches the roll of bandages from Shadowheart’s hands, “Allow me.”

Shadowheart stares at him, teeming with hatred, “You will not. I need to undress her. Get out.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snickers, “Many times, might I add.”

Shadowheart snarls and digs her finger rigidly into his chest, “You would violate her like that for your sick pleasure?”

Violate her? He would never do such a thing. How sick does Shadowheart think he is?

“Pleasure? There is absolutely nothing pleasurable about this!” He howls, affronted at the accusation that he would somehow get satisfaction from such an act. He runs his fingers through his blood-stained hair, “If she wakes while you are at it, she will drain you dry. She will have no control and will not be able to stop herself.”

Truth but not the reason he is being so insistent. He could not care less if she drained the Cleric drier than the desert at noon. He would watch it happen with glee. The truth he is reluctant to admit even to himself is that he wants to be close to her.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow at him, and she crosses her arms with a huff, “Fine, but I am not leaving you alone with her.”

“Fine by me,” he smiles amicably, with a shallow bow, “May I?”

Shadowheart watches him with the same intensity and mistrust she used to watch the Gith with, and he rolls his eyes at her.

His fingers nimbly undo the clasps and laces that hold her robe closed and peels it from her body, sticky with drying blood. He’s careful, keeping his movements slow and measured.

Good Gods, there is so much blood. It coats his hands, up his forearms, muddying his skin and getting under his fingernails.

“Fetch that, will you?” he points to the glass basin filled with clean water, “Cloths are below. Bring them all."

Shadowheart grumbles under her breath but obediently does as he asks. He cleans her with gentle strokes, discarding the rags as they become blood-soaked and spoiled.

Hells, she is thin beyond his wildest imagination. Her collar bones, hip bones, and ribs jut out from her sunken stomach. He could count every vertebra in her spine. She looks frail and sickly. It takes considerable effort for him to keep his facial expression impassive as if he doesn’t care, but her condition makes his bones ache. It reminds him of the time he spent the year sealed away, starving and alone in that old, dusty tome. Is he no better than Cazador? He buries the thought.

“I should have brought her a change of clothes,” Shadowheart cringes while discarding the robe, fabric soaked and heavy with blood.

“I have her clothing. I will fetch her something when we finish,” he concludes almost absentmindedly, his mind focused on wrapping her with the roll of bandages.

“You have her clothes?” Shadowheart gawks at him, eyes rounded with surprise, “Still?”

“Yes.”

He does not explain further. He still can’t recall why her bedroom was separate from his. Worse yet, it was down in the spawn quarters. Did he put her down there? Why?

“We can do no more for her tonight,” he murmurs as the backs of his fingers graze down her arm. He doesn’t even bother to look at Shadowheart. He points toward the door, “Guest bedrooms are in the west wing. Take your pick.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms and sniffs, “I will not be leaving her half-naked with the likes of you.”

He tires of this and these accusations that he will act indecently. Maybe he is a monster, but he is not as twisted as they all seem to believe he is. He does not have the energy or the restraint to participate in petulant arguments. If Shadowheart pushes him too far, which is an utter certainty, he will be Astarion no longer.

Astarion, he reminds himself again. I am Astarion.

He catches Shadowheart’s eyes and compels her, “You will go to the first guest bedroom you find, and you will sleep until dawn."

Shadowheart’s pupils dilate wide, and red tendrils trail around her as his compulsion roots into her mind.

“I will sleep until dawn,” Shadowheart repeats, absent and emotionless, getting up and leaving him alone.

He sighs with relief and drags a chair to the side of the bed. Dawn is an hour or two away, at best, but it is enough. He leans back, resting his elbow on the armrest and his forehead in his hand. This was his fault. He dragged her into this mess with the Gur. He knew they had been trying to track him, but he did not know they knew about her.

He will find where they are hiding and slaughter the lot of them for this. Why stop there? He will hunt every tribe of Gur to the ends of Faerûn and eradicate them from existence entirely. They will all pay in blood for what has occurred tonight.

She coughs and mutters indiscernibly. A voice inside his head wails that he should destroy her because she makes him feel, and that makes him weak. She makes him weak. He thrusts the thought down, frowning in disgust at himself for ever having it in the first place.

Gods below, what has he become? He’s spent months watching her from a distance. At first, he told himself he kept being dragged back to that terrible little hovel because he felt a foul sort of gratification in watching her suffer as she withered away to skin and bones or cried on the ground.

It made him feel good, powerful, but above all, needed. For a time, he savoured her misery as if he were sipping it like a fine wine.

He can’t remember exactly when it stopped being enjoyable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a shaky breath, kissing her palm and interlocking his fingers with hers, “I’m so sorry. I will not fail you again.” 

“It’s the wizard.”

He can hear emotion siphon from his voice, a sheet of ice crystallizing it. Her beautiful eyes are wide and round with fear, her mouth dropping open slightly. The tips of her fangs peek out of her full lips, disorienting him for a moment. Those fangs do not look like they belong in her mouth. Yet, he had put them there, didn’t he? She pulls the bedsheet up, grasping the silken linen in her fist and bringing it to her chest, shielding her body from him. He loathes the way she is looking at him. She is frightened of him. There was a time not too long ago when she trusted him beyond measure. He longs to see her look at him like that again.

But right now, the wizard is here to take her from him. He cannot lose her again. Gale cannot have her. She is his.

He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He can feel that unholy abomination within him start rampaging against its shackles. It pulls at the borders of his mind and whispers corruption in his thoughts, begging to be released.

“No. No, it can’t be. Gale doesn’t know where I am,” she stutters, panic taking flight and soaring into her voice, “You’re mistaken.”

If only he were.

He cocks his head, eyeing her warily and waves dismissively, “Shall we answer the door and find out?”

He tries to sit up. She relinquishes her linen shield and scrambles into his lap, squeezing him tightly between her thighs and straddling his waist. She plants her splayed hands on his chest and thrusts him down, grinding him into the bed with all the strength of her vampiric form.

She looks to the door, brows upturned, portraying her unease, and then looks back at him, “Ignore it.”

He lets her push him back and narrows his eyes in a challenging glower. Even with all her strength and weight behind her, he sits upright effortlessly in a slow advance. She forgets herself sometimes, forgets what he is, the power he possesses. He can feel her body trembling, her fingers digging into his chest, and he revels in the fear illustrated in the intricate details of her features.

He blinks hard and rids himself of that thought. It’s his ire forcing impulsive whispers through his head. If he wanted that, he could simply let himself slip away, and he would not even have to remember the savagery he dealt.

“Now, why ever would I ignore my old friend Gale?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s another well-practiced veneer, just another mask, one of his many.

“Please, Astarion,” she takes his hand and begs, “Ignore it.”

“No,” he retorts, easing her off him gradually and sliding off the bed. He grabs his trousers and throws them on.

She clambers ungracefully, grabbing her clothes, “Astarion, listen to me. Please. At least stay in here while I talk to him.”

He whirls on her with a snarl before he even knows what he is doing, “I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He shouts at her cruelly, “I take orders from no one!”

His eyes start their restless shifting. He marshals his resolve and the muscles in his arms strain. His fingers twitch as unseen talons claw rifts into his consciousness, and he reels to keep himself tethered to reality.

He must not give in.

Her arresting eyes bore into him. She speaks to him softly, using that silver tongue in her most zephyr intonation, “Stay you, please.”

She watches, observing his every movement. Shooting pains cleave through him. It feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside out, and Gods, it hurts. If she were not looking at him like that, he might let himself be dragged away.

Astarion, he prompts himself; I am Astarion.

He jerks his eyes away from her while buttoning his chemise, “I’m trying,” he growls low, “Do not challenge me right now.”

A warning. He can feel himself sinking. All grace and fluidity have been depleted, and he moves stiff and rigidly. She picks up her shirt and stares at the tattered rag he tore from her body. He can still taste her pleasure sweet on his tongue, feel her dissolving around him, while his name rang like a prayer through these halls.

He told her he was going to make love to her, didn’t he? Why did he say that? He does not make love. A lapse in judgment in a moment of passion, surely. He does not dig deeper. He dares not follow the trail because he’s afraid of what he will disentomb.

He shifts his form and reappears by the door. Her footsteps descend the staircase so quickly he’s surprised she hasn’t sent herself tumbling. Perhaps he has managed to teach her something, after all.

He knows what awaits when he opens this door. Gale will try to take her from him again as he did before with his trivial illusions, sincere confessions and genuine love, but she belongs to him.

Astarion, Astarion, Astarion, he chants to himself as he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Gale’s voice clamours through the halls as he pushes in, “Where is she, Astarion? What have you done to her!”

“That’s Lord Astarion to you, Gale.” His voice is tight, soaked in cordial falsity, “How lovely to see you. Welcome to our home.”

Gale scoffs at him, brows furrowed, “Lord Astarion? You cannot be serious?”

“Oh, I am dead serious.” He seethes through clenched teeth, brows pulled down in a menacing scowl, “In my home, you will show me the proper respect I am due.”

“Respect?” Gale shouts at him in a rage, arms gesturing wildly, “You lost any hope of respect as soon as you forced undeath on her.”

Forced undeath on her? Forced?! He did no such thing! He requested, and she accepted. Her undying loyalty for an eternity with him.

A simple transaction.

... Right?

The edges of his vision are starting to ripple and blacken, a sure sign he is losing.

She runs around the corner, almost tripping over her feet, and her words blunder out of her mouth briskly, “Gale, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re putting us all in danger.”

“Yes, Gale,” he chimes cooly, “I am very dangerous.”

His memory flashes with images of himself standing, blood dripping from his hair, off his fingertips and chin. Mangled bodies are strewn haphazardly around him, open mouths lamenting silent screams as their milky eyes cast judgment on him. He does not recall dealing these deaths, only waking up in the aftermath of his primal sadism.

Gale ignores him and reaches toward her. He doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s twisted Gale’s arm behind his back. He fumes, “Do not touch her. She is mine.”

He considers breaking the wizard’s arm with a gleeful, ghoulish smile, tugging his lips up. He applies a little more force, and Gale cries out. The pained bawl is music to his ears, and he almost floats away on the bewitching hymn.

“Astarion, stop it.” Her cold hands clutch his heated cheeks, “Look at me. I’ve got you, but I need you to hold on.”

He focuses on those fascinating multicoloured doe-eyes through the storm clouding his vision. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to release Gale with a grunt. His limbs feel numb - like they are not his and should not be attached to his body. He shudders and leans back against the wall, with such pressure that cracks begin extending across the wood panelling. Agony explodes behind his eyes. He’s sweating, perspiration rolling down his forehead and temples and the delicate black fabric of his chemise clings to his damp body.

She drags Gale out of the manor into the sunbathed street, trying to put as much distance between him and Gale as possible. She squeezes her eyes closed and grits her teeth as the radiant light spreads over her snowy skin.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. He wants to tell her, but he is no liar. She is safe with him, Astarion, but he cannot be sure of his actions if he is overtaken and subdued.

“What in the Hells is going on here?” Gale yells at her, “What are you thinking going back to him? He killed you and then left you to rot in the sewers! Do you remember how Shadowheart and I found you? You were out of your mind with hunger!”

Rot in the sewers? What the fuck was Gale talking about? He never left her in the sewers. Did he? His memories are fragmented and unreliable. He remembers defeating the Netherbrain, the searing pain in his head, standing on the docks, and little else. The first vivid thing he can recall is watching her walk out the palace door, tears gliding down her face, her eyes shimmering wet in the moonlight, and her voice trembling as she said goodbye.

He does not know what is happening to him, but he knows there is more to the Rite than the devil let on, and whatever ails him is slowly eating away at whatever is left of him.

“Yes,” she mewls, a hand coming to her forehead in an exasperated gesture, “I remember. It doesn’t matter now. You shouldn’t be here, Gale. Go home. I will come when night falls, and we can discuss this then.”

“Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way again, for him of all people.” Gale scolds her and makes those voices in his thoughts croon louder, promising the wizard’s death, telling him he won’t have to blame himself, “Is this some sort of compulsion? Has Astarion forced you to do this? You’ve always had a big heart, but you have never been stupid.”

Did he call her stupid? He will rip out Gale's fucking tongue for speaking to her in such a manner.

“Astarion hasn’t compelled me,” she retaliates in a cutting inflection, but he hears the unmistakable notes of uncertainty, “I am here of my own volition.”

“No, I do not believe that.” Gale decrees, sure and confident, “I think Astarion knows how to manipulate you, and he continues to do so, as he always has done.”

“Perhaps he is,” she sighs, “But perhaps he isn’t. It matters not. The choice is mine to make, and the consequences are mine to bear, whatever they may be.”

Gale’s voice loses its keen edge and drops low, “You fled from Astarion, from this life. Why return to it? Help me understand, my friend.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and she growls, frustrated with the inquisition. “Isn’t it obvious? I love him,” she shouts, squaring off with Gale, “I love him, and I will not, cannot, give up on him!”

He stares at her back, mouth dropping open and eyes rounded. He did not expect this. She is doing this because he promised her freedom, is she not? Another transaction.

“That man,” Gale spits, “No, that monster cannot love you. Not anymore. You’re coming home with me.”

Bitterness rises hot in his throat and coats the back of his tongue. He’s spent lifetimes having someone dictate what he can and cannot do, and he will stand for it no longer.

He does love-

He cuts the thought off abruptly as if it were a stray stitch unravelling from a grand tapestry. His blood solidifies, icy in his veins.

If he admits this, it becomes real, and she alone has the power to destroy him, wreck him beyond all hope of repair.

Yet, despite his best efforts, whatever he retains of his soul weakly whispers on, ruing against his restraint.

I love you too.

He groans and leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to keep himself upright. His brain feels like it’s twisting in his skull. Oblivion is edging closer, vines made of shadow reaching out to him and twisting around his limbs.

“No, Gale. Stop,” she screams, her feet dragging across the paved stone street, “You are going to get us both killed!”

“I am not afraid of Astarion,” Gale says, resolute.

He’s heard enough, “You should be, Gale.” he hisses as he emerges from the doorway, “Leave. Now. She has made her choice.”

The sun is bright in his eyes, much too bright and hot on his already feverish skin. He forces himself to stand straight, though he wants to double over.

Gale scowls at him, brows pulled down, “You did this, didn’t you? You compelled her, exerted your will over her and forced her into this servitude!”

Gale would want to believe that, wouldn’t he? Blame him for being the puppet master, because then Gale would not have to face the truth.

Despite it being the objectively stupid thing to do, she loves him.

“Gale, go home,” she screams, anger thrusting into her voice, “I will explain everything, but you must go before it’s too late. You have no idea what you’re doing.��

His body does not feel like it’s under his control, and movement feels wrong. Gripping her arm, his fingers dig into her flesh, and he hauls her backward toward the manor with so much force that he wrenches her off her feet and into the air. An anguished cry chokes from her throat. It breaks him from the daze. He did not mean to hurt her.

“I didn’t mean to-”

He doesn’t get to finish before he’s pushed back and off balance by a sudden, strong gust of wind, far too powerful to be anything natural.

He rights himself quickly, whirls, and watches in horror as a radiant beam of pure sunlight careens toward her. It washes over her before he can move, and a shrill, soul-shattering scream wrests from her throat.

The demon bursts from its prison with pain so torturous it fractures his psyche, liquefying his brain matter.

He’s dragged down, down, down, where everything is quiet and dark.  

Sunbeam spills over you in an upsurge. Your skin sears, your eyes sizzle in their sockets, and white-hot pain swarms your vision. Falling to your hands and knees, a cry so shrill tearing from your throat, it feels like it rips your vocal cords to tatters.

“Are you pleased, wizard?” Astarion drawls, “Look what you’ve done to my most precious treasure.”

Astarion’s voice is distant and emotionless, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s lost the fight with himself. If you do not do something quickly, Gale’s blood will soak these streets, and it will be on your hands. Astarion told you those who provoke him rarely survive. Gale will be no exception.

Gritting your teeth, you push through the pain, making your nerves sing and blink to clear your vision. Astarion stalks toward Gale, laughing as if deranged while he nimbly dodges every one of Gale’s attacks, a predator playing with their prey like a cat with a mouse.

From the ground, you cast Hold Person, halting Astarion. He wars against his restraints. You will not be able to hold him long.

“Gale,” you sputter as you feel your concentration breaking, splintering at the seams like an overstuffed doll, “I cannot hold him long. Run to the waypoint and get home.”

Gale shakes his head, “I won’t leave-”

You trample over him, “If you don’t, we are both dead. Go! Now!”

Seconds that feel like hours pass before Gale turns and disappears down the street. You hold Astarion for as long as possible, vying to give Gale enough time to get to the waypoint. You can only hope Astarion does not decide you’re too broken and no longer fun to toy with.

Astarion rallies against your impediment and Hold Person breaks and shatters as your concentration is pushed beyond its limits.

Trembling, you try to push yourself to your feet, but you can’t get your limbs and muscles to obey orders. You don’t hear Astarion’s footsteps as they approach, but his proximity is betrayed by his beating heart.

Astarion’s hand curls into your hair, pulling you to your feet with an unforgiving yank, “You should not have intervened in my fun.”

“Astarion-”

His hand slams into the bottom of your chin, making your teeth clash with so much force you’re sure they will buckle and disintegrate in your mouth.

“Don’t “Astarion” me. It will not work this time,” he growls with a taunting edge, “Astarion is gone. I am the Vampire Ascendant! I am a God, and I will not be caged! Do you hear me? You are nothing, and you cannot save him.”

He talks about himself as if they’re two different people.

Astarion looks around, and a menacing smile slinks across his lips, “Perhaps I should simply let you burn and put an end to this once and for all.”

Panic forces your hand. Whoever this person is, he is not Astarion, and he may very well let you burn. You press your palm against his chest and let liquid fire, hot as the fires in Phlegethos, explode against him. The instant you feel his clutch release, you throw yourself back into the safety of the manor.

Crawling further inside, you push yourself up with the aid of a wall as your knees quake under your weight. You look up just in time to see Astarion’s hand as it slams into your throat, and he lifts you off your feet. His grip is stringent and unforgiving, and bruises instantly varnish your pallid skin, narrating abuse with dark hues of blue, purple and red. You kick against the air hopelessly, feet trying to find purchase.

You pull at his wrist and hand, digging your nails into him, blemishing his ashen skin with bloodied, jagged lacerations. You try to speak, but he increases the pressure on your throat, and nothing can make it out of your compressed esophagus.

You keep your eyes away from Astarion’s; you cannot look into those ruby-red eyes and see him look at you like you are nothing. Not after he has been looking at you like you’re everything.

Astarion’s head rears back, and his fangs plunge like icepicks into your neck. He shakes his head side to side like an animal trying to tear your throat out. You try to cry out, and your fingernails claw at his arms and face. He draws blood in erratic, unrestrained gulps and swallows it greedily. It spills from his mouth, running down your neck in a tributary, soaking into your shirt.

You oppose his hold on you, but it’s no use. Astarion is too strong, and you’re far too depleted. Astarion is going to drain you dry once again, and you stop fighting it. He cannot kill you like this, but what he does with your unconscious body afterwards is another story entirely. You dare not think about it.

Your limbs are the first to start feeling the effects of blood loss with tingles spreading to your fingertips. Even though it’s not possible, you still feel the sensation of paling further and growing colder as you begin to feel faint. Your body goes limp in his clutch as it numbs to the point where not even your fingers have the energy to twitch. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes spurn your effort to keep them open. A quiet, pathetic whimper escapes your parted lips.

Suddenly, Astarion rips his fangs from your neck, rough and painful. The agony snaps you back into your body. You fall to the ground in a shuddering heap. Blood continues to flow freely from your neck and spreads sanguine streams in the cracks between the wooden plank flooring, overflowing and pooling around your face and shoulders.

You watch Astarion stagger backward. Violent spasms wrack his body, and he falls to his hands and knees. He convulses, body writhing and twisting, and his fingernails make deep, long gouges into the floor, bloodying his fingertips.

You’ve seen him fight himself before, but it’s never looked like this. Good Gods, this is pure, undiluted suffering, and tears well up in your eyes.

I did this to him. This is my fault.

You try to speak, but the pain in your throat is unbearable. Your fingers splash in bloody puddles as you flex them. It takes every ounce of energy you have left, but you reach out and place your hand over Astarion’s as it claws the ground. His surprised eyes dart to you at the contact.

You keep your eyes focused on the beautiful red of his, in case it’s the last time you see them, as your world fades to black.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

So we did backtrack quite a bit in this chapter, but I thought it was important to learn why Astarion was even around for the Gur attack, and also to get a good look into what's going on in his head.

Trying something new with Astarion's POV. Let me know if it works or not, and I might keep switching perspectives.

Also, the new patches additional kisses - be still my beating heart.

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

[orionhere]

Behold

The Holee Trinity

Also spoiler from his affection story:

Note that I can only read a little of chinese & with help of translator lol, so I'm so sorry if there's some mistranslation😥😥😥

There's something wrong with his M.I.N.D that causing his consciousness overlap with each other (?) So in chapter one his memory is back when he was 9 years old. Ofc with the memory of 9 years old, he doesn't know us at that time, so yeah, he's kind of wary to us, Liv, and Lucia

"I'm 9 and a half years old" Lee bantering with Asimov lmao

"Fragment of his childhood consciousness currently take over his frame. The age stage of specifics consciousness.... I'd say about 9 years old at most?"

"9 and a half years old, thank you." LMAOOOO

"I can understand what you're saying here, but it's impossible. I am standing here right now, how could this all just a fragment of my consciousness?"

"This is the truth, Mr. 9-and-a-half-years-old." ASIMOV 🤣

Hey, Mr. eye with dark circles, can I touch this?

No.

I know how it works, so you don't need to worry I'd break it.

No.

ALSO HE'S SULKING WHEN HE'S BEEN TOLD 'NO' TWICE BY ASIMOV LMAOOOO

Skk gave him milk, hence the blushing face.

The next day, it's the consciousness from his time as an assassin. (During when he desperately need money for Murray's treatment) He misunderstood he was being taken captive and asking where the exit route is as he hold Skk hostage. Lucia restrained him.

Long story short, after Skk explaining the problem, he tells us about his job as an assassin to required money fast. Also he keeps asking about Murray's wellbeing (awwwww).

The next day, he and Skk go outside (under the assumption that Skk has a task for Lee). They went to Cerberus base, asking if Murray is there at that time, but he's not there. (But Vera appeared instead lol. Don't want Vera to know what's going on with Lee, they ran XD)

ICE CREAM DATE

So yeah, basically Skk buy him ice cream.

"It's... Sweet..." I'm gonna combust

During these consciousness problem, he would take notes on his notebook (Skk called it diary lol) to keep record.

Hence the childish-style writings from his 9-years-old version. "I accidentally grazed Skk's ear with my gun." "The infected is a monster, it's terrifying."

"Skk fell asleep on the desk with all of many reports and document about specialized frame around. Skk also been working very hard lately. Let's leave something as a thank you, maybe a gift." LEE😭😭

Skk, Lucia and Liv kind of prepare a party (?) for him in the end. During this, Lee's consciousness problem almost solve. Before that, Lee ask Skk what we would want as a sorry/thank you gift for all this problem. Skk want the "diary" that Lee used to keep record of his difference memories from before.

ALSO LEE SAYING THE "HEAT-REGULATION SYSTEM FAILURE" WHEN HE BLUSH AGAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD

Lee give Skk a chip that contain projection from his past consciousness (From childhood, Kurono era, early Gray Raven (Palefire frame) and Entropy frame era) as a thank you gift.

"Thank you for the milk... Skk. The future me is really lucky to have met an excellent commandant." (Kid Morian)

"I'm sorry again, Skk. I.... The ice-cream...it was delicious." (Kurono era)

Palefire just telling you that you have grown and all that stuff lol

"Even if the road ahead is dark, it's alright to shine side-by-side with a star like you in the night sky." (Entropy)

"I will always be "Lee from Gray Raven", and I will stand by your side." JESUS CHRIST THIS GUY IS BAD FOR MY HEART

Anyway, that's what I got from rough translation lol. Sorry if there's some mistranslation or I didn't convey the deeper meaning good enough (also bc I don't fluent in English so my vocab is limited 😥)

In conclusion, PROTECT LEE AT ALL COST

I'd say sorry to Chrome bc Lee just took your 1st place in my heart again😭😭

#punishing: gray raven #punishing gray raven #pgr #pgr lee #pgr cn #orion shittalk #pgr spoiler

[thathilomgirl]

"Unanswered" Prayers in Tearmoon Empire

(Light Novel/Potential Web Novel Spoiler Warning here)

This had been on the back burner for some time while I was reading through the chapters, but the more I went into the story, the more I saw characters express their longings and laments of regret as "prayers," especially when it came to them in the Guillotine Timeline. And with these prayers, they tend to be answered in the current timeline Mia is making as she (somewhat unwillingly) sets on to becoming the future Empress.

A somewhat isolated case of what I want to talk about can be seen from the side chapter in Volume 4 involving the Perujin princess Arshia.

Arshia, who had seen the horrors of famine, had once prayed to find a way to solve the issue, but over time had thought it was left unanswered, and sought to solve the matter through her hard work and research. Mia wanted to seek her to be an educator for the new academy she was setting up because of her knowledge of botany, but due to past mistreatment and discrimination from other Tearmoon nobles, she refused the offer. In a dinner Mia set up that was meant to make those nobles apologize to her (which failed), was only after meeting the future students of the academy and overthinking Mia's intentions that Arshia's prayer started to come back to her. Through accepting the teaching position, she became a key figure in creating the cold-resistant wheat alongside Cyril Rudolvon.

Additionally, in the web novel site where Tearmoon's story originally is published, the author reveals in a sidenote that he based this chapter on a missionary telling him the parable of the drowning man:

Now, going back to the bigger plot of Tearmoon, by Volume 12, we're starting to get confirmation that Mia being sent back in time (and by extension Miabel and Patricia going to her point in time) is because God/the Holy Deity (as how He's written within the story) willed it to happen. So how does that tie in to "unanswered" prayers?

First, we get Anne's prayer in Volume 1 as Mia is about to be executed:

(WEB NOVEL SPOILERS: In a chapter still unreached by the light novel publication, Mia looks back to this moment, and even thinks that Anne's prayer of protection was where her turn-back in time had started.)

In Volume 4, we see Ludwig beginning to see the "dreams" of the Guillotine Timeline and his prayer for Mia back then:

It should be noted that from Ludwig developing the theory of Miabel's time travel in Volume 12, he has now gotten a better picture on the situation, and may have recalled his prayer from back then.

In Volume 9, we get a look of Mia's prayer of redemption from the Guillotine Timeline as she deliberates her decision on Echard's punlshment:

TL;DR: The whole plot of Tearmoon Empire hinges on God answering prayers in unexpected ways

#Tearmoon Empire #Tearmoon Teikoku Monogatari #Christianity #Salt and Light #Meta #Mia Luna Tearmoon #Anne Littstein #Ludwig Hewitt #Arshia Tafrif Perujin #Spoilers #Light Novel Spoilers #God #Prayer

[aciddaffodil]

Winter 2024- What I Finished

So as this anime season is coming to an end. Here are the shows I actually kept up with and overall enjoyed immensely.

There will be spoilers so be warned lol

The Unwanted Undead Adventurer

I have enjoyed this series, the way Rentt is so determined to become a mithril-class adventurer even as an undead. The 3D models for the fight scenes move pretty well with the background matching them, especially in episode 9. This series is a slow-burn, even with the story progression, but I appreciate it because we see so much character growth for Rentt and how he interacts with the people and his friends. The music is fairly average for the series, but it does have some good moments especially when Rentt is in thought or making a choice. I loved coming full circle and him regaining his "human" features even though he still is very much a vampire now. Shun Narita, the composer for the series had some standout moments (fight scenes and contemplativeness) of music throughout the season so hats off to him.

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic

I fell in love with the humor of this series from the get-go and not a single episode is a disappointment. It is so full of life and this past week for episode 11, the line " Now that's the wrong way to use healing magic" was used in a perfect moment. The lead up of Usato's characters growth and seeing all his hard work and "torture" from Commander Rose's training *actually* matter was brilliant. Element Garden has done a great job with the music that just gets your blood pumping. Probably will make a separate post for this series once it's over.

A Sign of Affection

The shoujo everyone is talking about, FOR GOOD REASON. To see the romance between the leads develop was so satisfying and wholesome. The development of the side characters so far is handled well, and at times the flashbacks scenes take over an episode but they are necessary. The art style and the use of lighting are done so well. It was a very cute show and always will love seeing an adult romance.

Solo Leveling

What can I say that hasn't been said already? I started reading the manwha in 2019 and have reread many times since. Hiroyuki Sawano was a great choice and the soundtrack WILL be on loop once it's released fully. Smart pacing choices to have it end with him gaining a job, this week will be a blast of an episode. Wish it had been slotted for 24 episodes... The last two episodes KILLED it, the animation, the music?! I was on cloud nine.

Mr. Villains Day Off

A perfect wholesome background anime, that is just about a Villian who loves pandas on his days off. The episodes where they focus on the Rangers aren't super interesting and makes you question the ethics of the world? It's a very cute show and sometimes, it's just a need in life. Ending was split between resolving the previous episode and the lead up to the Rangers and the Villian's battle.

Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss but I'm Not the Demon Lord

The Isekai'd into an Otome game genre is SO saturated but somehow I ended up loving this show. Yumielle is so autistic coded and straightforward, no one quite knows how to react to her. Patrick is head over heels for her, not that she ever notices, and they're dynamic is adorable. I have laughed watching this show and the only reincarnation anime that didn't bog me down with guessable plot.

Hokkaido Gals Are Super Adorable!

I fell so hard for this anime that I binge read the manga...who's art is definitely butchered in the adaption, it's so wholesome but the way episode 11 ends off MY GOD the miscommunication hurts me, and people will definitely riot watching the finale...and then picking up the manga to suffer for 40 chapters...BUT it's worth it. Tsubasa and Fuyuki all the way, they're chemistry is the best in the show as they each influence each other to open up, to be serious about the future and to help themselves grow as people. So sad to see this show go but maybe we'll get another season?

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

This anime has me kicking my feet in joy and makes me miss my long-distance partner so fucking much. When Kurosawa and Adachi kissed? I was whooping in happiness. Adachi has a lot of room to grow with his communication with Kurosawa but pretty sure the final manga cover is a wedding outfit? My poor notes app I use to write my thoughts/observations as I watch seasonal anime is " SO GAY. KISS PLEASE." for several episodes between them. I loved that the end credits was the wedding but I can't wait to read the manga to compare it!

Gushing Over Magical Girls

I'm not one to watch ecchi shows but this, THIS is just such a delight to watch. Utena is such a loveable protagonist, a magical girl loving person who gets turned into a villain and has to "fight" the girls she loves. By fighting its not LMAO. I adore all the characters in this show and how fresh the writing for them is. Its beautifully animated and the finale was so much fun to watch!

Mashle S2 - Divine Visionary Arc

I picked up the first volume at the bookstore halfway through the season to try reading, after Bling-Bang-Bang-Born blew up, and I was not disappointed. Binged Season 1 and caught up in a day. There's just something so satisfying with gag humor and shounen fight scenes. I love everyone (besides for Innocent Zero, fuck that guy) and will for sure be binge reading the manga. The music, as always, is so hype and having rap for the fight scenes is very interesting. The soundtrack for S2 just released yesterday and has some amazing tracks on it.

Shangria-La Frontier

What. An. Amazing. Show. Never thought I'd like a VR Gaming anime as much as I do now, but this was just so vibrant and humorous. Sunraku's tenacity at gaming and taking on challenges, plus my love for rogue/assassin builds from DND, made him such a likeable character. The entire Weathermon fight to be slotted for 4 episodes was just..gorgeous and stunning. The Music?!? God its perfection. The NPC's of Rabitzu... to have characters and just to not be weird was very much appreciated to me. I sincerely wish it had the fandom that other Fall 2023 shows, cough cough Frieren, Undead Unluck and Apothecary Diaries, has because I just want more merch sobs. The cosplans I have for this show? Too many, and its already in production for another 2 cour season for this fall!!

The Apothecary Diaries

What a spectacular show and fabulous 24 episodes. The animation, the music (Satoru Kosaki, Kevin Pinken, Alisa Okehazma), the characters, the backgrounds?! I enjoyed watching the characters interact and loved the humor in the animation. I also just read and caught up with the manga in 2 days...so it's that good and a worthwhile watch and read!

#winter 2024 anime #anime #anime review #the apothecary diaries #shangria la frontier #mashle magic and muscles #gushing over magical girls #cherry magic! thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?! #hokkaido gals are super adorable! #villainess level 99 #mr villians day off #solo leveling #a sign of affection #the wrong way to use healing magic #the unwanted undead adventurer

[jujumin-translates]

Event | Act 3.5 Event - NEW ERA GARDEN | Chapter 9

*Contains spoilers for Act 12 - eternal moment*

Reni: Seems like you’re finally ready to put an end to things and face me.

Yukio: Ah, yes, well… is that okay?

Reni: Why don’t you just say what you want to say? I’ve already hit you with everything I had.

Yukio: Say what you want to say, huh… I don’t really have anything like that to say, but…

Reni: Liar. Hurry up already. Or are you planning on downing some whiskey right off the bat?

Yukio: Waah, okay, okay!

Yukio: …I think Zen-san was the one who figured it out. Actually, I was a little afraid, too.

Yukio: Afraid that you and I would have a fight like back then.

Yukio: Whenever we disagree in the practice room, I can’t help but feel like we’re back in the old days.

Yukio: If we continue on like this, our paths won’t be able to cross again. We’ll just drift apart again.

Yukio: Because I’m just not an actor like you say I am, Reni, no matter how hard I try.

Reni: …

Reni: You may not have changed, but I have. I am much more patient than I was back then. It’s not the same.

Yukio: I know that, but… that’s just how traumatic it was for me back then.

Yukio: I don’t want to mess up the start of the New Fleur Award. I want to make sure it’s a success.

Yukio: Even back then, I really, truly wanted to work with you at a theater company, Reni--.

Reni: I wanted that too.

Reni: …You’re overall too self-conscious. Do you really still think I want you on stage as an actor?

Reni: GOD-za has also grown. Don’t you think there are many actors better than you there?

Yukio: Haha, I see. I guess you’re right. Maybe I’ve been the one stuck in the past.

Reni: …Well, I’ve long since given up on being an actor, but one thing I’d like to do came to me today.

Yukio: ?

Reni: You’ve been telling me this ever since back then, to the point where I’ve grown sick of hearing it…

Reni: Do you remember the phrase, “I want to make each actor bloom in their ‘own’ way”?

Yukio: I do.

Reni: I’ve only recently begun to understand that as I’ve become a director and started creating plays with younger actors.

Yukio: Really!? That’s quite the change… I feel like I’m getting left behind. I’m the only one who hasn’t grown up, huh?

Reni: That’s why I want to have a thorough discussion about Okita Souji for this performance. We only have a few days left to finish things.

Reni: Tell me what you’re looking for-- tell me what you’re looking for in Reni Kamikizaka’s Okita Souji, tell me how you’re going to make him bloom.

Reni: Of course, I get a say in things too.

Yukio: So this is going to turn into a fight, after all, huh?

Reni: Wouldn’t that call for whiskey, then? It’s not a fight. It’s just a discussion.

Yukio: Right.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Staff: The equipment check went okay.

Syu: We’re ready to go over here too.

Hiro: It’s about time.

Zen: It ain’t every day that you get to have an opening day at a theater with no audience.

Yuzo: Well, there is one person.

Izumi: …

Yukio: Sorry, my daughter is the only one who gets special treatment…

Yuzo: You’ve caused a lot of trouble. She deserves a front-row seat for your comeback.

Yukio: I’m going to go talk to her.

*Footsteps*

Kasumi: Well then, before the show begins, how about we get a few words from the chairperson!?

Hiro: What is this? An interview?

Syu: …During our one-on-one drinking session, Yukio told me the reason why I got the lead role this time.

Syu: He said he’s relieved that I’m the one who hasn’t changed the most since back then.

Zen: Huh.

Kasumi: So am I just old now…!?

Yuzo: Nah, we’re all old now.

Hiro: Yuzu will never change, so we don’t have to worry about him.

Yuzo: Somehow that doesn’t feel like a compliment.

Syu: Well, that’s why we can understand what Yukio wants and what he fears for this performance.

Syu: I’m sure that deep down, he wants something that will never change.

Syu: An impossible fantasy, an ideal, a dream of eternity that we old people can’t believe in… Yukio wants that, but he can’t say it.

Kasumi: Now that you mention it, Yukio-san doesn’t use words like ‘forever’ or ‘everlasting’ very often…

Syu: I think he can’t wish it away because of his separation from Reiji.

Zen: He always thought the troupe members would leave eventually.

Hiro: I mean, the first generation MANKAI Company did turn out to be exactly what Yukio thought it’d be.

Syu: We grew old in the exact same way. Maybe it’s because the future is shorter now than it was back then that we can see what’s ahead now.

Hiro: …Let’s reassure, Yukio.

Kasumi: …Yeah.

Yuzo: Let’s show him somethin’ he won’t be able to believe.

Syu: Let’s let him be the one to say it.

Zen: Yeah, he’s the one who started it.

Staff: …Five minutes until showtime!

Syu: …We’re the flowers he made bloom.

Syu: That’s why “only on blooming days, the blossom scatter”.

*Buzzer sounds*

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#a3! #a3! translation #yukio tachibana #reni kamikizaka #yuzo kashima #kasumi hinamori #hiro hyuga #zen kuryu #syu otomiya

[word-wytch]

My thoughts on Flight of Icarus (so far!)

I finally got my hands on the book yesterday and also had time to read which hasn’t happened in a very hot minute.

These are just my first impressions, commentary, and takeaways from chapters 1-9.

More will come, but I am realizing that I have so much to say that I need to break it up ✨

I will start off by saying that I was skeptical, as all of us were, when this book was announced. Prior to reading it, I had been steering clear of spoilers and others’ reactions just so that I could go in completely unbiased and with an open mind and heart.

Within the first 10 pages, I was crying. Like, openly weeping. Something about Eddie talking first person about his childhood experiences and confirming what so many of us suspected hit me so suddenly. I was not prepared for the swell of emotions that bubbled over as a result of not only that, but reading his name printed on a real, hard bound book when I've only ever read it from a screen was something else as well. Something about it being officially licensed by ST and providing us with some concrete backstory (if we choose to take it) for so many things that we've been only speculating on for the last year and a half.

These are a few snippets that really had me going:

Anyway, I'm broken.

Onto the writing --

I genuinely think what I've read so far has been incredibly well-written. The first person narration sounds so much like Eddie, as does the dialogue. The insights and ways he describes things cleverly but also with that touch of dark humor that he deflects with so often is very present. I do feel like I'm stepping into his curly noggin and viewing the world through his bambi eyes. It's such a treat.

Also, I have noticed her using many words that he frequently uses in his limited dialogue on the show in her narration, the main one I can think of right now being "not exactly". It's touches like these that let me know how closely she's paying attention.

I am also impressed with the general quality of prose, how she seamlessly integrates setting and character description into the scene. Also clever and creative ways to describe objects that still stay very in character. This one stands out:

Also this. This hyper-awareness that his home life is different than his peers, something I try to illustrate in my own writing and appreciate that this author did as well:

As a writer, I learn so much from reading. I can honestly say that I am learning from this experience as well, and dare I say it, am inspired.

The chapter I am working on now for DSSCTM deals heavily with similar themes and questions that FOI covers, such as Eddie's motivations for staying in school, his relationship to his dad, and how he views himself. So I feel a lucky sense of coincidence that this book was released during the time I am writing it. I, like everyone else, invented my own backstory for his parents that suited the story I was trying to tell and will keep it for consistency going forward.

Characters that stuck out to me --

Gareth -- OH. MY GOD. BABY GARETH. Little fluffy ball of rage. I cannot. My heart is going to explode fr. Also the tenderness with which Eddie handles him is just too much for me.

Ronnie -- Stan her. You know, this character really makes me wonder how much of our fics the author has read because I feel like it is one of the most common and earliest tropes for our Reader characters to be best friends of his that grew up in the trailer park along side him. Maybe it's just an obvious trope? But interesting she included it. Also making her the book-smart one who's got a golden ticket out is another very common thing I see in our stories.

Chrissy -- I love the bit of backstory I've read so far and how sympathetic she writes her. I love that we get the whole scene of them before the talent show and them bonding for a short moment.

Al -- There aren't enough words for how big a piece of shit this man is. When he said this to Wayne I almost yeeted my book across the room. Nobody talks to Wayne Munson like this in my house. 😤

Paige -- Eh. Not sold tbh. Although I do appreciate reading through Eddie's first person narration about him having a crush on someone though. It's cute. Just the crush part, not Paige specifically. She's mid so far.

Principal Higgins -- I had to suspend my disbelief a bit for how strong he came on tbh. I mean, I think she made a somewhat believable case for his absolutely unhinged behavior but it still struck me as borderline unbelievable how Higgins spoke to Eddie like that. What it did confirm for me was something I had suspected from the beginning, which is that Eddie's dad never graduated high school. Also, I appreciate the question being asked about why he is still in school BUT my issue is that this question isn't as applicable in his first senior year as it is in his third. I think the author was trying to find a reason for Higgins to be asking it and had to dig a little to try and make it believable. It's a question I have asked myself, one that I had Teach ask him in the first chapter of DSSCTM, and one I will be exploring in ch. 16.

One final theme-related thing I noticed and appreciate:

How chapter 4 ends with his dad telling him to sleep on the idea of pulling off a heist with him and chapter 5 begins with "The question is pretty simple. At the end of the day, who do you want to be?" and proceeds to a scene of him building a character with Gareth. Likewise in real life, Eddie is figuring out who he wants to be, and I think using this as a metaphor is really clever and beautiful.

ALSO. A theory. Illian died right? Illian wasn't Gareth's he was Jeff's. What if this is alluding to the possibility of another character we all know and love who supposedly died in canon to be able to come back and re-invent themselves? 👀

Could just be my delusional ass reading into this way too much but it was just a thought I had.

Anyway, onward. ✨

#flight of icarus #eddie munson #stranger things #please tell me your thoughts!! #I wanted to just have a place to dump all mine but also want to start a dialogue!

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 1!

DO NOT read these commentaries until you have finished reading the entire Handbook! There are many spoilers in each commentary for future chapters

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

Chapter titles are named for Daemon’s very bad parenting advice if he were writing an actual handbook.

The rumors that Rhaenyra’s kids are bastards started from a combination of a) black hair and b) Harwin still being unusually close/romancing Rhaenyra even if he isn’t the bio father. But when Jace grew old enough to look like a mini Rhaenys, most reasonable people gave it up.

JOFFRIDA. I was considering the name Jocelyn at first, but I wanted to lean into Laenor naming his third kid after Joffrey Lonmouth. There’s no obvious feminine version of Joffrey, though. Then I decided Laenor seems like the type to tack on a feminine suffix and call it a day. 😂

Daemon is convinced Aemond is a prude. We know how that turns out in Chapter 9.

Aegon starts out a bit afraid of Rhaenyra. He shows more backbone later (especially Chapter 9) but I like to think he’s always going to be a bit afraid of her.

“Oh well, not Daemon’s problem.” (Re: Hightower boys and how they grow up) 😂😂😂

Joff’s curse tablets are inspired by the ancient Roman curse scrolls wherein people wrote things like “Livia has done me great wrong. O gods of the Underworld, make her go bald and die a painful death. If you do this, I’ll sacrifice five goats to you.” Why doesn’t she use a curse tablet again in the story? I’ll flesh it out elsewhere in the series, but TLDR magic has a price and Joff learns this very early in her life.

Vaemond’s funeral eulogy in this verse doesn’t go so hard on “our blood runs true” (he knows the girls are legitimate) but maybe he makes some quips about women and motherhood and sacrifice. Nothing overtly terrible but he’s thinking about the future of Driftmark, which is currently slated to pass to a girl after Laenor, when he thinks it would be best for Driftmark to stay within the male line. So he uses the eulogy to subtly push his agenda. I’m not going to go into more detail here because I might write out his actual eulogy one day, but that’s the gist.

Daemon shies away from comforting his daughters in this chapter. He eventually grows out of this in Chapter 7 (with Baela) and Chapter 11 (late night discussion with Rhaenyra).

Driftmark Lite! I decided not to have Aemond lose his eye at Luce’s hand for several reasons. First, I thought it would be tonally inappropriate; this fic strongly leans toward comedy, and the canon fight would have been too heavy. Second, a lot of this fic is me exploring what would be different if Rhaenyra’s kids were girls, and I thought this would definitely change.

In the GOT/HOTD universe, highborn girls are way less likely than boys to carry blades. Girls like Baela and Arya are rare exceptions. Girls like Sansa are much more the norm. If we’re going by traditional gender norms, girls are probably encouraged to talk their problems out rather than fight it out, as boys might.

So the fight doesn’t escalate as badly because Jace is trying to be peacemaker, and instead of bastard insults, Aemond uses the playground taunt of “you’re a bunch of wussy girls wah wah” (which only provokes Baela).

But the fight DOES escalate to a degree when Aemond specifically insults Luce about things she’s very sensitive about, i.e. her reading struggles and little phobias like rats. Luce retaliates by kneeing him in the groin, which is a move a girl is far more likely to use than a boy on another boy.

Later, Alicent freaks out a bit because she’s in “overprotective mother” mode but once she takes a breather, she realizes it isn’t that huge a deal and lets it go (but this is yet another reason she doesn’t really like Luce).

Daemon 100% got hit in the groin before, and no one can convince me otherwise. Who did it? Dunno. Are they still alive? Probably not.

Laenor’s mysterious death!!! Was it Joff? Did she use her curse tablet? Did she do it because she hates her name? We’ll have to find out when I eventually write her POV.

#my writing #meta #hotd fic #HOTD fanfic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon’s handbook

[backtothestart02]

FANFIC TAGGING GAME

I got (honorable) tagged by the wonderful @theartofdreaming1- thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? - 321

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,322,068 words (at the moment)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still writing for The Flash, but every once in a while a new show/movie grabs my fancy and I write a few fics for that.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

An unimpressive bunch but here goes: Muse (456), Replacement Scrunchie (393), Fallen Star (357), Inconvenient Inspiration (343), and Drabbles (277). Muse is a handful of one-shots based solely off spoilers before I saw the eps they were for. Replacement Scrunchie is my sole fic for the TATBILB fandom about Peter & LJ's first date (which was way less impressive than what the sequel movie gave us, WOW). Fallen Star is my most popular westallen fic to date, so that one's actually not too surprising. But both Inconvenient Inspiration and Drabbles are requested (the latter) and spontaneous (the former) brainstorming ficlets and snippets for The Flash/WA. Bo-ring.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Eventually.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, gosh, I have so many unfinished fics that it's hard to remember the complete ones that I finished that didn't end so happy, of which there aren't many. Maybe...Breaking Point though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All the others have happy endings. Go read them. Lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

When I wrote for another fandom I did, but not really in The Flash fandom, which is nice.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. And uh...descriptive, I guess? I'm def not the best out there, but I do my best and for the most part smut-lovers seem to enjoy.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've attempted a couple crossovers, but I haven't completed any or gotten far with them, usually because there wasn't an audience for it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, I discovered a whole bunch on another website years ago.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

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

In the process of it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Stuck on Westallen atm, but I used to write Chair, and I was highly obsessed with them as well.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh god, I have SO MANY WIPs. One that I really want to finish but fear I won't though has got to be He's MY Barry Allen. I'm just stuck on what the next chapter will look like, and as of yet no one has come forward with a solution. Lol. The Problem is Tony Woodward is another one like that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd like to think I can hook people into my fics fairly well and drop enough cliffies to keep them coming back for more. But ofc the smut helps too. Most of my fics include at least some smut, even a single scene.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I have trouble making a chapter (or a scene for that matter) all that long. I've seen people write like 10k+ for a chap, and unless I'm crazy inspired, roughly 1-3k is what you're getting.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I actually dabbled in this a little bit for a westallen fic where Iris was learning Italian, I think? I did some research and managed to sift in enough for that one-shot, but I can't imagine I'd do it repeatedly or for a multi-chap.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I believe it was the STAR WARS prequels, but it might've been The Day After Tomorrow.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's unfinished, but there's so much untapped potential in my Flashpoint fic. Lots of world-building that's present as it rides the line between canon divergent and AU. Hopefully one day I'll get back to it.

...

As much as I'd love to tag a bunch of people, I can't recall anyone who still writes fic that I follow on here, so I'll just shout out my bestie @simplylove101 who is prob done with writing but may want to answer these questions either way!

#fanfiction #questions #fic game #fic tagging game #this was fun!

[ecoustsaintmein]

Native Son, why it works in Ep 8 of MotA, and why it doesn't

I've written a quick post about it a while back, about how Rosie reading Native Son in Ep 8 makes sense thematically for the episode.

I reread it this weekend, and I have thoughts:

Background --

Native Son was published in 1940 and was written by Richard Wright, about a young black man who lives in Chicago, raised in a life a poverty and systemic racism which led to a life of crime.

Connection with the Tuskegee Airmen --

Within the first 50 pages we have this exchange between Bigger and his friends, when they saw a plane up in the sky:

"Looks like a little bird," Bigger breathed with childlike wonder.

"Them white boys sure can fly," Gus said.

"Yeah," Bigger said wistfully. "They get a chance to do everything."

(...)

"I could fly one of them things if I had a chance," Bigger mumbled reflectively, as though talking to himself.

Gus pulled down the corners of his lips, stepped out from the wall, squared his shoulders, doffed his cap, bowed low, and spoke with mock deference:

"Yessuh."

"You go to hell," Bigger said, smiling.

"Yessuh," Gus said again.

"I could fly a plane if I had a chance," Bigger said.

"If you wasn't black and if you had some money and if they'd let you go to that aviation school, you could fly a plane," Gus said.

For a moment Bigger contemplated al the 'ifs' that Gus had mentioned. Then both boys broke into hard laughter, looking at each other, through squinted eyes. When their laughter subsided, Bigger said in a voice that was half-question and half-statement:

"It's funny how the white folks treat us, ain't it?

"It better be funny," Gus said.

"Maybe they right in not wanting us to fly," Bigger said. "'Cause if I took a plane up I'd take a couple of bombs along and drop 'em sure as hell..."

(...)

"God, I'd like to fly up there in that sky."

"God'll let you fly when He gives you your wings up in heaven," Gus said.

The text was published in 1940. Also, spoiler alert -- Bigger was on the death row by the end of the book, so when we come back to the story of the Tuskegee Airmen, who does ALL the things that Bigger wants to do but couldn't -- those men were actively challenging the stereotype of a Black American of that era. And also fulfilling the prophecy that they will fly after Bigger's death...

And Bigger's conversation with Gus about how the white folk treat them -- it was unsurprising, but also reflected in (some of) the ways the Black PoWs were treated in the desegregated camps in ep 8.

Also interesting that Bigger mentioned how he wants to fly a plane to drop bombs...

Why it doesn't fully work (for me):

While I can see why Native Son was featured in not one but two (!!!) scenes, I can understand why Rosie was reading that (will come to that later), but I'm still struggling to find the significance of Sandra gifting it to Croz.

Also -- given all the points and themes that the book has attempted to discuss, and attempting to weave it into the plot of episode 8, it still sits uncomfortably with me that the Tuskegee Airmen were only introduced after 8 episodes (as if it is an afterthought, even if it wasn't meant that way), and that they barely get any lines at all in episode 9. Harking back to what Bigger and Gus just talked about:

"It's funny how the white folks treat us, ain't it?

"It better be funny," Gus said.

I'll let you judge for yourself.

Rosie and Native Son

I know we don't know, but -- whose book is it that Rosie is reading? Is it his? From the library?

In the final chapters, Bigger was charged with murder and rape, and he was represented by a Jewish-American lawyer named Boris Max, whom I feel to be the most unproblematic character out of all the characters in the book, and defended Bigger with everything he's got (think Atticus Finch, but with more communist-leaning).

Who else is a Jewish-American lawyer...oh wait. Rosie.

Max, like Rosie, is a non-judgmental character and basically a good listener all around, even if the intellectual points that he tries to make sometimes goes over Bigger's head.

This paragraph is telling of Max's character traits (and why it reminds me of Rosie's own strong-will and desire to keep fighting):

"Mr Max, if I was you I wouldn't worry none. If all folks was like you, then maybe I wouldn't be here. But you can't help that now. They going to hate you for trying to help me. I'm gone. They got me."

"Oh, they'll hate me, yes," said Max. "But I can take it. That's the difference. I'm a Jew and they hate me, but I know why and I can fight. But sometimes you can't win no matter how you fight; that is, you can't win if you haven't got time. And they're pressing us now. But you need not worry about their hating me for defending you. The fear of hate keeps many whites from trying to help you and your kind. Before I can fight your battle, I've got to fight a battle with them."

All in all, I can talk forever about the significance of the book and how it fits thematically into episode 8. However, it still leaves me wanting more from the Tuskegee Airmen plotline, and perhaps maybe more of Rosie's lawyering.

#masters of the air #meta post #rosie rosenthal #harry crosby #sandra westgate

[sydsrichie]

'til queendom come, ch. 9

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,310

ch. 9, dohaerās: all men must die. all men must serve.

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: all kudos, comments, bookmarks, reblogs, etc. are very much appreciated and adored! I'm having a lot of mixed feelings about this chapter and about being so close to the end, so I really hope you all enjoy ❤️

In the early hours of the next day, Sena awoke in an unfamiliar bed. The silky sheets below her cheek had a faintly masculine scent, there was white blonde hair splayed on the pillow and there was a wiry arm wrapped around her belly. A tall, lean, naked man was pressed to her back, from shoulder to hip to knee and she was gloriously warm. She leaned back into Aemond’s embrace, sighing happily and laying her arm over the one he had wrapped around her middle. There was a sleepy, gruff sound behind her and she smiled, but when she shifted, she felt something-

Yes. Aemond was sleepily pressing his half-hard cock against the split of her arse. “Good morning, my Prince,” she breathed out a small laugh, and he stirred behind her, still clearly half asleep.

“Mm?” He murmured, shifting up onto an elbow and rubbing at his bare face with a hand. Was this how beautiful he was when he woke? Foggy, a little grumpy, his hair a mess? His eyelids droopily concealed his pretty eyes, one purple, one blue.

She grinned, looking over her shoulder at him and moved her hips a little. “Don’t stop, you seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then pulled up the sheet to look. “Fuck,” he groaned, his cheeks colouring as he laid down behind her, flat on his back. “Sorry,” he grumbled, shutting his eyes in concentration as if he was trying to banish his morning glory.

“Don’t say sorry,” she said in disbelief as she rolled over to face him. “I think that was the best wakeup call I have ever had.”

He peeked open his lavender eye and smiled at her sleepily. He looked so sweet and carefree like this that it made her heart ache. “Yeah?” He asked, clearly more than a little pleased at her open desire. 

“Yes,” Sena repeated. She brushed a few tangled strands from his cheek and leaned down to kiss him softly. A small sound came from his throat and he came up onto his side to reel her in, deepening the kiss. Only when she could feel his heart thrumming against her did she break away, despite the way he chased her lips with his own. “You know, you worked quite hard last night. Maybe you deserve a lazy morning?” She asked, pushing at his shoulder to get him down onto his back and slipping one knee over his slim waist.

“Gods,” he cursed as she sat up on him, the bedsheet falling to pool around her hips. She saw his eye roving her body, saw the way her nipples hardened in the distinct chill of the room and she surreptitiously used her upper arms to push her breasts together some. “Are you sure you were a maiden ’til last night? You behave as though you were trained in a Lysene pillow house.”

She laughed and canted her hips back, his hardening cock nudging open her folds and spreading her wetness. “Just enjoying the freedom to take what I have wanted for many years, my Prince. And I am inexperienced but what I lack for in skill I can make up for in enthusiasm. You’ll just have to let me practice on you.” She gave her hips an experimental roll and it felt so lovely she gasped aloud.

“Mhm- how could I ever say no to that?” He said with a groan and reached up to pinch a nipple sharply between his thumb and forefinger, making her whine. “I expect you to practice on me until you achieve perfection, my Lady-”

All of a sudden, there was a sharp knock at the door and Sena jumped. Aemond pulled her sharply down onto the bed and threw the sheet up over her, blocking her from view with his own body. “Hope you’re decent-“ came a female voice.

“Alys,” Aemond barked at the woman who had just burst into the room.

“Oh, not decent at all, it seems. Hello, Lady Visenya,” she said and laughed a high pitched laugh. Aemond was rapidly softening against Sena’s thigh and pushed himself off of her with a growl, reaching for his eyepatch on the bedside table. “I’ll have the Maester bring moon tea then, yes? And maybe something for the… love bites,” Alys said with a smirk, eyeing Sena’s neck.

“Who do you think you are? Waltzing into my rooms like you own the place?” He snapped.

Sena sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her body, and kneaded her brow with more exasperation than embarrassment. They certainly had an odd dynamic, these two. Alys smirked at her and winked. “I don’t know, I thought I was a Lady of House Targaryen last night. It’s a comfy bed you’ve given her, I slept like a babe. Much nicer than my own. Very transparent favouritism.”

Aemond made a frustrated grunt and grabbed a pair of breeches from the floor, pulling them up over his hips. He got out from under the covers and went to snatch his morning letters from Alys. Sena was disappointed to only get a brief glance of his lithe body and pert arse before it was covered again. She made a small huffing sound and threw herself back down in bed.

Aemond shot her an exasperated look. “Don’t you mutiny at me too. You two make for a dangerous combination.”

“Someone’s got to pull at your pigtails and keep you humble, oh noble Prince Regent,” Alys said, and Sena chuckled even as Aemond glowered. She could not bring herself to be annoyed at the older woman. She was the only reason Sena was lying in this bed in the first place.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Sena said, and noted the way Alys kept glancing at the swell of her breasts, the pebbling of her nipples under the thin sheet in the cool air. A blush coloured Sena’s cheeks but she did her best not to preen at the attention, that would be unbecoming. “But is there a reason you’re here? Or were you just being nosy?”

Alys laughed darkly. “Nothing to be nosy about, my lady. You two were making enough racket that half the keep knows. Awfully echoey, this damnable castle.” Sena flushed deeply at that, and Aemond raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “But if you must know, your brother is here, Prince Aemond.” 

Alys never looked away from Sena to the Prince, though, and Aemond noticed rather angrily. “Her eyes are further up, Alys,” he snapped at her. “Which brother?”

Alys finally looked away from Sena to roll her eyes at the Prince. “The one you sent a raven for in the middle of the night asking he come at once,” she said impatiently.

A grin broke over Sena’s features at that. “Daeron,” she said. “He’s truly here?”

“He is. All six feet of boyish good looks and charming smiles,” Alys said with a wink, and Aemond looked faintly irritated. She supposed it had been awhile since he’d had two women to gang up on him like this.

Sena pulled the bedsheet with her to get out of bed, holding it around her frame as a makeshift gown. “Well, we must get ready and go greet him then.”

Aemond and Alys’s eyes both caught on her hips, her breasts, the wild tangle of her hair. “My love,” Aemond huffed. “Can you at least wait until Alys has left to get changed-“

“You’ll tell her to do no such thing,” Alys Rivers said with a smirk, and Sena somehow turned a deeper shade of red. She looked around for her borrowed dress, then grimaced when she saw the rended remains of the garment on the floor. Alys followed her gaze and scowled. “Animal,” she said, glaring at the Prince. “I guess I should bring a dress and undergarments up for the Lady then?”

“You can leave them at the door and knock to let me know they’re there, nothing more. I can help her dress,” he said with a scowl.

“Awfully jealous, aren’t we? Is that why you’ve made your colour green?” Alys asked, shooting him a smirk. “Very well, then. I’ll bring clothes and see to it that Prince Daeron is comfortable while he waits.” With a nod to her employer and a wink to Sena, she swept from the room before Aemond could bark any more orders at her.

Sena giggled as the door clicked shut and she came to stand before Aemond. She let go of her grip on sheet so she could trace her fingers over his firm pectorals, his narrow waist, the trail of white hair on his belly. He caught her hands in his and pressed their joined hands to the thrumming space over his heart, his eyes hungrily taking in the strength of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, the softness of her tummy. “You know, she only does that because she knows it will get a reaction from you,” Sena told him softly. “She torments you, like your older brother.”

He cradled her face in his hands. “And like my older brother, if anything about you ever goes beyond jests, she will answer for it.”

“I only entertain her because I like seeing how it riles you,” she said with a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers. “You’re handsome all the time, but you’re so pretty when you’re grumpy. Your nose scrunches up like this,” she said, showing him an exaggerated version of the gesture.

He smirked, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “Or maybe you’re just hoping I’ll get angry enough to be rough with you, like you prefer.”

She smiled coyly. “Partly that, too.” His smile faltered for a second and she turned her head to kiss his palm in an attempt to soothe him. “What is it, Aemond? Tell me.”

“You don’t…” he sighed, considering his words, “regret last night? It was something of a point of no return, after all. As odious as it may be to consider you worth any less now… I have ruined you for any marriage you may have wished to make, Sena.”

“My maidenhead was mine to give. Freely, as I saw fit,” she murmured into his palm. She reached up to push his eyepatch up a little, revealing his injury again. How she was beginning to despise the patch and every moment of his true face that it took from her. “And there is only one man I would have given it to, same as there is only one man who will ever have my hand in marriage.”

He brought a hand up to cradle hers as she held his cheek, brushed at the lower end of his scar. He bowed his head and kissed her with a sigh.

They broke apart and she watched his eyes carefully, one purple, one blue. “Aemond… forgive me for prying into something you did not tell me yourself, but… how was it for you?” She asked. He looked a little confused. “It’s just, I know… your first experience with a woman was likely not a good one-“

Aemond’s jaw tightened and he laced their fingers together, huffing out a small breath. “They are not even the same thing in my mind, Sena,” he said. “One was something I did because I was told to, to appease Aegon, and because I could not have held off much longer without raising questions. The other was something I did because I wanted to, with someone I adore. I felt none of that fear with you last night. If anything, I felt brave. Finally giving you what you have asked for but I was too scared to give. Finally taking what I wanted, our family be damned.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Good. You know you can talk to me about it though, right?” She asked. “I know I did not raise it in the most sensitive way the first time, and in truth you likely never wanted me to know. But I would never judge, would never be squeamish or embarrassed or offended. I would just listen, listen to anything you wanted to tell me.”

He smiled and kissed her brow. “I do not deserve you.”

She reached up and made him look at her, holding his jaw steady. “Never say such a thing again, please. You deserve love just by your existence and it is the greatest privilege of my life to be one of many to give it to you.” He met her eyes a little uncertainly for a moment, then gave her a little nod, and that was enough.

Once Alys had delivered her clothes with a knock, they hurriedly helped each other dress. Sena secured half of Aemond’s hair up out of his face, then he laced her into her dress, hands lingering on her hips for a scant second. She did her best to tame her wild bed hair with the water from the basin, but eventually gave up. “C’mere,” Aemond murmured, and pulled a black hair ribbon from a box in his dresser.

She stood with her back to him and he gently gathered her curls up into a knot, smoothing them as best he could and securing them with a tight bow. He pressed a kiss to her bare neck and she shivered. 

Aemond hummed and grabbed a high-collared doublet from his things. “Best put that on. Don’t know if we need my little brother seeing your neck like that.” He helped her secure the doublet over her dress. It was a welcome extra layer - Harrenhal was so draughty - and it smelled like the rosemary oil he ran through his hair, and the brimstone scent of Vhagar. “I’ll be more careful next time. Mark you somewhere a little less… obvious.”

She smiled and pulled him in by his sword belt. “I don’t want you to be careful with me,” she said and pressed a kiss to his lips. He hummed into her lips. “But yes, I don’t see how it would be advantageous to make our bedroom activities the talk of the court.”

“Stop talking to me about bedroom activities right before we are to go greet my brother, my lady,” he chided, but laced his fingers through hers as he pulled them from the room.

They descended to the great hall. This room had once held the Great Council of 101 AC, somewhat kickstarting all of this mess, Sena thought grimly. In the shadowy corner of the room, she could see Lord Corlys fighting for the rights of his lady wife and their children. In the other, her father, as young as she was now, championing his brother as he would for the rest of King Viserys’s days. The blonde-haired young man in the centre of the room could have been her father from the back, truthfully, but when he spun on his heel at the sound of their approach, it was clear that his face was too kind to ever belong to Prince Daemon.

The grin on Daeron’s face as he took them in, approaching hand-in-hand, made Sena’s heart skip a beat. He was so grown, seven-and-ten now, dressed in battle-proven armour, standing nearly as tall as his brother. His was a soft and sweet beauty - more like Helaena than Aemond’s angular, striking features - and he approached his elder brother with a grin, pulling him into his strong arms with an oof from the Prince Regent. “Aemond,” Daeron sighed.

Aemond looked stiff for a second, then seemed to soften in Daeron’s embrace, clapping him on the back. “Daeron.” He was smiling.

Daeron pulled back and turned to Sena, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Come here,” she said with a smile and held her arms wide. Daeron stepped into her embrace gratefully and smacked a kiss on both of her cheeks. 

“My fierce and beautiful cousin,” he said. “It’s been far too many years. I see you’re a woman, now.”

Sena blushed a little at that, still feeling the ache in her hips with every step she took, but knew he could not possibly mean it in the way it sounded. Over Daeron’s shoulder, she watched Aemond smirk, looking a little proud of himself but averting his gaze so as not to catch her ire. “And you’re a man grown,” she said to Daeron, pulling back and brushing a lock of silver-blonde hair behind his ear. “What have they been feeding you in Oldtown? Stop growing!”

He laughed and Aemond smiled at them, taking in the sight of his brother and his lover embracing each other with a soft look in his eye. It seemed he was as relieved as she was, that they’d finally found a way to end all of this. “You don’t seem surprised to see the Lady Visenya out of her cell and at my side, brother,” he said with a lilting smirk.

Daeron returned the smirk and gave his elder brother a knowing look. “I knew that even you would see past your anger and eventually come to your senses, Aemond,” he said. He turned back to Sena. “I can only apologise for him, cousin. It seems Helaena and I did not leave many redeeming qualities for our brothers to fight over when we were born.”

“I have forgiven him,” Sena said, then tilted her head, considering, “for the most part, anyway.” Daeron laughed at that and Aemond raised an eyebrow. Sena linked one arm through each of the brothers’s and pulled both men over to the high table, where Alys had left water and food. If Daeron had ridden through the night, he must be famished. “Enough about us, though. Tell me about you! How have you been?”

Daeron went to pull out her chair for her, but Aemond batted his hands away and did it for her instead. Sena shook her head and smiled at her lover. “I have been well, Sena. Very well. Honestly, I think growing up away from the Red Keep has been my saving grace. The Gods only know what I would have turned out like if I had been raised in the grim plotting and intrigue of my father’s court.” She pushed the plate of food before him and smiled as he started to pick at it ravenously.

Aemond raised an eyebrow at Daeron from her other side. “Probably more like me,” he said darkly.

Sena reached out to take him by the hand and Daeron shook his head. “And how lucky I would have been, if that were the case. You have grown into a good man despite your childhood, brother. You are a triumph. Never forget it, no matter how much we tease you. We only do it to keep you humble.”

A light pink blush rose in Aemond’s cheeks, wonderfully endearing, and he avoided both their loving gazes as he sipped at his water. Sena turned the conversation back to Daeron in an attempt to lift some of the unwanted attention off of Aemond. “Well, what else do you have to tell me of your exploits? A dashing man like you, you must have every maiden in Oldtown throwing themselves in your path.” Aemond sputtered on his water and Daeron dipped his head, smiling. Sena looked at the two brothers, suddenly aware she was missing something. “What?”

“Sorry, love,” Aemond said, clearing his throat and giving her thigh a squeeze. “You have missed a lot, being away on Dragonstone all those years.” She gave him an imploring look and he tilted his head, smiling at her. “No doubt Daeron has every maiden in Oldtown swooning over him but my little brother prefers the company of dashing squires to blushing maidens.”

Sena raised her eyebrows, turning on Daeron, who was blushing a little. “I- why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, rounding on Aemond and landing a light slap on his upper arm.

Her lover chuckled. “Really, Sena, I did not mean to omit it, I’ve just… had a lot on my mind these last few years.”

She guessed she could understand that. She turned back to Daeron who was still avoiding her eye. Bless his soul, he was nervous to see her reaction. “It’s the training yard, isn’t it?” She asked with a coy grin, hoping to set him at ease. “Seeing them all hot and bothered in their leathers, swinging their big swords-“

Relieved, Daeron was laughing and Aemond let out an undignified sound. “And who have you been looking at, hot and bothered?” He demanded, nostrils flaring with irritation.

Sena and Daeron fell on each other, laughing at the elder brother’s obliviousness. “Stop. Stop right now,” Daeron choked out. “I really don’t need to hear a recount of you ogling my own brother in his training leathers, Sena.” That caused Aemond to turn red, and the other two only laughed harder.

“Honestly,” Sena said, clutching at her stomach. “I can’t believe no one told me! Last to know everything, as per usual. Does your mother know?”

Daeron grimaced. “Yes, but she pretends she does not,” he said. That explained his nervousness at her reaction, then. “But don’t let it put you off making whatever deal for me you can. I’ll marry whoever you need me to, if it will end the bloodshed and bring some peace to our family.”

So Aemond had told him, then, why they were here? Or he had guessed as much. “Thank you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hands. Come to think of it, there was a Baratheon maid who would soon need appeasing. “We will do whatever we can, though. To avoid that.”

Daeron shrugged. “Love matches are rare in our walk of life,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget it, just because you two have been stupidly lucky. Besides, if I could wed a woman like you or my sister, I would be the luckiest man alive to call her my friend and wife.”

Sena smiled at him. “You’re a flatterer,” she said.

He shrugged and grinned. “Enough about me. I’m guessing I’m here because you two have hatched some plan to save all our mortal souls?”

It was an easy enough plan to explain to him and Daeron liked it. Especially the part about her landing Vermithor in the Eyrie and demanding fealty. He smirked at that. “And if this works and we can get our sister to the negotiations, what then?”

Sena looked at Aemond and Aemond looked back at her. “We haven’t exactly decided on that part,” she said with a wince. She had been thinking about this too, during all those days staring out of windows during captivity. “I think Aegon is the only option for the throne.” Aemond and Daeron threw her horrified looks and she quickly corrected herself. “My brother, not yours. I think we need to betroth him to Jaehaera, unite Rhaenyra and Aegon the Elder’s claims.”

The expression on Daeron’s face softened a little at that, but he still looked uneasy. “He’s a little boy, Sena. Do we really need a regency right now?” Aemond looked equally uneasy at the prospect.

Sena held up her hands. “We have no other options,” she said. “Your family will not accept Rhaenyra or even Joffrey on the throne, and my family will never bow to Aegon, wherever he is right now. Anyone else is too far down the order of succession. Neither of you two can be Kings, you have no impartiality in this war, Rhaenyra would never bow to you.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow. “Not to be a pig, but following previous precedents of men succeeding before women, Aemond is Aegon’s heir, not Jaehaera.”

Sena glowered at Daeron, who held his hands up in resignation. Aemond smirked at his brother’s quick surrender. He turned his eye on Sena. “We are all willing to make sacrifices to end this, my lady. You are forsaking your family by even discussing this. Daeron has consented to marrying whom he must. It only seems right that I lay aside my claim to the throne, for the greater good of the family.”

Sena reached across the gap between them and took his hand in her’s, twining their fingers together. “And we will find a way to repay you,” she said.

He smiled and shook his head softly. “I will consider the debt repaid in full when you become my wife.”

Sena’s heart leapt in her chest and she could not help herself, reaching across the distance between them and pulling him in for a kiss. Aemond melted into her, dragging his fingers along her jaw and sighed happily.

“So we’re trying to make my breakfast reappear, are we?” Daeron questioned behind them.

Aemond growled a sharp “Fuck off,” at his brother, earning him a burst of laughter, and pulled Sena back in for another kiss.

-----

On her own, Sena took in the sight of the Vale from far above. Her birthplace, the place she had spent her early years. It hurt her to think she had such little true memory of it, next to no connection to her mother. The first place she remembered being happy, the first place she remembered feeling loved was King’s Landing.

Vermithor had not been too happy to see her, when she arrived at the shores of the God’s Eye with Aemond. But he had been cowed by Vhagar, on his best behaviour, and Aemond had well warned him. “Ōdrikagon zirȳla rȳ aōha zūgagon,” he had told the great bronze beast, resting a hand on his maw. Hurt her at your peril. Vhagar rumbled low in her chest to second the warning.

Aemond had kissed Sena sweetly. “You look beautiful,” he said, “like a Conqueror.”

She smiled. He had returned her armour and sword to her, but before they had left, she had made a small request of Harrenhal’s blacksmith. The crimson dragon of her house had been scraped from the inky dark breastplate and replaced with an inlay of the same three-headed dragon, this time wrought in bronze. She would have to thank Aegon for naming her so when they finally found him. It was fitting, she thought, her father’s sigil wrought in her mother’s colours, but still uniquely hers. “Thank you, my love,” she said. “I just hope Lady Jeyne thinks so, as well.”

He grimaced. “I would feel better about this if I was coming with you.”

She kissed him again. For the sake of thoroughness. “The Arryns are no friends of yours. Besides, you need to marshal your armies, head for King’s Landing with Daeron and Ser Criston.”

He gripped her by the elbows, pulling her close. “Meet me there, please.”

She nodded. “With a fleet.”

“I don’t care if you bring Nymeria’s fleet of ten thousand ships or a fishing boat, just… be there,” he said. Kissed her once more for good measure.

Now, she circled low over the Eyrie. With Joffrey brought south to King’s Landing as the new Prince of Dragonstone, the Eyrie was not defended by dragons save for Rhaena’s hatchling, Morning. So despite the distant shouting and scurrying of soldiers below, there was no resistance when Vermithor landed on the castle walls that boxed in the courtyard. Sena descended from dragonback with what grace she could muster. “Kirimvose, raqiros,” she said, laying one hand on Vermithor’s vast neck. Thank you, friend. His resulting whicker was not entirely contemptuous. She would take it as progress.

The lords and ladies of Lady Jeyne’s court were rushing into the courtyard as she descended from the wall, pulling her dragonhide gloves from her hands with her teeth. Aemond had knotted one of his own hair ribbons into her hair, holding half of it up from her face, and she wished he was here, but she steeled herself and turned to face the belligerent courtiers. “My lords and ladies,” she greeted, projecting her voice loud and clear. Like Queen Alicent would, like Queen Rhaenyra would, like Princess Rhaenys would. She scanned the assembling crowd for familiar heraldry. Corbray, Redfort, Baelish… Royce. She met eyes with the man who must be some relation of hers and inclined her head.

“What is the meaning of this?” A woman asked sharply, rushing through the crowd who quickly split for her. “Make yourself known, dragonrider. Now.”

Sena inclined her head, taking in the soaring falcon sigil on the shields of the guards who rushed behind her. “Lady Arryn, it is an honour for you to host me.”

“You were not invited,” the woman hissed. “I won’t ask again. Make yourself known, girl.”

“I-“ Sena opened her mouth.

“Sena?”

Sena’s head whipped towards the left entrance to the courtyard and her breath caught in her throat. “Rhaena.”

They stood, staring at each other for a second. Rhaena looked so beautiful, grown and womanly in her gown, with her hair combed out and loose, a beautiful white halo. Then, Rhaena could take it no longer, and rushed forward into her arms.

Sena caught her with an oof, suddenly glad she was wearing steel plate armour, and pulled her baby sister close. “Oh Rhaena,” she said, and pressed a kiss to her head.

Rhaena pulled back, holding her by the arms. “Look at you! My warrior sister,” she said, taking in her armour. “How? How are you here?”

Lady Jeyne Arryn cleared her throat behind them, and Sena turned to see most of the court staring at her. Rhaena kept a firm grip of her hand. “Prince Daemon’s other daughter, then, I take it?”

Sena bowed at her waist. Curtseys did not look so good without skirts, she had learned. “Visenya of House Targaryen, my lady. Daughter of Prince Daemon… and Lady Rhea Royce.”

There was a slight intake of breath around her and Lady Jeyne’s countenance paled. Yes, that one, Sena thought grimly. The one you disinherited.

Lady Jeyne drew a steadying breath. “I would invite you to take audience in my hall, but I do not think your friend would fit,” she eyed Vermithor warily. “Forgive the harshness of my words. House Arryn does not have a good history of dragonriders descending from the sky upon us. Especially not women named Visenya.”

Sena repressed a small smile. “Forgive me, my lady. I would normally never assume to turn up unannounced, but it was urgent.”

Lady Jeyne nodded. “These are dark times indeed,” she said. “If it is urgent, have at it. But know that House Arryn is unfaltering in its commitment to our rightful queen, and we extend our deepest sympathies at the loss of Prince Jacaerys.”

Sena gave her a grateful nod but drew a bracing breath nevertheless. “Truthfully, I am not here on Queen Rhaenyra’s business, my lady. But rather… business of the realm.”

“Have out with it, my lady. We will hear what you have to say.”

Sena gritted her teeth. “We- members of my House and I… have grown tired of this war. We mean to sue for peace.” 

There was a wave of titters around her, and Rhaena gripped her hand tighter. “You mean to disobey your queen?” Lady Jeyne asked, shocked.

“I mean to negotiate with my queen,” Sena corrected. “As we speak, the armies of Aegon II are approaching King’s Landing to lay siege. The plan is to sue for peace. No more bloodshed, no more hunger, no more tyranny.”

Lady Jeyne raised her eyebrows. “So it is the Usurper you have jumped into bed with, my lady?”

Sena winced. This was not going how she had imagined it in her head. She turned to her sister. “Rhaena,” she said. “Help me. Aemond, Daeron and I… we are trying to put an end to this. We have a plan. No one else has to die, sister. Not Baela or Joffrey or Aegon. No more orphans, no more widows.”

Rhaena searched her eyes with her own identical violet ones, looking conflicted. “Sena,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “This is treason, turning against the Queen. You are talking of treason.”

“Not against,” Sena insisted, squeezing her hand. “I am not turning against anyone. This war has been black and green, Rhaenyra and Aegon - what if it doesn’t have to be that way? What if there is a third way-“

“You may have chosen the incorrect audience, my lady,” Lady Jeyne broke in. “The Vale of Arryn remains relatively untouched by war. We are happy to keep supporting the Queen from a distance.”

Sena bit her lip, and turned to the assembled lords and ladies. “Lord Waxley’s lands are not,” she said loudly, fixing eye contact with a man whose doublet was emblazoned with candles burning on a grey field. “We lost a dragon at Rook’s Rest, my lord. I hear King Aegon’s Sunfyre still prowls the fields, flightless. I bet you could see it happen from the top of your tower.” She turned her head again. “Lord Grafton! How does Gulltown fair, with the Narrow Sea beset on all sides by war galleys, pirates, the Triarchy? Is food and wine still flowing as freely as before? Has it started to empty your pockets? Even you, Lady Arryn. My sister’s dragon is, what, the size of a cat at this point? Today, it was a friend who descended from the sky upon you. Tomorrow, it might not be. I know my father for one does not have kind things to say of you-“

“All the more reason not to anger him, my lady.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “My father is a tyrant. He will find cause to be angry, whether you give it to him or not. He humiliated my lady mother, dragged House Royce’s name through the dirt, insulted your authority and now you bow down to him and avoid angering him? Whatever happened to as high as honour?”

Lady Jeyne turned a bright shade of red at that, and Rhaena gripped her hand, and Sena knew she had her. “Interesting for the daughter of a slain woman and her murderer to talk of honour,” she bit out, and the lords and ladies around her drew breath.

Sena clenched her jaw. She had always known it. Deep down. “My honour does not come from my name or the people who brought me into this world, my lady. My honour comes from my love - for this land, for its people, for my family. My honour comes from what I am willing to give up to ensure the safety of the people I care about and the people I am responsible for protecting.”

“You and I both, Lady Visenya. The honour of House Arryn is not just words, it is action,” Lady Jeyne bit out.

Sena nodded. “You recall, don’t you? What I had taken from me? When Lady Rhea died, I lost a mother, yes. But I also lost the lands and title I was born to. I lost Runestone. And now I ride the second-largest living dragon in the world and I have everything I could need to take it back. Armies, allies, you name it.”

Rhaena was staring at her, wide eyed. “For a negotiation, this is sounding suspiciously like a threat, my lady,” Lady Jeyne snapped.

“’Tis not a threat, but a bargain,” Sena said. She drew a deep breath, prayed her mother would forgive her. “Join me in ending this cruel war. Join me in bringing about a new era of peace for the Seven Kingdoms and I will relinquish all claim to my birthright. You need never see me or hear from me again if you do not wish it.”

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped, but Sena’s mind was made up. They must all make sacrifices. This was hers.

Lady Jeyne looked to one of the lords. “What say you, Lord Allard?”

The man she looked to was older than Sena, with a gruff beard and the chain that fastened his cloak was bronze and runic. Sena inclined her head to him. “Cousin,” she said.

Lord Allard studied her, and she could tell from his darting brown eyes that he was shrewd. That gave her hope. “Cousin,” he said, and nodded. He turned back to Lady Jeyne. “It is true, my Lady. Runestone is already starting to feel the strain of the war. And Lady Visenya’s standing claim to my seat remains a substantial concern to me. I would not be doing right by my house if I did not consider her proposal. So long as- so long as her surrender of her claim to Runestone extends to all children of her body. No child bearing the name Targaryen or her Lord husband’s name shall ever lay claim to Runestone again.”

That pinched at something deep in Sena. Signing away the rights of children she did not even have yet. She fixed her unknown cousin with a hard look. Lady Jeyne was waiting for her. It was now or never.

In the end, it was not truly a choice. The only man who would ever father children on her would be Aemond, and that was not even a possibility without this deal.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped. “Are you sure about this? Your mother’s seat? Your childhood home?”

Sena turned to Rhaena and brushed her hair from her face. “My childhood homes are King’s Landing and Dragonstone, sweet. And I doubt I will live long enough to see either again if I let this continue. Team Dragonstone, remember?”

Rhaena’s eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt thinking of Jace and Luke. She nodded shakily. “Team Dragonstone.”

Sena turned back to Lady Jeyne and Lord Allard, her heart in her throat. “In return for your fleet and your support, I forsake my claim to Runestone and the claim of all children of my body. Let the lords and ladies of the Vale and the honour of House Arryn play witness to the agreement.”

Lady Jeyne looked to Lord Allard, then back to Sena, and nodded stiffly. “I believe we have a deal.”

-----

The siege of King’s Landing was long and arduous. Sena took every moment that the city did not go up in flames or dragons did not fall on them from the sky as a victory.

She escorted the Arryn blockade to Blackwater Bay from dragonback, then descended on the field outside the city gates where Aemond’s armies were amassed, blocking every route in and out of the city. Vermithor circled once, twice, then set her down next to a vibrant blue dragon who bore the name Tessarion.

No sooner was she down from Vermithor’s back than Daeron was pulling her into a crushing hug. “Look at that! Look at all those ships! Bloody genius. Gods, if Aemond gets cold feet, I will wed you, Sena!”

Sena laughed raucously and beat on his chest until he set her down. “Show some respect! You are manhandling the Bronze Dragon, I’ll have you know!”

Daeron grinned. “Not Lady of Runestone?” He asked in a softer tone.

She shook her head gently. “We all must make sacrifices, sweet boy.”

He nodded grimly and bent to kiss her cheek. “It will be worth it, Sena. Once we’re all sat around one long table and bickering about… jousting versus melee, or whatever it is proper families bicker about.”

She grinned. “We can learn together, Daeron.”

He nodded, then his eyes flicked over her shoulder. “Might want to turn around before he tackles you, dear cousin.”

“What?” Sena said, spinning around.

Aemond was some feet away, looking at her with a soft, disbelieving look. Handsome in his armour and eyepatch. “You did it.”

Sena gave him a soft, teasing smile. “You doubted me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… live in awe of you. Every day.”

She blushed violently. “Come here, fool,” she said, reaching out to him.

He met her halfway and pulled her flush against him. “Issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Ñuha prūmia,” she murmured into his neck. My heart.

Aemond, Daeron and Ser Criston had closed off all entry points to the capital before she had arrived, by the time the Arryn fleet had been assembled. Their best reports said that the capital was already struggling before they arrived, but the blockaded roads and besieging army had applied pressure. Queen Alicent had enlisted her friends in the faith, and there was a preacher by the name of the Shepherd calling for Rhaenyra’s overthrowing on every street corner where he would be heard, drawing large flocks of the faithful. The Arryn fleet was like a boot on the neck, sealing the capital off from Velaryon relief. King’s Landing began to choke. Sena tried to hold the guilt of it at bay. So much suffering for no good reason, it made her sick.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Aemond caught her one day after many weeks of sitting and waiting, staring up at the besieged city’s walls while she tended to Vermithor. Inside those walls were Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, Prince Joffrey. Helaena, Alicent, Rhaenys. Addam Velaryon and his brother Alyn and the Nettles girl. All her blood, at some point or another. Not to mention the suffering of the smallfolk. As soon as the city was breached, she would seek out this Marigold woman, make sure she was safe-

“We are leading armies, Aemond,” she said and gave him a forced smile. “I reckon some thinking is probably in order.”

He gave her a considering shrug, leaning against Vermithor’s haunches like he belonged there. He had a way with dragons. She had never seen one of them snap at him. “There’s thinking and there’s overthinking. One is required, the other is pointlessly exhausting. Maybe… I could distract you, my love?”

She shook her head, laughing. “Incorrigible!” She exclaimed. “I’m still sore from this morning, Aemond.” He had awoken her on his camp bed with his tongue inside of her, plundering between her legs. She had moaned his name as he had fucked her slow and sweet, then spilling his seed on her stomach. They should probably be more mindful of their reputations, should probably not be seen coming and going from each other’s tents at all hours. But they were in this together now, this ultimate betrayal, and what was the saying the smallfolk used? In for a copper, in for a dragon?

“This is a siege, Sena. There’s little else to do but… fool around, let you practice your skills on me,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head at him, affronted. “I’ll practice my swordplay skills on you if you’re not careful, my Prince,” she said with a smirk.

He grinned and went to pull her into his arms, ready to say something when-

“My Prince! My Lady!” It was Jarrad. Aemond had made sure the enlisted man was Sena’s personal guard when she arrived back from the Vale. 

Sena turned in the Prince’s arms to the tall man. “Yes, Jarrad?”

Jarrad looked frankly alarmed and red in the face, like he had been running in full plate armour. “There’s word! From the Red Keep! A request for parlay, m’lady!”

“Shit,” she swore, and she and Aemond jumped to attention, following after Jarrad swiftly, back to her pavilion.

It was a letter, not unlike the one Aegon had sent her many moons ago at Rook’s Rest, but this time in her father’s distinctive jagged hand. It made Sena’s throat close.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen, Protector of the Realm request the presence of Prince Aemond Targaryen and Lady Visenya Targaryen at parley. The Queen and her consort request the meeting is held on neutral ground. If this is amenable, a date, time and place should be proposed, and the Queen and Prince shall follow on dragonback to the parley.

Sena sucked in a long breath of air through her teeth. This was it. They were finally getting Rhaenyra to the table. She exchanged a look with Aemond - he looked as apprehensive as she felt - and penned her affirmative reply.

Daeron and Ser Criston were not happy when they told them. “Why just the two of you? It stinks,” Daeron said with a grimace.

“I do not think they would meet us and you and Ser Criston,” Sena said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her crooked nose. The fire in the pavilion was burning low.

Aemond rested a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “Do not worry, brother. Caraxes and Syrax are no match for Vhagar and Vermithor.”

Daeron frowned. “I’m not worried about our odds, brother. I’m worried about one or both of you getting hurt or being killed.”

“I second that,” Ser Criston said, giving Prince Aemond a hard look. “Your mother would not sanction this meeting.”

Aemond clenched his jaw. “My mother is not here, Ser. That is what I am trying to fix.”

“Every moment we spend bickering about this is another moment where innocent men, women and children in Fleabottom are going hungry because of us,” Sena said with steel in her voice. “Another moment where Queen Alicent is in chains and Helaena is alone and Aegon is in hiding.”

Aemond looked to her then turned back to his brother and his mentor. “When we chose this course of action, we made a commitment. A commitment to this realm, to her people, to our family. We end this or we die trying. If anything should happen to me… or the Lady Visenya,” he said through gritted teeth, “I expect you to uphold that. I am not asking, Sers.”

Daeron and Ser Criston exchanged a hard look, but finally conceded.

-----

The Isle of Faces was a strange place. At the heart of the God’s Eye, it was an eerie, magical isle, the last place south of the Neck where weirwoods grew. The ghostly trees of the First Men’s faith watched Sena with their weeping eyes as she passed and the clink of her plate mail was the only sound for miles, it seemed. She laid her hand on one of the trunks, holding the gaze of a face twisted in horror. Something as old and unnameable as the life-force in the dragons flowed beneath her hand.

“I do not like this place,” Aemond’s voice came behind her, a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“No,” she breathed. “We do not belong. It is of the old world. A time before us, before our name. And it will long outlive us.”

She turned back and saw him standing still on the shore, his hands on Vhagar’s maw. He lingered by their dragons while she walked in the weirwood trees. The crown of the Conqueror was heavy on his brow. He held a tension in his jaw and Sena’s teeth ached in sympathy for his. “You have the blood of the First Men,” he pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. It was true, and her dark hair and long face were evidence of it. “You have the blood of the Hightower but you still get seasick.”

That made him smirk, at least. “And you’ll never let me forget it.”

She smiled. “Come,” she said, reaching out a hand to him. “Caraxes and Syrax descended at the other side of the island. I think we’re supposed to meet them in the middle.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow and finally stepped away from his dragon, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “Symbolic,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head and looked back at Vermithor, who was curled on his haunches down the shore from Vhagar. “If this comes to a fight…” she said with a sigh, “I do not fancy my chances on him against my father.”

Aemond turned with her to look back at the great bronze beast. “Dragons as old and grand as ours respect strength, Sena. Power, boldness. You hold all those qualities. You must only show him that. He likes you more than you think he does, anyway.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Does he?”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Aemond said. “He will never love you and obey you like he would have if you had raised him from a hatchling, or if you were first to claim him. But that is the price we pay for being their riders. If you wish to ride one of the largest, most ferocious beasts in the known world, you must accept that you will never master them, not truly.”

She nodded. Drew a deep breath. “Are you ready?” She asked.

He sighed and looked deep into the forest, his eye darting this way and that. “No. But we are here now.”

There was a carpet of leaves underfoot that made their footfall impossibly quiet as they walked on into the forest. It was an eerie place. The canopy overhead was full of blood-red, mottled brown, vibrant green. The air was so still she felt she disturbed it just by moving. There was no sign of life, no chittering creatures or birdsong. No sign of any living thing ever having been here until they stumbled across stones that looked too arranged to be natural.

Large, crumbled stones in a clearing that might have once held up a ceiling or a monument. An impossibly old and weathered flat rock that could have been a table. Runes twisted around it in the tongue of the First Men, the same runes that emblazoned and protected the armour of her mother’s house.

“This is where the First Men and the children of the forest signed their pact, ending the wars of the Dawn Age,” Aemond said beside her, looking around in wonder. “They carved the faces in the weirwood trees, so the Gods might bear witness.”

Sena watched him, the spark in his eye, the small smile on his lips. “We can come back another time, in peace time. So you might take it in properly.”

He shook his head. “No one approaches this isle without the will of the Gods, Sena. We will not be allowed back.”

She drew a breath and met the eye of a weeping weirwood. “So they are willing us to be here today? The Gods are smiling on us, then.”

“There are no Gods,” came a voice, and Sena and Aemond looked up sharply. “Only us.”

Her father was taller, more imposing than she remembered seeing him last. His armour was weathered and beaten, his hair twisted back from his face in fine braids. To his left was Rhaenyra, the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator glimmering on her brow. She looked as though she had not slept in the months since Jacaerys had died. “Father,” Sena breathed, watching Prince Daemon with hard eyes as the Prince and the Queen drew level with them.

“Daughter,” he said, then inclined his head, “nephew.”

“Uncle,” Aemond said. “Sister.”

“You are no blood of mine,” Rhaenyra said coldly. She could not even stand to look at him.

Sena sighed and leaned forward on the carved stone, hands spread wide. “Let us start as we mean to go on,” she said, eyeing Rhaenyra wearily. Aemond was not looking at his sister, though, but at her father. His eye was trained on the small, vertical scar on Prince Daemon’s neck, where Sena had struck him. He did not betray it on his features, but Sena knew Aemond well enough to know he found it amusing. 

Prince Daemon arched one brow. “And how would that be?”

“With respect,” Sena said. “And a mind for peace.”

Daemon scoffed. “How peaceful is a siege? How peaceful is descending upon the Eyrie with a stolen dragon?”

She glared at him. “Vermithor serves me,” she bit out, “and you lost my loyalty the day you murdered Jaehaerys.”

Daemon was eyeing her with amusement, his arms held behind his back. Dark Sister glinted on his hip, the ruby on the cross-guard flashing at Sena. “Yet you turn cloak to the man who murdered your own stepbrother.”

Rhaenyra stiffened and Aemond watched them both steadily, betraying no emotion. 

“I’m on no side, father. If I have chosen anything or anyone, it is our House, our family,” Sena said stiffly. She turned her gaze to Rhaenyra. “Surely you can see that, cousin? After we have all lost so much, all we want is for this to end.”

Rhaenyra glared at her and it sent a chill through Sena. “It will end as soon as the traitors bend the knee and accept me as their rightful queen.”

To Aemond’s credit, he bit his tongue.

“You know that is not possible, Rhaenyra,” Sena said. She was so tense her jaw was aching, her shoulders were bunched up. “They will not lay down their lives at your mercy anymore than you would lay down yours or Joffrey’s or Aegon’s at theirs.”

“It is not supposed to be a choice,” Rhaenyra said, “whether you pay homage to the ruler you are sworn to.”

Aemond shook his head. “I never swore to you, sister,” he said, calm and collected. “Nor will I allow you to place our family’s crown on the head of a bastard.”

“Get their names out of your mouth,” Rhaenyra spat. “Murderer.”

Aemond said nothing, just turned his eye on Prince Daemon. Sena’s father held his eye with interest.

“However we feel about each other, we are at an impasse,” Sena said. “Neither side will kneel to the other. Right now, the largest standing army in Westeros lays siege to King’s Landing. Blackwater Bay is cut off to you by the Arryn fleet and our dragons rival yours equally if we were to meet in the air. The people are starving and beginning to riot, I would wager. And we do not have the stamina or the will to keep fighting this war. If our forces meet now on the field, it will be a bloodbath,” Sena said, eyeing both her father and her stepmother. “More of our children, brothers, sisters will die. More of our dragons. Maybe all of them. And our House, already considerably slimmed at this point, dwindles to nothing and falls. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but know that every day this drags on, we are penning our own downfall.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze with cold, lilac eyes. She did not speak, did not move.

“There is an answer that leaves everyone happy, though. So we may end this with what humanity we have left,” Sena said.

Daemon barked a laugh. “Oh, do tell, clever girl. What plot have you two hatched in bed together that you think is so cunning?”

Sena did not look at her father, just held Rhaenyra’s gaze. “Lay your crown on your son Aegon’s head, Rhaenyra,” she said. “Wed him to Jaehaera. Unite your claim and your brother’s.”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes. “I will not wed my child to my brother’s spawn-“

“Do not think of her as Aegon’s, then. Think of her as Helaena’s. Think of this as the way you will leave your little sister with one living child. I am begging you,” Sena said. Her hands trembled on the runes carved on the table. Her gut was twisting as Rhaenyra watched her with an impenetrable gaze.

Rhaenyra avoided that altogether, shaking her head. “Joffrey is my heir, my eldest living child-“

“He is also the last heir to Driftmark,” Sena interrupted. She had spent long hours thinking about this, how she could save the sweet boy, Jace and Luke’s brother from the stain of bastardy. “Unless you wish that seat to be passed to Ser Laenor’s bastards, or whoever Addam and Alyn of Hull are. And Baela and Rhaena will suffer the same humiliation we have in the process, you and I and Princess Rhaenys. Watching themselves get passed over for the first person with a speck of the right blood and a cock in their trousers. Think about it, Rhaenyra. One cannot be Lord of the Tides and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Make Joffrey Lord of the Tides and make Aegon King.” She was begging Rhaenyra with her eyes to go for it. It was purely saving face, but it could work if they presented a united front on it.

Rhaenyra at last turned her gaze on Aemond. “What do you think of this?” She asked.

Daemon made an affronted sound. “You cannot seriously be considering this, Rhaenyra-“

Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence her husband. Sena bit back a smile. “This plan disinherits you too, brother.”

“We all must make sacrifices,” Aemond looked at his sister, considering carefully. “It makes sense. Unites your side and mine. You will get no complaint from my brother, he never wanted the crown. Whatever you think of him, he only ever did it to keep our heads off the block. And if Daeron and I kneel to your son, my mother will follow suit. Your trueborn son and the daughter of our father’s eldest boy. We won’t do better than that.”

“No, you won’t,” Daemon sneered. “Can’t you see this for what it is, Rhaenyra? They know they are beaten and they are trying desperately to keep their heads.”

“It is us who is laying siege to your seat, father,” Sena ground out. “It is your city that starves, primed to turn on you at a moment’s notice. Your throne sits on pitch-soaked kindling, ready to burn.”

Daemon was glaring at her, grinding his teeth together. Rhaenyra took a deep breath. Collected herself. She looked so weary, even more bowed and bent than Aemond. “Aegon is just a boy. He will need a regent.”

“And we will find him one,” Sena said. “Someone as neutral as we can find, while still being trustworthy and honourable. I was thinking maybe Princess Rhaenys or Lord Cregan Stark, he is said to have a good, sharp head on his shoulders-“

“No. If you make this plan, you will see it through to the end, Sena,” Rhaenyra said sharply. Stiffly, she rose her hands to her head. The golden crown of the Conciliator, emblazoned with the eight coats-of-arms of the Great Houses rose from her brow and rested on the stone before Sena. The runes of Sena’s forebears seemed to glimmer on the ancient rock. “If you are to put my son on the throne, you will protect him with your life. You will keep my brothers and Alicent Hightower true. And you will bear the weight of that crown until Aegon’s coming of age.”

The world seemed to tilt unevenly before her. Fear gripped her insides like ice water.

If Rhaenyra noticed how she blanched, though, she showed no sympathy. “I was younger than you are now when my father made me Princess of Dragonstone,” she said. “I once told you to be a Lady of our House is to be godlike. You shoulder the responsibilities no one else has to, the fears and worries of every soul who kneels to your banners. You place crowns on the brows of your brothers, your husbands, your sons and kiss them as you send them off to war… send them off to die,” there was a slight tremble in her voice and Sena swallowed hard. “You will not put a crown on Aegon’s head unless you are willing to put one on your own, Visenya, and understand what it means.”

Sena met Rhaenyra’s eye, blinked slowly. She took a deep breath and reached out a trembling hand. The crown was cool to the touch under her hand.

She turned her head and looked to Aemond. He reached up and lifted his own crown from his head. As soon as the steel-and-rubies lifted from his brow, he looked younger, lighter. He placed the crown down next to the golden one. Reached his hand out and touched Sena’s, giving her a smile. “Try one on for size. I think you’ll find it fits you better than it did me.”

Sena’s heart leapt and she looked between Rhaenyra and Aemond. They looked more alike right now than she had ever seen them. She could see her uncle in both their features. To Sena’s shock, they even met each other’s gazes and shared a look. Not one of love but also not one of hatred. Maybe understanding. 

Her chest fluttered. They were really going to do this, she realised. They were going to end this. A pit formed in her stomach as she looked down to the precious, historic circlets before her. All that stood between them and peace was her. She just needed to find her courage, find her steel and don a crown-

“How sweet. I love happily ever afters,” Daemon’s voice pierced the fog. He was grinning widely, maliciously at his daughter. “The simpering of women and cripples. It’s heartwarming.”

Sena’s hand tightened into a fist on the stone. Aemond laid a hand over her fist, willing her to remain calm, giving her a look. They were so close. It was so different from their usual patterns, her rage and his calm, it was strange. “Watch your tongue, father,” she warned and eyed the scar on his neck, “or I will finish what I started.”

Rhaenyra drew a sharp breath and Aemond squeezed her hand. Daemon leered at her. “There she is. My angry, wild-thing of a daughter. No more suited to ruling a kingdom than she would be to ruling Runestone. That is how you got the Arryns onside, isn’t it? Trading away Runestone? So directionless and small and scared you can’t even be the Lady of sheep and self-importance.”

“I did what I had to do to stop you from slaughtering every last person I care about, father,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm to her ears. “I will never apologise for that but you will never understand it because you have never thought of anyone but yourself. Here I am, begging you to let me put a crown on your son’s head and all you can see is that you have not won.”

He shook his head, grinning wryly. “No, you’re right, why can I not just be glad my lady wife is trading away everything I have done for her, everything I have given my life to win for her. Give it all away to you, a simpering and preening, pathetic little whore who thinks herself clever, who cannot even bring herself to be grateful I lowered myself to fucking her cunt mother-“

“Say another word and I’ll open your throat, Uncle,” Aemond hissed.

“Daemon-“ Rhaenyra snapped.

“No, let him,” Sena said, regarding her father with a small smile. “It’s all he has. His acid. His vitriol. He has had no true power in a long time. No one trusts him with it, not even his own brother.” She felt a strange sense of power flow through her as her father fumbled for whatever barbs he could throw at her. She had won. “Go on, father. Call me a whore for falling in love with someone who sees me, all of me. Demean the woman you murdered because she refused to simper and bend to your will. Call me foolish when all I have ever done is refuse to see the world with the same hatred in my soul as you do. I am everything you wish you were and you fucking hate it.”

Aemond’s fingers twined into hers. Rhaenyra was watching her with wide eyes.

“I have wished for many things in my life. I have wished to be rid of you more than once. But I have never wished to be like you, weak and scared as you are.” Her father scoffed, looked at his wife and threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it, then? All of this, Jacaerys and Lucerys, your father- my brother, just to give up and give in? Just like that?” Rhaenyra did not look at him. She looked like she was composing herself, pulling herself tall, shrugging off the weight of the crown. “Brilliant. Fucking perfect. I couldn’t make a better plan myself - the realm will be ruled by an infant and a green girl who will lose her mind a week of each month with moon blood.”

Aemond glowered at him, ready to say something, but Sena laid a hand on his arm to stop him, suddenly feeling far away.

Her stomach dropped.

Months making plans, flying north, sailing south, laying siege…

Aemond was none the wiser, glaring at her father, but Rhaenyra was watching her with an odd look. Lilac eyes tracked the slack expression on Sena’s features, her hold on Aemond. “Sena…” she breathed, “when did you last bleed?” 

Daemon looked to his wife, then back at his daughter. Then turned cold violet eyes on Aemond.

A cold sense of realisation flooded through Sena like a tide.

Her moon blood.

She had been so busy flying from one end of the realm to the other, leading an army, sitting on war councils, she had not even noticed. Surrounded by men, men and more men, she had not even thought. All it would have taken was a single fucking woman in the entire camp to grimace and complain about cramp in her stomach. And the nausea in the mornings - she had thought it to be nerves. The constant blanket of dread that had laid over her for a year now.

She looked to Aemond, and Aemond caught the panicked look on her face, and realisation finally started to dawn on his. His eye went wide. “When did you last bleed?”

There was a lump the size of a peach pit in her throat. “Before-“ she croaked, “Before Harrenhal.”

Aemond looked as though he had seen a ghost. “But-” he said. “We were careful.” It was true. They had been so careful. Even in their frenzy, their desperation to get to learn every part of each other, they had been careful, knowing this war was no place for a babe. Aemond spent on her stomach, her back, in her mouth, never inside her-

“That first night,” she breathed with a pang of shock. That first night, when they had all spoken of moon tea, twice or three times. But they had also been plotting to end a war, moving their pieces into place. “There was Alys and Daeron and all our plans- I forgot.”

Aemond’s hands were shaking as he reached out to her. “Sena,” he whispered. “Do not jest.”

She laid a hand against her stomach, feeling for a slight curve but it was impossible to tell over her armour. But she was thickening, she had noticed it. She had thought it was having no time to train, being stressed, filling out her woman’s figure. Aemond had noticed it because he liked it, liked her tummy and her thighs. Her breasts, full and tender, painful most days. She had thought it was just stress and her fertility and Aemond’s ministrations, but no. This was not a jest. She sent a petrified look at her lover. “Aemond,” she breathed.

“It’s okay,” he said, placing a hand over hers, over her belly. “It’s better than okay. Look at me, love. It’s wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Prince Daemon’s eyes were fixed on their hands on her belly. Her belly, where she was growing a babe- “And thank you. For finally giving me the excuse.”

The sound of Dark Sister being drawn from her sheath rung around the clearing like a bell tolling a death knell.

Aemond reached for his own sword.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra barked, but it was no use. She had no control over him and she knew it.

Horrible, horrible dread filled Sena. “Take one step closer and I’ll kill you myself, father.”

“No,” Aemond snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get behind me.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra demanded, “stop this right now. That is my brother. Your daughter.”

But Daemon was not listening to his wife, his queen. He rounded the stone where the First Men and the children of the forest had brokered their peace, thousands of years ago. They had come so close to doing the same. “You have cheated death too many times, nephew,” he said. 

Aemond drew his sword, holding one arm out around Sena, keeping her back. “And I will do it once more,” he said, “so I may love my child like you never did.”

Their steel clashed and Sena screamed for them to stop, but Rhaenyra had wrapped her arms around her middle, pulling her sharply back from the duel. “No! No!” She begged as Daemon brought his blade down hard on Aemond and he feinted out of the way. She pulled at Rhaenyra’s grasp, twisting in her arms, but the former queen would not budge.

“Do not be foolish,” Rhaenyra ground out, “you have more to defend than yourself now.”

Sena’s blood thundered in her ears as her father struck and slashed with vicious intent. Battle-worn and tested, wielding Valyrian steel, with more than twice Aemond’s years. Prince Daemon was ferocious and Aemond met him with an equal venom, meeting every strike, dancing around the older man.

Daemon feinted, twisted himself around Aemond, then swung down on Aemond’s blind side. Sena screamed, “Aemond!” And he caught Dark Sister’s blade right at the last second. Her blood ran cold. Prince Daemon was not fighting to win but to kill. “Let me go,” she spat, rounding on Rhaenyra. “Let me go or I will hurt you too.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze, her eyes hard. “You have a kingdom to think of, Sena. You have a child-“

“A child who will have no father if I do not do something right now.”

“A child who will live without Aemond and die with you. A peace that will die with you too.”

She looked to her lover. Her brilliant, fierce lover, who was pushing back Daemon with everything he had, but was reticent to kill, pulling his blows right at the last second, the smallest sliver of hesitation softening him. He would not kill her father, she realised. It had to be her. 

Daemon had none of Prince Aemond’s reservations. His blade swung for Aemond’s shoulder and met Aemond’s parry so hard it left a notch on the lesser sword.

Sena spun back to the Queen, pulling at her arms. “Rhaenyra,” she begged, meeting her cousin’s eyes. She would plead, she would beg. “If he kills Aemond, I will kill him,” she told her. Rhaenyra’s eyes were swimming with tears, pleading with Sena to stop. “And if I kill him, you will kill me and where does it fucking end?” 

Rhaenyra’s grip on her slackened as she watched her husband. Not for the first time, Sena wondered what it was between them that had someone with a good heart so lost on someone with one of darkness and rot. Did she feel for Daemon how Sena felt for Aemond? Could Sena understand it, if that was the truth? 

Rhaenyra let Sena slip past her. “Stop him,” she murmured, watching her husband with large, fearful eyes.

With a howl of fury and the sound of steel being drawn, Sena joined the fray. She caught Daemon’s sword on a downstroke, halting it from cutting into Aemond’s bicep. Daemon met her eye and glared at her, seething, burning with rage. “Two on one, father. Should be a fair enough fight for you.”

He smirked. “Three on one, really,” he said, eyeing her belly. “I warned you, girl. I told you, if he lays a hand on my daughter-“

“Your daughter is not your property,” Sena spat.

“Darling, please,” Aemond said. “Please. Stand back. Let me handle this.”

She shot him a look and he was afraid, watching her with his eye wide.

“Listen to your lover, Sena,” Prince Daemon ground out.

“No. You have taken too much from me, father. You will not have him too,” she said and there was an ice, a steel in her voice that shocked even her. “And my name is Visenya.”

Daemon raised his arms to parry her strike, a look of shock in his eyes at the savageness of her blow. She rushed him with her shoulder, catching him square in the chest and making him stumble off balance, leaving his back open to Aemond. As Aemond swung into the opportunity, Daemon clattered his gauntlet across Sena’s face and stars blew behind her eyelids. She spat blood and Daemon caught Aemond’s strike.

How many times had she duelled him and actually won? Even once? She searched her mind, searched her memories of Dragonstone. He fought like he was invincible, like arrows would bounce off him, and in some way they did. He had been knighted at six-and-ten, the same age as Baelon the Brave, and given Dark Sister by the Old King. He had been wielding Valyrian steel and knocking grander, larger foes in the dirt for some thirty years. How was she supposed to do this?

Daemon swung straight for her middle and Aemond howled with rage, knocking him off balance with his entire body. It was a poor move, had Aemond stumbling to catch himself. “Aemond,” Sena barked, willing him not to be foolish.

Aemond would not look at her, though, swinging on her father once again, intent on ending this. “It’s me you despise, Uncle. Attack me.”

“Gladly,” Daemon growled and lashed out savagely at his nephew.

Aemond parried the blade to his left, but Daemon knew what he was doing, knew it took Aemond a second longer to react to movement on his left side, and slipped Dark Sister down Aemond’s blade, past the tilted cross-guard and biting deep into the top of Aemond’s thigh, where his armour gave way to his hip.

It seemed her father knew veins and arteries better than she did.

The scream that came from Aemond was pure agony and Sena’s vision swam as blood spurted. “Aemond!” She cried. “Aemond-“

“Aemond!” It was Rhaenyra. Sobbing.

Aemond fell where he stood and dark, dark blood began to pool beneath him.

Sena screamed and rushed Daemon.

She threw her weight behind a swing, glancing off his breastplate, and he caught her with a firm arm. She went dead in his arms, pulling him off balance, raking her nails over his face. Daemon howled, let her go. She raised her sword again and Daemon swung desperately to meet her in time. He missed her blade entirely, missed her cross-guard and swung clean through her mail, through two of her fingers on the grip of her sword.

Blood spurted. Sena’s vision went grey. She wouldn’t have even known if she had not watched the digits fall, the grip of her sword growing warm and wet. The stench of iron on the air was nauseating. She did not feel it. She only felt rage and fear and a thirst for death. Luke, Grey Ghost,  Jaehaerys, Jace, Maelor, all of it. Someone had to pay. She tackled her father where he left his front open, staring with faint horror at her fingers on the floor.

They crashed to the ground and Sena’s stomach rolled, her vision swam as her chin cracked off of her father’s breastplate. She forced herself up and pinned his arms to his sides with her thighs. She had him, she thought belligerently. She had him. On the floor, her blood running freely over both of them. She was growing weaker by the second, she knew it, but she did not need long. Her father struggled against her, throwing his greater weight in an attempt to push her off of his chest, so she raised her sword in her bloody sword hand and brought it down hard.

The pommel connected with Prince Daemon’s skull and she struck him so hard the ruby set on the cross-guard flew free of its setting, spinning away into the undergrowth. Prince Daemon went slack beneath her, his head rolling, groaning in agony and nausea. 

He was dazed, his hands splayed wide at his sides. Dark Sister lay some feet away in the leaves.

At long last, Sena stood, shaking on her feet, ready to end this horror story once and for all.

She looked down at her sword hand. Where her first two fingers had been were now bloody stumps. She gazed at them in wonder. Swapped her sword to her left hand. Her left was weak, she was not so gifted as to be strong with both, but it would do.

This would not be swordplay, after all. This would be butchery. And she did not need to be proficient with a blade to slaughter a pig, she only needed to know where to stick it. She raised her sword - a slimmer, slighter model of Dark Sister, now devoid of its signature ruby. She would take off his head with one clean strike.

She would not miss again.

“Sena!” A woman’s voice screamed. “Stop! Please! Stop!”

She could see a creeping tide of blood at her feet. She suddenly remembered where she was. Sena whipped her head to Aemond and her vision swam.

He was limp on the ground and Rhaenyra was cradling him in her arms, tears running freely down her cheeks. She had removed his sword belt, tied it around his thigh. Twisted it tight with a branch of weirwood. Gods.

He was the reason Luke was dead. He would not deny it, nor would Sena, but there Rhaenyra was, trying to save his life. Sena watched Rhaenyra cradling her little brother, the man who killed her son, and suddenly, she felt the fight go out of her. 

This needed to end, she realised, as she looked down at her father. This needed to end now.

She dropped to her knees, straddling her father’s prone form, and pulled him up so their faces were inches apart. “I am letting you live, father. Do you hear that?” She asked. He was dazed but he looked up at her. “I am showing you mercy. I am letting you live because I will not hurt Rhaenyra and Aegon and I want to preside over a whole realm with a united House Targaryen. I am letting you live because I will not kill my child’s grandfather. I am letting you live because you are my father, and as much as I have hated you over the years, I have also loved you. You will never again raise arms against a member of House Targaryen or I swear upon all the gods and on my mother’s grave, I will have your head. Am I understood?” 

Daemon looked at her with identical violet eyes, unfocused. He nodded weakly, and Sena dropped him to the ground, kicking Dark Sister far away from his grasp and running to Aemond. 

He was so pale, so limp. She kneeled over him in Rhaenyra’s arms, took his weight from her. He was still warm on her legs, on her body. She ran her hand down his face, leaving blood on his cheeks as she did. “Aemond. Aemond. Ñuha prūmia,” she begged him. His eye rolled, trying to focus on her, but he was slipping out of consciousness. 

“Sena,” came Rhaenyra’s voice, pulling her from her state of shock and fury and fear. “Sena, look at me,” Rhaenyra steadies Sena’s face in her bloody hands. “You need to take him to Harrenhal now, get him to a maester as fast as you can. He may yet live. Take Vermithor, go now.” 

He might live? But he was bleeding so much- he could barely hold his eye open. She had held him like this before, the night he lost his eye, but it had been nothing like this. The blood beneath them, soaking through her breeches, staining her armour and skin was dark and thick.

Sena looked back over her shoulder at where her father was attempting to rouse himself. He faltered, rolling up onto his knees and starting to gag and wretch. “Sena,” Rhaenyra snapped, pulling her gaze back. “You need to trust me. If my brother is to live, you need to go now. Daemon and I will follow.” 

Fear shot through her. The fear that she could lose it all. Aemond and her sword hand and Rhaenyra and her father and their peace, the thing Aemond was dying for. Sena was afraid, afraid that if she left them now, it would all be for nought, and her father would vanish with the wind and plot another strike on her or the Green forces. Aemond would die for nothing and more of them would follow. Helaena next. Baela and Rhaena. Aegon - the Younger or the Elder.

But when she looked down at Aemond, she knew.

She would lose herself if she lost him now. If she had to spend the rest of her life looking upon a child with his laugh and his bowed lips but she could not hold him.

She knew she would give it all up in a heartbeat just to save him. 

She had lied to Alys that day in Harrenhal, she realised faintly. Alys had asked her, you wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?

She had lied. She had lied and said yes. But she did not realise it was a lie until right now, with Aemond bleeding out in her arms. She’d slay them all, she’d burn it all down, just to save him. Just so he could meet his child.

“Help me,” she bit out to Rhaenyra.

They managed his limp weight between them, Rhaenyra urging her not to twist herself or strain too hard but that ship had sailed, she thought grimly. She had just went toe-to-toe with her father and won.

By the time they reached Vermithor at the shore, Aemond was deathly pale and not moving. His pulse was still there, weak but valiant. Vermithor snorted at her approach and Vhagar growled and whined. She could smell her rider’s blood on the air, see his limp form.

“Vermithor!” Sena barked. “Vermithor, dohaerās.”

The large bronze dragon snorted and reared his head, shirking away from the bleeding prince, the distraught rider.

“No! No! Not right now,” she hollered. Aemond’s weight bore down hard on her, her arms under his, holding up his upper body. Rhaenyra had his legs, holding the tourniquet on his thigh steady, but black blood was still oozing weakly. “Dohaerās. Dohaerās!”

But it was no use. Vermithor growled low in his throat, raising on his haunches.

She lowered Aemond to the shore and felt ready to sob. He would not die here. He would not. She would not bury him so far from home, without his mother looking on his face again. No.

She stood. Drew herself up to her full height. Her voice was cold and commanding. The voice of a woman grown. The voice of a ruler. “Iksan aōha kipagīros. Iksan Visenya Targārien, se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria. Iksan se brāedāzma zaldrīzes se kesā dohaeragon nyke.”

I am your rider. I am Visenya Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Bronze Dragon and you will serve me.

Vermithor met her eyes. Met her wild fury, her desperation with liquid amber eyes. She was no Visenya the Conqueror. No Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But she would be damned if she failed now because of some wretched wyrm. 

He let out a low grumble, then lowered himself to the ground. One bronze wing extended, covering a large swathe of the shore.

Relief flooded every inch of her being. “Come on,” she said, and she lifted Aemond with Rhaenyra once more.

-----

Harrenhal was a dreadfully cold castle, and Sena did her best to keep the fire stoked at all hours, in the rooms where she had first held Aemond in her arms and known every inch of him.

Under the blankets and furs she had laid on him, Aemond rarely stirred, as heavily drugged as he was. His damaged eyelid was slack and drooped over his empty socket, his sapphire eye on his bedside table. The maesters had attended to him day and night for the first few days. Sena only allowed them to look at her hand once she knew he would live.

Her hand was in agony. The first two fingers of her sword hand severed just below the knuckle, the third finger cut deeply. She would never hold a sword in her right again. She did not know how she had not dropped her blade as it had happened and died on Dark Sister there and then. But then, she knew enough of life and death at this point to know the body was capable of incredible feats when it had to be. When there was no other choice.

The maesters gave her nothing for the pain - the babe in her belly was too little and milk of the poppy would be dangerous, they had told her. She was happy to agree. Happy to grit her teeth and bear it, sitting by Aemond’s side.

His soft, steady breathing kept her company. As did the tiny soul growing inside her.

The seat at Aemond’s bedside was comfortable enough and they had pushed the bed closer to the fire, giving the both of them the best chance of fighting off the Stranger, fighting off infection. Targaryen blood burned hot, though. She had faith in them.

She lost count of the days. Lost count of how long she sat and paced and rubbed at her belly. She brushed Aemond’s hair, shaved his face, changed his shirts, raised his head and fed him sips of broth, dribbles of water. He was growing frightfully skinny and pale and gaunt. He did nothing but sleep but still the shadows under his eyes were black as night. She stroked her fingers over his cheek. Begged him to live, begged him to wake, begged him to kiss her. “I love you,” she murmured into his hair, against his lips. “I love you. Do not leave me.”

Alys appeared every now and then, to bring her food, make sure she was drinking water, give her news of Rhaenyra and Daemon. “Your father is bed bound,” she had told her some days ago. “The maesters say he is bleeding in his brain. He keeps convulsing dreadfully.”

Sena did not care. Did not give a fuck, with Aemond so close to death. Rhaenyra stood vigil at Daemon’s bedside, same as Sena stayed at Aemond’s. There were no words exchanged, nothing uttered between them, but the crowns of the realm were on the mantle, she had noticed faintly a few days ago. Someone had placed them side by side above the hearth. How ridiculous it seemed now. All this for the sake of circlets of metal and gems. For a twisted throne. 

Alys came with the maester one morning, who checked Aemond’s pulse, checked his bedpan. Listened to his breathing. Alys laid a hand on Sena’s shoulder. “You need to go to bed, Lady Visenya. This is not good for the babe. Allow me. I’ll stay with him, come wake you as soon as he stirs.”

Sena shook her head weakly. She was so tired, so tired, but how could she sleep?

“Lay down at least,” Alys murmured, brushing Sena’s curls from her shoulder. “Lay down beside him. Your father is incapacitated, Sena, he has not risen from his bed in a sennight. I will be right here. I will wake you if Aemond so much as twitches.”

She did not have the will to keep protesting. She lay down beside Aemond, burrowed under the furs and blankets and into his side, gently laying one had over his chest. Alys tugged the covers up tightly around her shoulders. It was not so comfortable - her dress was growing too tight on her figure and her stomach was still churning as the babe changed and rearranged every part of her. 

“I love you,” she murmured against Aemond’s temple. “Do not leave me.”

She slept lightly, fitfully.

It was Aemond’s stirring, his breath rustling her hair that awoke her.

She was awake and alert in an instant, pushing herself up onto one arm. Her dress was hopelessly creased, her hair tangled in knots, and Alys was dozing in the chair by the bed. But Aemond- Aemond had a little pink in his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered. One purple eye and one blank space. Sena brushed his lower lip with her thumb. “Hello, darling,” she said. Her throat was thick with emotion, her eyes brimming with tears. “Hello. I’m so glad to see you.”

Alys stirred and looked at Aemond’s stirring form with wide eyes. “My Prince,” she breathed and pushed herself up quickly. “I- I’ll get the maester.”

As she fled from the room, Aemond’s eye left her and returned to Sena. “Gods, I must be truly dying, if she was concerned,” he jested and it sounded weak but Sena chuckled. She kissed the corner of his mouth sweetly.

“Your mother is coming,” she told him. “She is travelling right now. I am told she rides day and night on horseback. So no scaring us, okay? She is exhausting herself just for you, so you must hold on.”

He reached up and gripped her left hand weakly. “I intend to, beautiful girl. I intend to.”

“Good,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his hair, to his temple. “Good.”

He let go of her hand, reached down, to rest on her stomach. “Did I- did I dream this part? Was it just the milk of the poppy or are you-“

“We’re having a baby, Aemond,” she said, a little wetly. “The maester examined me a few days ago and confirmed it.”

He smiled that wide, boyish smile of his that was everything she loved about his soul in one. “And are you… pleased?”

She was crying again, she knew. Her tears ran off her cheeks, down her neck, dampening the shoulder of his shirt. “I have never been happier,” she said. “You are alive. We are at peace. And we have a little one on the way. Aemond, I never dreamed we would get this lucky.”

He was beaming with pride, his chest puffed up, with one hand on her belly and the other cradling her injured hand to his chest. “You’ll have to marry me now, love. I won’t let you make my daughter a bastard.”

She wrinkled her nose at him playfully, laughing wetly. “Or son.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, giving a little shake of his head. “I have a feeling about this.”

“Do you?” She asked, brushing his long hair from his forehead. 

“I do,” he said, holding her gaze with certainty and giving her a little smile. “Kiss me, please, darling. I’m a little foggy to do it myself.”

She leaned over him, cradled his strong jaw in her hand and sealed their lips together. His breath was sour from slumber but she did not care even in the slightest. He tasted better than any fine wine and he sighed happily into the kiss, bumping his nose against hers with a gleeful little grin. He broke away from her, traced her shining bottom lip with his thumb. “Did we truly do it, darling? Did we end it?” He asked softly, his voice a little hazy.

“We did, my love,” she said, smiling down at him, stroking the stubble on his jaw.

“Mm,” he sighed happily. Then he pulled her down for a kiss. “Marry me,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered against him. “Yes.”

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd #tqc #aemond targaryen fanfic

[somethingsteff]

Fic Tag Game

Thanks for the tags @fangeek-girl and @ineffable-snowman!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

I only have one work on ao3, but I do have a few on fanfiction.net from way back in the day. 😅

2. What's your Ao3 word count?

4,043! I'm actually pretty proud of that! I know it's really not much, but considering that's only one story I feel like it's a decent amount of writing.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

On ao3 I've only written for Star Wars (Obikin), but on ff.net I have one Harry Potter (Drarry) story and a couple Twilight ones. 😅

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I've only got the one - Dad's Got a Date with a Vampire - that's published on ao3, but it has 135 kudos. Again, pretty proud of that!

5. Do you respond to comments?

Every one! I honestly couldn't believe anyone would read my story, let alone comment on it, so I was on cloud nine responding to all of them.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Nope, no angst here. I avoid reading any angsty endings, so I am incapable of writing one. When I read, write, or even just dip into a headcanon I'm using it as a way to get out of reality for a bit and get into sme sort of happy story. Because of that I don't forsee myself ever writing something with an ending that could be considered even remotely angsty.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, since I've only got the one published I'd say that one. But I'm writing another one that might be considered a happier ending? It's hard to rate happy endings, now that I think of it, since (spoiler) they'll all involve the main pair (in this case Obi-Wan and Anakin) getting together. Lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far I haven't! I hope that streak continues.

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

I'm trying to. 😂 The one I've got published doesn't have any, but a one-shot I'm working on includes some lingerie, a Daddy kink, and some pillow princess Obi-Wan (not at ALL what I envisioned when I started the story, but here we are).

10. Do you write cross-overs?

I never have, and I tend to avoid cross-overs in the stories I read so I don't really see myself writing one.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that would be so cool!

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I haven't, and I don't know that I ever would. I'm the kind of person who is terrified of letting other group members down, so I would be so stressed about getting my parts done in what I consider a timely manner for myself (which others would probably consider an unrealistic expectation). It would have to be something really specific with someone I'm pretty comfortable with.

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hmmmm. Other than the ones on my ff.net acount, I don't think I'll not finish something. It just might take forever and a day. But I know that about myself, so I've decieded that the multi-chapter fic I've got in the works won't get published until I'm done with it completely. I don't want to run the risk of getting out of my hyperfixation before finishing it and disappointing anyone.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't think I could come up with any one ultimate favorite ship! I'm currently in an Obikin fixation, but there's a plethora of others that are near and dear to my heart.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Oh god, I don't know. Honestly I would say that I don't really have any? I consider myself kind of mediocre. 😅

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Actually writing. Lol. In actuality it's probably coming up with overarching plots. I come up with a shit ton of random details and stuff, but always blank on bigger picture stuff.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Love it, but I want them to have two things:

Be gramattically correct if it's a real language

Have a translation in parenthasis with it so I don't have to constantly be googling or have to skip down the page and lose my place (it also pulls me out of the story if I have to do those things)

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Probably a songfic for Twilight. Lol.

19. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Of the ones that are done, for sure Dad's Got a Date with a Vampire!

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

My Drarry fic on ff.net, maybe. It wasn't much, but I remember liking it so I feel sentimental about it.

I don't know who to tag who hasn't been tagged yet, so if you're seeing this I'm (no pressure) tagging you! 💖

#fic tag game #get to know me #tag game #writing game

[cacophony-eg]

I read your story about Wukong Possessed and oh my god it's great. I read these 4 chapters very quickly and I need more because it is really interesting to read

What surprised me is that you decided to add the MK team to the story as well, and how Wukong is a servant at night, but during the day he lives as if nothing had happened to him at night. I'm looking forward to the continuation of the story as I'm really interested in how you describe the MK team finding out what happened to Wukong and what their reaction will be

but still I have one question, when I read the 1st chapter, I thought about how interesting it would be to read something similar but about Macaque, and I was very surprised when he appeared in the 2nd chapter. So, at least after reading chapter 4, I got the idea that there might be something like a "love triangle" going on between all the characters , is it possible that my intuition is wrong? after all, this story will have some romantic moments between Wukong and Reader ( am i wrong again? sorry, I read it here, so I didn't see certain tags for this story )

anyway i hope you can answer my doubts and i want to say again that this story is really great so i'm looking forward to the sequel

Thank You, for this wonderful comment/ask, and I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to reply. I wanted to give this a thoughtful reply, but I've been pretty busy. (On the bright side, I put most of my free time has gone into writing for Moon Knight and Sun King. So hopefully that balances things out? ^^' )

Though Mk and the team are around, they won't discover about 'Moon' or what happens to Wukong till quite a few chapters down the road (currently on chapter 8 as of writing this comment). And won't say any more about that for spoiler reasons.

Honestly, I was a little worried about adding Macaque and people's reaction to him being a part of the story, (cause some people may have expected the whole story to only be about the reader and Possessed Wukong). But I realized early on in the planning stages of the story; I was a little limited on how conversations between Moon and Reader could go. Then I thought about putting Macaque into the mix and he added so many extra layers of interaction, and possible conversations/ conflicts. So Macaque quickly became a part of the story. Plus he allowed me to explore how the Reader's 'Command ability' could work on different individuals without it being all poured onto Moon/Wukong.

Yes, there will be romantic moments in the story, and of course, a good chunk of them will happen between Moon/Wukong and Read. As for a 'love triangle' I kind of have one planned… but it's pretty far from what I would call a traditional Love Triangle dynamic? It's hard to explain without giving spoilers, so for now, I simply request that you wait and see. =3

My aim is to get chapter 9 out on Thursday so keep your eyes out!

(Also a small rough picture as an added thanks for your patience and this lovely ask.)

#lmk #lego monkie kid #moon knight and sun king #lmk fanfic #lmk fanfiction #possessed sun wukong #possessed sun wukong x reader #possessed monkey king #possessed swk #corrupted sun wukong #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk monkey king #lmk six eared macaque #my ask #lmk ask #anon ask #my fanfiction #my fanfic