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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?�� Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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sgiandubh · 5 months

Text

Lights, camera, shit show

I was just cleaning my OL folders (all those Chinese paintings and scrolls do take a horrendous amount of space, heh) and I just stumbled upon something I completely forgot to share and discuss with you. I found this particular article during my solitaire lurking months and I remember being befuddled by it for a long time, then thought I've lost it for good.

I don't remember ever seeing it shared or discussed in here, either and if, by any slim chance, I am wrong, kindly forgive me. That professional website is now closed, but its content is still available to browse:

Anyway, there goes: https://www.studiodaily.com/2018/06/outlander-dp-stephen-mcnutt-asc-csc-saucy-scottish-show/

We discussed Terry Dresbach and her inebriated rants, Vanessa Woman's devastating impact on set as Intimacy Coordinator, RDM's jealousy and many other aspects of life on the OL set. Rumors likely to have originated there peppered our shipping trail like flickering lights in a sea of darkness. So yes, we dissected these things to death. But not Stephen McNutt's interview to Studio Daily, on June 22, 2018 - please keep in mind the date, it is essential!

Stephen McNutt is a well-established professional and a member of the American Society of Cinematographers (ASC) and the Canadian Society of Cinematographers (CSC), as he hails from British Columbia. He also has a consistent track record of previous work with RDM, both on Battlestar Galactica and Caprica (its prequel). Therefore, one has to immediately suppose he was handpicked and brought on set by the same RDM, of course: set a very low bar on your expectations, I am warning you.

By the grace of RDM, he was one of the main Directors of Photography for OL during Seasons Two and Three. IMDb is not the best source for corroborating things, because they credit him with 13 episodes in Season Two (including La Dame Blanche- he is the Blue Room guy!), but only one for Season Three (First Wife), which is completely wrong. I even had to check some opening credits on Netflix (at reduced speed, ugh), because he speaks at length of A. Malcolm, something that would have made little sense otherwise. He was there, of course: and his is a first-hand account, heavily loaded with both innuendo and TPTB bullshit, up to the point of complete incoherence.

We focus on the three final questions:

This is a study in bullshitology, right here. The question asked is very clear and very technical: how did you approach those famous love scenes?

The answer is a mumble jumble of retcon, deflections, slips and overall impossible scramble for a logical explanation. I am doing a line by line, because this is almost too good to be true:

'(...) But as far as Cat and Sammy making love (...)' : um, hello and excuse me, I thought the question was about Jamie and Claire?!? And then we are delusional and can't fucking separate, when your own henchman, the Director of Photography no less, seems to be totally unable to do so, too? Hello? Also: 'Sammy'? 'Sammy'? What. The. Total. Fuck, and I LOLed then and I am still LOLing now. Terms of endearment overheard on set - but no, here comes the 'friendship' shite, hitting the narrative fan with Mach 5 speed. Objective? Explaining in a plausible way the hugging and 'keeping warm'. And I am sorry, but this begs the question: what the hell did this man see on that set? And how many people did see the same, hence the need to release such a gratuitous lie, for pure retconning purposes?

'They are not an item at all - I think she just got married'. Oh, fuck my life, man: you are such a terrible, terrible liar! Remember, that interview was taken in June 2018: after the OZ EFH and just about when C. was gleefully answering 'oh, God forbid!' every time she was prompted by press about her marriage plans. How can somebody with a pretty high trophic level and personal rapport to both S and C be totally unaware about C's marital status at the time? How can a long time acquaintance and coworker of RDM say no both to a friend and to a current boss (same person, the worst case scenario) asking for a favor, in that particular context? It also goes to prove that the shit show plot mainlines never originated with S and C and that the Remarkable Week-end was already planned for quite some time. By TPTB. With the full knowledge of RDM.

Let's suppose Mr. McNutt was so deeply engrossed in his work as not to notice all the people who must have congratulated C on set. I mean, I know who our (spinster) colleague from Accounting is currently banging and that guy is (mercifully) not among our staff (I totally wish them well, btw). Maybe because nobody congratulated C on that fakegagement? Also, you know them well enough to confidently say 'they are not an item', but don't know she was not married at the time and state an enormity with the same confidence? What in the name of the hoo-ha did I just read, here?

'I was always in such amazement of that.' In amazement of exactly what, Mr. McNutt? Surely not a woman holding hands or keeping warm with her gay co-star on set, huh? I mean, I need the best American English dictionary, here:

Again: what the heck did this man see? What comments did he hear? Surely, 'amazement' is a very precise choice of wording, with particularly enlightening synonyms:

Hence the need to end the demonstration with a deflection: 'They would just have fun.' You know, there is no such thing as a virgin whore, Mr. McNutt: you either are in such astonishment or you think your pals, good old S and C, such a funny girl, were having, well... 'fun', what else? You can't logically have both in the same paragraph!

And there we go: 'a very collegial atmosphere on set'. The answer is pure fool's gold, if you ask me: 'Nobody goes to sit in a trailer or says they aren’t showing up that day. '

And I laughed. And I laughed. And I laughed. I really don't know what this man is talking about. I never heard McTavish telling S to get out of that trailer ('nephew'). I never read the 'two very loved-up birdies' in a trailer a-rockin' Anons. I never watched that 2015 Anglophile SDCC interview, when S mentioned listening in their shared trailer to Erasure's Oh, l'Amour and C immediately reacted ('oh, did you just admit to that?'). But unlike me, McNutt must have been legally bound by a big cojones Non-Disclosure Agreement and morally bound by loyalty towards RDM, his friend, boss and benefactor.

This. All of the above. This is the real reason for all the bullshit you've just read: explaining a real, shocking love story by socially progressive regulations, allowing the cast to be 'much more happy'. I would laugh some more, if this was not sinister and cruel, in fact.

It is Love. A deep, strong one. But the seeds of the adverse narrative were planted early and deep, forcing even decent people like this guy to lie and smear himself a bit in the process. What we see and hear now are but better worded and more refined consequences of that fateful January 2016 morning in LA. And since I am allowed the dubious luxury only a healthy distance in time allows, let me remind you a simple, fun fact about this interview who stated they were never an item:

About ten months after McNutt uttered these words, the fandom was hit by the Covfefe Pics.

I rest my case.

#shitshow #fandom

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eureka-its-zico · 1 month

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I’m gonna need one of those short prompts of zoro just thirsting after doc. I wanna see heart eyes and bullying from Nami.

With that being said, something light would be nice. The series has been pretty dark for the last two chapters and it’d be nice to see them act relatively normal again

I took a small break from working on Ch. 10 to write this out. This chapter is a lot more fun and way less serious than the other two, and I feel like this little spin-off I wrote gives good insight into the chapter.

I hope you like it 💕

P.s. I wrote this on my phone and posting it from my phone so if it’s a little wonky, please forgive me.

——————————

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

If Nami called him out one more time he was going to need to hit something. And if aforementioned orange-haired friend asked how long he’d been watching you, Zoro was going to lie.

Just like what he was doing now.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The shit eating grin Nami wore at his response told him all he needed to know.

He was a terrible liar.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Nami quipped.

“I’m sorry is there a reason you’re here? Besides to annoy me.”

“Ouch!”

Zoro didn’t finish watching Nami pretend to cover up a wound or to see her finish the playful pout she’d been sending his way the past couple of weeks. It allowed his gaze to fall back on where you’d been the last half hour tending to the tangerine trees they’d taken with them for Nami. A piece of Nami’s old life - her old home - planted on the ship as a reminder of all she’d overcome and what she’d gained.

It had taken less than a day for you to talk Nami into showing you how much water to give them and how to carefully trim their branches. Zoro warned you not to overdue it. You were still healing - some of your stitches barely keeping the once open wounds an inch from reopening with one wrong move.

You quickly overruled his worries with a soft press of your lips against his. He refused to admit it had left him shellshocked as you walked away; rooted to the spot next to the island in the kitchen with that damn cook smirking at him while his brain tried to remember how to make words.

“Shut up, waiter.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Sanji replied, flabbergasted and yet, still smirking.

“Keep it that way.”

Zoro stormed out of that kitchen and wanted to storm away from Nami too, but this place on the upper terrace of the deck gave him the perfect spot to watch you. To make sure you were being careful and only a short distance away if you weren’t.

“I thought you guys were together.”

God, he really needed Nami to fuck off. Crossing his arms, Zoro leaned his forearms against the railing and hoped it would send the message he was done conversing. Unfortunately for him, Nami moved closer. Her back against the rail and her arms draped behind her. It gave Nami the perfect view of his face.

Zoro knew she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he answered.

“We are.”

“So, care to tell me why you are watching her like you’re still pining for her?”

“I’m not pining,” he grumbled back.

“This is the definition of pining.”

That’s it. He was going to toss Nami overboard.

“I’m not - “

He refused to admit defeat but damn it he couldn’t stop his forehead from pressing down into the wood of the bannister. He wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed to anyone listening to give him strength.

You would be super pissed if he did throw Nami overboard.

“Is there a reason you’re still here bugging the shit out of me?”

“If you’re with her Zoro, go be with her. That’s all I’m saying. You shouldn’t have to creep around and be away from her when you clearly want to be next to her.”

Zoro did.

He couldn’t describe it. Fuck, he couldn’t deny it, either. Every atom of his being craved to be next to you. To bury his face in the crook of your neck and breathe you in. Memorize the smell of the sea on your skin and the different herbs you dried and for whatever concoctions you made that day. He loved it when he could smell Rosemary in your hair or the ginger that reminded him of home.

But he didn’t want to overwhelm you. It’d only been a couple of weeks since Luffy and crew had left the Conomi Islands. Only a few weeks when Zoro thought he would never…

“I’m just trying to give her space.”

Fuck. Why did his voice have to be so soft? Now Nami was giving him that look and - fuck.

Zoro refused to glance up at Nami - the look that must be on her face. So, he kept his eyes on the safest place he could find.

You.

“Look, I know this relationship thing is kind of new for you, Zoro. It can be scary, at times.”

“I’m not afraid,” he cut in.

“-but,” she continued ignoring his sudden outburst. “I know for a fact the last thing she wants is space. Doc wants you, Zoro more than she’s going to want to be left alone.”

She clapped her hand against his shoulder, signaling she was departing, and left him brooding against the banner. His eyes no longer watching as you gently cut dying stems from the tangerine trees, but out into the endless blue and wondered if it was possible that Nami was right.

He was never going to hear the end of it if she was.

#bitter-post-millennial #answered #Chaos in Their Bones #roronoa zoro #opla #one piece live action #roronoa zoro x reader

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bahja-blix · 2 months

Text

😐💀Longish Post regarding Vivziepops Stans (POC Woman Speaks up)

TW: The following post mentions serious topics: S*icide, bullying, racism, and other topics, viewer discretion is advised (and No I do not know whom originally sat here and typed this post I don't want to know)

So I saw this image floating around and I as a Bisexual biracial Woman of color wanted to speak up about this because if y'all think it's hilarious or cool to say dumb shit on the Internet and not expect to get called out for your crap by reasonable people that you yourself put yourself out there for then your dead wrong.

Let's take a look amigos

Let's start from the beginning

This person who's an obvious biased boot licker who deliberately put themselves out there on the Internet ON PURPOSE said all of This!

Here's some things I completely disagree with because in their own words:

"You probably heard over and over again that Viv is a terrible person who's toxic that made all kinds of terrible things in the past but I assure you, (even if it's true) these stories are all "completely fake" and "made up" and that Viv is "flawed" and makes mistakes like all of us and that she "doesn't deserve" the "hate" and "bad faith" comments"

"I have decided to "fund" the "StopVivziepophate" train because poor ol Viv is sweet and innocent and we as fandom must stick it to these "critics" and express to vivziepop our eternal love and "actively convince" people (without any proof btw) that Vivziepop has done absolutely "nothing wrong" at all and we must defend her to the ends of the Earth because I said so and thats the Truth. You guys are liars and bigots and racist and are anti progressive"

Vivziepop has proved Time and Time again that she's a deliberately toxic shitty ass dumbass of person and has gotten much WORSE over the years! That is a FACT! She HAS made shitty, questionable, nasty things in her past artworks depicting minors, Nazi shit, racist shit and other stuff! This is a FACT and can be proven!

These Critical people on the Internet are All people who Used to LOOK UP to Viv because she was inspirational, saw right through her bullshit, and decided to call her out For said bullshit that she inflicted on herself especially nowadays seemingly on the daily. These Critical people who used to look up to Viv often back up their claims using pictures and evidence to Prove what they say! Vivziepop is a person who has proven that she is ass backwards on an absolute altitude of ways through thick and thin.

Viv refuses to back up her claims, do basic research on complicated topics regarding many things, weaponizes her fanbase to silence Anyone and Everyone regardless of who they are or what they identify as who speaks up or validly critiques her foolishness, never improves on herself as a person and chooses to carry herself in a negative way that affects her overall character and the people around her, bullies or judges anyone who chooses a different path, didn't call out her cult of a fanbase out for bullying Shay into suicide, and the list goes on.

What are you Stans going to prove huh? That we as a critical are right? There's an abundance of evidence against Viv yet your going to sit here and make a post like this?

Please tell me what you said is Bait!

Viv absolutely deserves EVERYTHING that people throw at her ESPECIALLY regarding the fact that Shay is no longer with us because Vivziepops cult of a fanbase brutally bullied Shay into s*icide over a fictional ship that these hypocritical Stans supported Before their new ship with Alastor came out with a different character

And Viv also absolutely deserves to be criticized for hiring a disgusting person with a r*pe fetish who's NOT a s*xual assault victim at All who also fetishizes r*pe and let this person illustrate and write their own sick fantasies into HER SHOW which she actively supported and still supports!

She's Shit All Around!

lastly...

"Most" of the "hate" comes from the "fact" that she's both *Checks notes* 🧐 "inserts identity politics here"

"Woman and Hispanic" ahh yes who Could've thought that poor ol Viv was being targeted simply because of her identity! Why as if I didn't hear that BS before as a fucking POC woman myself

People are "totally not" validly criticizing her for actual shit she does to herself on purpose

We critics are "totally" all just "making up" shit regardless of clear as day evidence, articles, or any picture evidence we have and are "totally jealous" over her success

We critics totally dunk on Viv because we're magically all racist, bigots, or istaphobes even though we're of varying backgrounds and identities and don't dunk on her for the bullshit you pulled out your ass because you decided to do what some far left thinking people would do. Blame the entire world for X, Y, Z using their identity as a shield even though vivziepop herself got caught! BY HER OWN POLITICAL PARTY which is the left.

Let me bring up a successful Black YouTuber who's indie for Black History Month whom I support and followed for years and bought his comics! Since you wanna blame the world for people criticizing Viv for her identity, I've decided to use an excellent example! He may not be a woman but he's Black so... :D let's begin

You wanna know who's Black and made millions of dollars because of his comics and is successful? Youngrippa59! Yes the Black Libertarian himself who made the Rippaverse, ISOM, and ALPHA CORE and made millions of dollars in short periods of time who also helped successfully dominated the comic book industry when it was dying! He's Not a conservative btw!

Heres one of his most recent successful projects ALPHACORE

Look at this! A Black person made this! He's successful! He didn't use his race as a shield. He ain't Viv but doesn't have to be! That's the beauty of him because he doesn't have to be the richest, or the most popular!

His message to everyone! Mr. Rippa also known as Eric July is one of my biggest inspirations to this day and this is why! People who were on the far left decided to attack him (it's been proven btw) but y'all say your for "diversity" and "inclusion" but when a black person becomes successful now it's an issue???

I Can't imagine what will fly outta your mouths when I become successful with my own shows behind the scenes... As diverse as I am as a biracial, bisexual, goth, God damn X, Y, Z, I Don't pander, I observe what everyone wants through multiple people!

Now,

Vivziepop is a woman who's a biracial Hispanic! I am ALSO a woman who's a biracial Hispanic

As a biracial Hispanic I'm more Puerto Rican looking IRL. Viv is a biracial Salvadoran Hispanic but looks more "white" because maybe she has more European family members. My family is made up of mainly Puerto Ricans on both sides of the family some European. I have dark eyes and dark naturally curly hair too. Few have said I can pass as "Indigenous" because of my features and tanned skin. Regardless my point still stands! I don't actively use my identity as a shield and neither should you!

I don't want to know who sat here and typed up that post! I as a woman of color of the brown community am still sick of this! Like who's saying they hate Viv because she's Hispanic? Huh? Who? Who's dunking on her for simply being a woman too???

Prove to me by providing solid concrete evidence by pictures or tweets or something else actually showing me people are dunking on Viv because she's both "Woman/Hispanic"! Well I tell you now that that shit Doesn't happen and if it does, it's a VERY SMALL minority that are saying shit for bait reasons or to be an asshole on purpose to get a reaction. The fact this person decided to say "Most hate comes from her race and being a woman" is BS because they cant even take the time to dig up evidence of this to prove it!

Show don't tell not TELL DONT SHOW goddamnit!

Legit you wanna play the race x woman card so badly then BACK IT UP with actual evidence or someone like me with more than two functioning brain cells will call you out.

I'm sorry but I agree with the critics on this one because they're not wrong for calling Viv out!

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pix3lplays · 8 months

Note

Im loving these jealous dan heng so lemme add some lmao

Have you seen that new video about the other high elders of each ship? If you haven't it's on star rail's official yt, but anyways what if reader saw it and was over the moon at how hot the imbibitor lunae looks in that short animation.

I'm not totally sure which imbibitor lunae was shown in the video but assuming it's not dan heng then then reader was simping for the another imbibitor lunae making dan heng jealous 😅

I thiiink I saw the one you’re talking about, but if not I get the idea anyways haha, let’s Do It that’s so funny and cute!

-reader simping for another Imbibitor Lunae-

“WOW,” you say. You’re staring at your phone, and Dan Heng, who normally isn’t curious or nosy, must admit he’s curious at what you’re watching that would make your cheeks heat up like that.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, not caring that it’s rude to peer over your shoulder to see what’s on your screen.

You’re looking at Imbibitor Lunae. Well. A different Imbibitor Lunae.

“He’s so…hot!” you say to Dan Heng, not really thinking about what you’re saying.

You thought it was okay, because he was Imbibitor Lunae too, so you were basically calling him hot too right?

“That’s…that’s not…” he begins awkwardly. Oh he can’t explain the sensation that’s forming in him, but he is uncomfortable with it. “That’s not me,” he says it too quietly for you to hear over the sound of you fawning over a different Imbibitor Lunae.

“I wonder if he’s ever dated anyone before,” you muse. “Are Imbibitor Lunae’s usually even allowed to date?? Whatever. The point is he’s a real cutie…”

Ugh you’re simping so hard over a DIFFERENT Imbibitor Lunae.

He’s jealous. Ridiculously jealous of his past life.

But Dan Heng doesn’t know how to express that. He’s just quiet, listening as you rant about how attractive his past life was, and he feels like he’s about to explode.

Finally he speaks up.

“Y/n, please stop.”

You look up in surprise, not realizing there was a problem, and you see Dan Heng’s cheeks are ever so slightly red, and he’s reverted to his Imbibitor Lunae form.

His tail is slowly wrapping around your ankle. When you notice you let out a small gasp of surprise at the sensation of the cool scales around your skin.

“What?” you ask. You’re Genuinely confused.

“That’s Not Me,” he explains it simply.

“Oh, I just thought…OH, I’m sorry Dan Heng…” you say…the tail has snaked up your body and is now wrapping around your waist. “Sorry, I guess I just thought…because you’re Imbibitor Lunae…”

“It’s alright,” he says, his face still a slight shade of pink. He finally notices his tail has been subconsciously wrapping around you and he lets you go, ordering his jealousy to subside.

“You’re the only Imbibitor Lunae for me, at the end of the day,” you remind him gently, missing the sensation of his tail wrapped around your waist.

He smiles at you. “I would hope so,” he says, and his tail wags ever so slightly at your words.

“Sorry I made you jealous.”

“I was not jealous,” he lies. Oh he was a terrible liar.

“Oh okay,” you smirk, but decide not to press him further.

You decide to spend the rest of the day with your boyfriend, as your way of making it up to him. You really hadn’t meant to make him jealous…you just couldn’t help you found Imbibitor Lunae attractive.

And really, who could blame you?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Dan Heng #Dan Heng x reader #hsr Dan Heng x reader #honkai star rail Dan Heng x reader #Imbibitor Lunae #Imbibitor Lunae x reader #hsr Imbibitor Lunae x reader #honkai star rail Imbibitor Lunae x reader

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smokingtiger · 5 months

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This has to be some type of mental illness… this acc on twt is probably one of the bigger jimin antis who swears up and down that everything that Jimin and Jungkook do together is fanservice. Like, why are they so damn against the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Jimin and Jungkook are incredibly close friends (they literally filed to be companion soldiers)…. But sure, it’s all fanservice.

Also, once again it’s pretty gross to pull this rhetoric after the hardships both the fandom and boys are going through right now. Ship who you want to ship but don’t be a terrible asshole who tries to spread your false narrative for… what, exactly? I seriously don’t know what this account is trying to achieve other than bullying Jimin and straight up calling Jungkook a liar half the time. Like they’re not helping Taehyung either… Jimin is quite literally his best friend — unless they play the song ‘Friends’ on mute.

#bts #Jimin #jungkook #Taehyung #vmin #taekook #vkook #jikook #Kookmin #vminkook #I’m so tired of people like this #seeing them be separated TORE ME APART #but all this person was thinking about was FANSERVICE #AT A FUCKING MILITARY BUILDING #GET #HELP

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 7 months

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Part 13 Enies Lobby

The Straw Hats make it to Enies Lobby to save Robin, Franky and Reader, (During the trip Franky tells Reader about his past and about his Mentor Tom) with Spadam planning to bring her to Marine HQ, (Giving him a higher position of power) as he tries to convince her that he’s a ‘Hero’ and Nico Robin’s a ‘Devil’, (Along with ‘Cutty Flam’ Franky and the ‘Monster Fishman’, Tom) he thinks she’ll believe him since kids are ‘stupid’, however she calls him a ‘Liar’, (She may be naive, but she can tell good people from bad people, no matter how well they hide it) calling Spadam the ‘True Villain’, making Franky laugh, only for Reader to get slapped by Spadam, enraging Robin and Franky

You can choose if Reader is with Robin being taken to the Gates of Justice or is with Lucci and helps Luffy in his fight with her power being seen in action (She’s hugging Luffy’s back tightly with her horn flaring up, allowing him to use 2nd and 3rd Gear even more effectively) but Luffy makes sure to thank Reader and gives her his Straw Hat as a promise that he’ll save her and Robin from this terrible place

When everyone gets to escape, Reader jumps in Luffy’s arms and cries as they’re escaping on the Merry (She has sparkly eyes after learning Grandma Kokoro is a Mermaid) who came to save them, however they have to put Merry to Rest, crying as they all think about the great memories they had on that ship (It’s just as hard on Reader because the Going Merry was the first place she ever got to call ‘Home’, and made a lot of happy memories) with everyone tearfully saying goodbye as they head back to Water 7

I like to think Robin used Clutch on Spadam even harder and broke his spine into a few more pieces because of what he did to Reader (Don’t anger Robin, especially when she’s Mama Robin)

-You stirred after about an hour or so and you immediately heard Robin, “Y/N!” your eyes opened to see both her and Franky staring down at you in worry.

-You were still on the train, as CP9 had taken the three of you, leaving Usopp and Sanji behind, and as you sat up, you winced, feeling a pain on your upper temple, lifting a hand to feel some bandages.

-Franky grinned, patting the top of your head, “You took a tumble then took a nap- but you’ll be just fine Y/N!” you looked up at him, as he was new, but you didn’t feel afraid of him, giving him a small smile.

-They did their best, keeping you calm, with Franky telling you about his past, with his mentor, Tom, who, with his help as well as others like Iceburg, created the Sea Train, which made your eyes sparkle brightly.

-Franky told you that his real name was Cutty Flam but changed it to Franky after his ‘death’ trying to save Tom and Franky, for the first time, had to deal with you crying.

-Robin thought it was rather cute, seeing Franky on his belly, to bring himself down to your level, trying to calm you down, panicking.

-As you arrived at Enies Lobby, Robin spoke to you before CP9 came in, “Y/N, I need you to be brave and stay close to me, okay?” you were scared but gave her a small nod, holding onto her robe as the three of you were led out.

-You didn’t like Spandam, he was a bad person, this you could tell as he was walking towards the three of you, mocking Franky first before shooting him.

-You gasped, “Franky!” before seeing that he was mostly all right, tears in your eyes before Spandam turned to you and Robin, sneering at Robin, “The Devil Child herself- to think you would be so easy to capture- and you as well, little Y/N! You’re going to make a lot of people very happy, including me! That promotion is mine!”

-You were confused, head tilting to the side, “Promotion? What’s that?” he grinned, thinking you were a foolish child, “Whoever in the marines deliver you to headquarters will get an increase on their rank, which means more power and money! You’ll help me do that right- I’ll put in a good word for you because you brought in this evil woman and that reckless and violent man! They’re bad people Y/N- come over here with me!”

-You glared, looking like an angry kitten, “Robin isn’t evil! And Franky was nice to me! You’re a bad man!” CRACK!

-Spandam, not liking that you were talking back, backhanded you across the face, sending you to the ground with a sharp cry. Franky screamed out your name from his spot on the ground, bound in chains, while Robin was quickly by your side, “Y/N!”

-You sniffled, holding your cheek as she helped you sit up before Kalifa grabbed you, holding you in her arms while Robin was put into chains herself, sealing her Devil Fruit abilities.

-You were quickly in tears, now scared before Spandam ordered Robin to be taken immediately to the Gates of Justice to be executed.

-You were stunned, eyes wide in fear before Kalifa passed you to Spandam, who was happy that you were now quiet, even if it was due to fear, and you left Franky behind, seeing him staring up at the two of you, unable to do anything.

-Your head was ringing from the slap, making you kind of dizzy, so you didn’t realize you were at the top of the stairs at the Gates of Justice until Spandam sat you down and you immediately fell to your rear.

-Robin dropped to her knees as you scrambled over to her, hugging her around her waist, she could see that you were trembling, scared as the other Straw Hats arrived, standing across the way, here to save you and Robin both.

-You then heard Luffy, “Say you want to live!!” tears hit your cheeks and you looked up, seeing Robin in tears, “I WANT TO LIVE!!” you turned, seeing Luffy grin before they charged in, including that masked man, Sogeking.

-CP9 went on the attack, just leaving Spandam, who quickly turned, rage in his eyes, “You’re not taking my glory away from me!” he drew his sword, preparing to strike Robin down then take you, but not before ordering a Buster Call, something Robin looked terrified to hear about.

-You were scared, not wanting to move, as you knew this man would hurt Robin- you felt your heartbeat in your ears as he got closer, going to grab you to get to her.

-You clenched your eyes shut, turning quickly, “Don’t hurt my mama!!” WHACK!!!!!

-Robin was stunned, eyes wide as you leapt up, taking your lesson from Nami to heart, and you headbutted Spandam hard in his groin.

-The scream he let out was unearthly, falling back as he clutched at himself and you grabbed the ring of keys he had, quickly rushing to Robin to unlock her shackles.

-You were trying not to fumble, feeling scared as Spandam was now mad, trying to get to his feet, tears in your eyes and as he grabbed his sword, you heard the click of the shackles, and instantly Robin had a hold of him with her abilities.

-Robin turned to you with a sweet smile, “Close your eyes and cover your ears for a moment.” You nodded and did as you were told as Robin turned, her sweet smile not falling as a murderous aura surrounded her and while blocked, you heard Spandam screaming out in pain as she broke every bone in his body, payback for putting his hands on you.

-You then heard, “Robin! Y/N!” you looked up with a smile on your face, “Luffy!” and Robin smiled as well before her smile fell, seeing Rob Lucci, now a jaguar, chasing after him.

-Franky arrived and grabbed Robin, going to grab you as well, to get out of the area, as Luffy was going to go wild, “We need to get out of here! That Buster Call is arriving!”

-You didn’t run to him however, you ran to Luffy, leaping onto his back as you saw that he was injured, pushing his body to the limit and your horn flared to life.

-Luffy instantly felt his strength and stamina returning and he grinned, punching his fist into his hand, “Thank you Y/N! I’ll treat you to something tasty after this!” you nodded, remaining silent as Luffy was able to go above and beyond his abilities, taking on Rob Lucci at full strength.

-As the fight drew to an end, Luffy made sure you were safe, holding you close as you were now panting hard, a fever taking control before he heard a voice telling him to jump.

-Down in the ocean, you both saw Merry there, looking like it was on her last legs, but there nonetheless and he shouted at everyone to get to the ship.

-Now resting, you felt your fever slowly leaving as you landed on Merry, your home, before you saw Kokoro again and your eyes went huge, “A mermaid?!” while others weren’t pleased seeing that Kokoro was a mermaid, like Sanji, who just cried, you were sparkly eyed, completely entranced.

-Once safely back in Water 7, Nami helped patch you up, your family all furious that you had been injured, hit by a grown man. Robin was sitting next to you, “Y/N- who taught you to go after a man’s jewels?” you tilted your head to the side, “Men have jewels?”

-After scolding Robin, thinking she was tainted you, you beamed when Nami asked if you hit someone between the legs, “I did! He was going to hurt Mama Robin so I jumped up and headbutted him!” everyone except Robin turned white before many were yelling at Nami for teaching you that before she yelled back, “She needs to be safe!”

-You cried as you saw Usopp back, hugging him close, “I missed you!!” he smiled, hugging you close before you leaned back, seeing Sogeking’s slingshot and your eyes widened before smiling, “Did Mr. Sogeking give that to you?”

-You were so cute- you had no idea that Usopp and Sogeking were the same person, but Usopp wasn’t going to tell you that, “He did! He told me to use it to keep you safe.”

-You smiled up at him before tears welled in your eyes, “I wish I could have said goodbye to him. He was nice- like you, big brother!” Usopp was now panicking, unsure if he should go and change to make you happy again, much to Zoro and Sanji’s amusement.

-You hugged Luffy close who was also in tears as Merry, your home- the first place you ever called home and were happy to do, was in flames, burning it. All the memories, both the good and the bad, on Merry, were memories that were important to you, and to see that home go up in flames, you couldn’t stop crying.

-You were in awe of the new ship, Going Sunny, or just Sunny for short, your eyes sparkling like Luffy’s, Usopp’s, and Chopper’s, as you wanted to explore this massive ship.

-Sanji was given the task of showing you around and while you were in the galley, Sanji heard Franky screaming in pain and he peeked out, his unlit cigarette falling from his lips, seeing what Robin was doing.

-You heard Franky in pain, and you gasped, thinking he was being attacked, “We have to go help Franky!” Sanji just held you close, keeping you from going outside, “He’ll be okay- he’s just being disciplined.” You tilted your head to the side, “Like when you catch Luffy sneaking food?” he chuckled, ruffling your hair gently, “Exactly!”

-Franky couldn’t help but cry into his elbow loudly when you were told that Franky was joining the crew and your eyes lit up, “Really? I’m so happy!!” before hugging his leg. You were really too cute!!

#eri reader #luffy #zoro #sanji #nami #usopp #nico robin #chopper #franky

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zephhhhh · 1 month

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idiot spyhusbands redraw

#art #digital art #fanart #star wars #swtor #imperial agent #theron shan #theron shan/imperial agent #ship: terrible liar #lyyran [oc]#finally did the dates and man #'there wouldnt be anything left for me' rlly came for the throat

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cashmere-caveman · 1 year

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since the debate about whether or not silver lied about flint in the finale is making the rounds again i thought abt it again and my conclusion is not necessarily that silver lied and killed him, but that silver lied about Something.

i am not sure about which part, it could be anything from flint being dead to flint being in savannah but thomas being dead to flint getting shipped to london idk idk! somewhere in the story he is telling is a lie and even if it only was that he would wait a day, a month, a year

because i think the thing is that when he sold the war for madi THAT was true. that was his grand gesture of truth. but i dont even think it was about her, i think that choice was about him admitting to himself that if he let this war happen this would turn Too Big, Too Visible and too final for him to weasel out of in case he ever needed to. no more place to run for someone who is a nobody from nowhere u know? he needed to get the fuck OUT of there

and for the record i don't think that made his love for madi any less true i think he really thought he loved her but i think he never understood her the way flint did and this was just the breaking point where he was unable to fill the space flint and madi made for him anymore and snapped back into his old self-preservational habits bc he was under a lot of stress and pressure except This Time, unlike before, his actions affected others as well and he cared about it

and as much as silver is obv the most repressed guy alive i think he is v much self aware, at least insofar as that awareness extends to others' perception of him. so i think he Knew this truth would be unforgivable and i am sure he also knew how madi would react, bc he knows her principles, even if he cannot necessarily rationalize or understand them himself, so he knew he would lose her for this (flint voice you're too smart not to know this) but :) he loves her! and he is loved by her! and from what we know of him this seems to be something incredibly rare and unprecedented for him he is literally starved for care and affection bc he is Mr Detached Solo Nobody Fakename plus lbr he is pathetic ♡ so obviously he would try to hold onto that love despite the betrayal! but how?

and that is where i think the lie comes in: imo he had a lie Somewhere In All Of This to soften the truths impact bc he knew what would happen and even if he saw no other way around it he wished there was another way around it (there was. just not to him not like this) so he lied to make it less terrible bc what can a lying liar who lies do when he knows the truth is the worst thing to say?

#yes this is basically just my tags from the poll post but w additional rambling #do u get it tho. do u see my vision #elsewhere ive said that the moment flint and silver split is the moment the silver who is loved splits from the silver who goes on #but the same can be said about madi. the moment she is taken there is a shift.#anyway i shant elaborate further it is bedtime (1am) and ive got uni tmr so. goodnight #cavetext #black sails #black sails meta #<- ig??? idk

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singularsoldier · 1 year

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Why Scout and Miss Pauling are a terrible ship

Alrighty, if you’ve been into tf2 for awhile, you’ve definitely seen this pairing pop up. This whole thing is probably gonna sound like I’m beating a dead horse, but I wanna give my full two cents on these two using canon material (comics, game, and Expiration Date). Before I dive in, my stance on these two is 100% never gonna change. Save the counterarguments and keep scrolling

VOICE LINES

In the game, Miss Pauling has a lot of voice lines both towards the individual mercs and to the player themselves. However, how she speaks to Scout vs everyone else is drastically different. Let’s look at Scout’s when given a contract:

Starting off, Miss Pauling is…pretty rude towards him. “Wrap up whatever you’re bragging about” “I’m assuming you’re talking right now. Please stop” and others. It’s evident that she doesn’t want to hear a word out of his mouth. As we all know, Scout talk A LOT, but if she liked him to any degree, she wouldn’t be this mean towards him. If anyone even tries to say “well maybe she’s mean bc she likes him” no. Sorry, not how healthy relationships work. If anything, that further proves my point on why they’re terrible together.

Now, lets look at other lines (I’m too lazy to add everyone):

See the major difference? Miss Pauling isn’t mean, rude, or dismissive. She’s friendly! She’s joking! Lines like these show that Miss Pauling considers Engie (and everyone else) her friends. Scout gets nothing like that.

By the way, Miss Pauling canonically hangs out with the mercs (and Saxton’s assistant Bidwell). When you look at her contract lines with everyone else (including Bidwell), she’s cheerful and having fun. Scout on the other hand? She’s a frustrated dungeon master because Scout wants to make a muscle wizard and won’t stop flexing.

My experience with dungeon masters has been “fuck it, be whoever you want”. I had the dumbest, weirdest characters, and the DMs didn’t care! That’s the fun of d&d (g&g for tf2). Miss Pauling not letting Scout have a buff wizard, and Scout not even trying to follow the rules, shows how incompatible they are. Neither of them are willing to make a compromise especially because of the fact that Scout’s a pretty narcissistic guy. He’s a pathological liar in the comics (which are coming up) to impress people. Who wants to date that?

Onto the congratulations:

Pretty standard, right? Nothing extraordinary or, honestly, anything outside of standard professionalism. Scout gets a quick thanks and the line goes dead.

For anyone else:

The other classes get something Scout doesn’t: enthusiasm. Miss Pauling is beaming in her lines for the other classes. Also, Scout has the least amount of congratulations (only 5) out of everyone. Miss Pauling also says to a few other classes “i owe you one” and “i knew you could do it”. Again, ten times friendlier than how she speaks to Scout. If she liked Scout, she would have similar lines or ones that are even a bit flirtatious. Nope. Nada.

COMICS

If you’ve only played the game, you’re missing out! The comics are great (and unfinished), and they also reveal more of how Miss Pauling engages with Scout. For example:

Immediately stopping him from talking again, and straight up letting him get hanged. If that was my crush, I would, you know, not let go so they don’t die. She has very little regard for Scout outside of “annoying guy I work with”. Hell, she canonically spends more time with virtually every other class (aside from Engie obviously and maybe Medic) than with Scout. Another thing in the comics:

This right here. Scout has been working for Mann Co. for six years (meaning he joined at 21). In six years, Miss Pauling has made zero indication of liking him. What person goes six years without even trying to flirt or even hit on with their crush? Especially when Scout is VERY LOUD about his infatuation. Even the biggest introvert would jump on that free chance.

Oh, another thing! When Scout tries to get some alone time with her (while fighting for their lives) she turns him down. Pauling would rather watch Soldier and Zhanna fight naked while cover in honey than go with Scout (who wouldn’t?) which, when you think about it, caused Scout’s death because he faced the Spy bots alone. Sorry Scout, ass and tiddies are more important than you!

EXPIRATION DATE

The long adored sfm video. While the video pretty much cements Scout’s feelings for Miss Pauling, it also cements her lack thereof. Lets dig in:

First off, we know that Scout only had the bravery to ask her out because he thought he was dying. How does he invite her? By setting off the briefcase alarm!

As Miss Pauling says, it’s “the one button he’s never supposed to touch”. Not only that, but it wasted her only day off of the year. A fact she is visibly pissed about and refers to a couple times. Scout was pretty selfish to do that. Another thing, Pauling repeatedly refers to the “date” as a prom. (“Are you guys having a prom?”) She literally had no idea Scout was asking her out. Why? Lets face it, she would say no or dismiss him yet again. Even Scout knew that, so he faked a literal emergency that forces her to visit. Once again, lying to try and impress her with a date.

So, Scout comes up with an elaborately self centered plan to get Miss Pauling to come to the base, and when she wants to storm out, he desperately tries to save face with dinner. Cue our bread monster fight where Scout confesses that he likes her. And her response? Nothing. Throughout the whole sequence, Miss Pauling doesn’t answer or even respond to a word he says. You’d think if you were in mortal danger, you’d tell your crush “i love you! Now help me kill this bread monster”

At the end, Scout says “so its a date?” To which our beloved Miss Pauling says, “well, no. You did waste my one day off”. Not only that, but Pauling even offers for him to join her on missions, which he instantly says no to. Idk about you, but I’d bury bodies with my crush any day of the week. The fact that Scout was offered multiple chances to even be near Miss Pauling willingly, yet turned them down, is pretty telling of his character.

Scout wants a date, yes, but how he envisions it. Typical candles and pretty lights with a pretty girl. Meaning, what he enjoys and what he sees their romantic life being like. Not shaving off fingerprints or hiding bodies. Things Miss Pauling does literally 24/7. You know, things she likes doing. Its evident in her vacation lines that she wants to go back to work and that she isn’t a fan of vacations. Once again, Scout’s selfishness stops him from getting anywhere near the girl he’s obsessed with.

So, we have: Pauling doesn’t want to hear Scout’s voice, she’s barely cordial with him, she sees Scout as at best a coworker, and she was, indirectly, responsible for his death. (Note: not making this into A Point, its just fucking hilarious).

All in all, these two have no chemistry. Scout has a six year long obsession, and Miss Pauling has a six year long distain for our quirked up white boy. Their whole dynamic is the age old “dumb jackass loser wants pretty girl” and lets face it, we’re sick of that. Scout couldn’t even come up with a reasonable, honest way to see Miss Pauling in person. He selfishly wanted a date (that fits his myopic view of what dating Miss Pauling looks like) and didn’t care how he got it.

I’m not trying to attack anyone with this post. Its a ship analysis, and I hope it at least points out the major flaws between them. Unless Scout changes his entire personality (he won’t), Miss Pauling is never gonna like him.

#long post #i went off here actually #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #miss pauling #not tagging the ship but yeah #ship analysis

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incandescentlysomething · 1 month

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Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 4

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5613

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“Why are you bringing so much?”

Aelinor turned to look at Luc as he entered the courtyard of Dragonstone, where she was strapping a large bundle to the back of Darax’s saddle. “They’re clothes.” She said simply, tightening the strap again. The flight to King’s Landing should be uneventful, but she didn’t want to lose anything.

“I thought you sent trunks on ahead with Mother and the ship?” He asked. “Why do you need more? We’re just flying into the Dragon Pit after all.”

She cleared her throat. “I just want to appear at the Red Keep looking my best.”

“But you look fine in your—”

“She means,” Jace strode into the courtyard, Vermax walking slowly behind him. “That she wants to look pretty for Aemond.”

“Jace!” Aelinor protested, running a hand down Darrax’s flank. It was a good thing that their dragons had grown in proximity to each other, but they were all getting a bit nervous in the small courtyard. Things would turn disastrous if one of her brother’s dragons chose to challenge Darrax in such close quarters.

“Don’t say such foolish things,” she scolded her brother again, turning away so that he couldn’t see the red tinge to her cheeks.

“Isn’t it?” He smirked. “Careful, Sister. I might grow jealous seeing my betrothed prettying herself up for someone else.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” he teased. She could have thrown something at him, if the levity in his gaze didn’t give away that he was truly, only joking. Jace and her would never suit as husband and wife, but they had certainly grown to be friends.

She settled on rolling her eyes, turning to face her more tolerable brother. “I’ll see you at King’s Landing. Safe flight, everyone.”

With a sharp word to Darrax, the dragon rolled his shoulder down, allowing her to climb into the saddle and adjust the straps around her legs with practiced motions.

“See you later, Lina!” Luc waved cheerfully.

She nodded back. “ Soves, Darrax .”

He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Both Luc and Jace scrambled back as he spread his massive wings and within seconds took to the sky. They coasted over the island quickly, and before long were heading across the bay, Darrax dipping low enough to let his tail skim the water.

Aelinor coaxed him higher, not wanting to risk ruining all of her packed clothes with sea spray.

Gods, she adored flying. It seemed to be the only time that she could be truly alone with her thoughts.

Jace wasn’t wrong, she had packed a change of clothes so that she might look somewhat presentable when she saw Aemond again. Which was stupid of her, she knew. If the Aemond she knew had not changed, he surely wouldn’t care whether she showed up dressed like a queen or in sweaty flying leathers with her hair all a-muss. And if he had changed….then he might not be her Aemond anymore. He was a prince, after all, and he probably had a hundred ladies fawning over him. Why would he waste a second on his childhood friend? And why did that idea of that sting so very much?

No, Aelinor caught herself before she spiraled too deeply. The clothes were so that she might make a good impression on the court. She told herself that they weren’t for Aemond. They were for her mother, for Luc, and even for Jace’s own succession. If ser Vaemond were successful in challenging Luc’s claim, they would all be at risk. The least she could do was make sure that she looked her best and did her part.

Setting the reins against the saddle, Aelinor used her good hand to adjust her gloves. The sea spray wasn’t warm, and the cold always caused such an uncomfortable ache in her bad hand. Once her gloves were set, she retook the reins, thankful that Darrax was steady and reliable enough for her to make such necessary adjustments. How many years ago had it been when she had insisted that she would never be able to fly, with Aemond arguing with her all the way. As it turned out, he had been right. She had just needed to have more faith in herself and in Darrax.

They soared over the royal ship, and she urged Darrax to fly further ahead. Her mother was too pregnant to fly, and so the ship carrying her, Prince Daemon, the younger children and Rhaena had left early in the morning. It was little effort for Darrax to overtake them, and she knew she would easily beat her entire family to King’s Landing.

“Prince Aemond!”

He whipped his head around, not at all surprised when he found Ser Criston striding toward him. That damned knight made it his business to supervise all of the royal children, and it seemed that Aemond had yet to outgrow his meddling.

“What is it, Cole?” Aemond reluctantly marked his place in his book. Legends of Old Valyria . It had been many years since he had read it, but he remembered that the stories inside were among Aelinor’s favourites, and he wanted to brush up.

“We have received word from the dragon keepers,” Cole came to a stop in front of him. “The first of the Princess’ children have appeared. They are waiting on all of them to arrive before they take the carriage to the Keep.”

“Thank you for keeping me informed.” Why should he care if Prince Jacaerys arrived before his siblings? He had probably flown ahead just because he could. In all honesty, there had been very little news from Dragonstone regarding the dragons. He knew that Lin—that Aelinor was flying, as her saddle had been specifically made for her at King’s Landing, but no one knew which of their dragons were the fastest, strongest or largest. It mattered little, as he had Vhagar, who was the strongest of them all.

“Your mother, The Queen, wished to know if you would receive them upon their arrival. They should all be arriving together, Princess Rhaenyra and her children both.”

Curious that his mother didn’t intend on receiving the heir to the throne, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to think about the implications.

He slammed his book shut. “I won’t be receiving them. Come, we must train. My mother can entertain our guests.” He grabbed his sword from where it rested on the table in the library, and marched out.

Was he being childish? Most likely. But he did not think he had the strength to stand there and watch Jace hand Aelinor out of the carriage. He did not want to see them stand next to each other, to feign politeness as that bastard stood in front of him and shattered every dream he had ever had. The dreams might be already broken, but at least he could let the glass fall gently.

Everything was exactly as she had remembered it. The dragon keepers, Darrax’s stall (though he had outgrown it), and even the slightly bitter tinge to the air the moment she stepped out of the Dragonpit. The stench of King’s Landing was almost overpowering, but it still smelled like home.

It took several hours for her brothers to arrive, lending proof to her theory that boys could never manage to do anything on time, and she took that time to change and make herself comfortable in the provided carriage. By the time they stepped inside, looking travel worn and weary, she was feeling much better about her choice to bring a change of clothes.

“You look nice,” Luc had said.

“Who’d you put that on for?” Jace teased. She had punched him in the arm for that.

But soon enough they had rolled through the gates of the Red Keep, only a few minutes ahead of their mother, and found no one there to receive them. Rhaenyra had scoffed, granting each of her three eldest a kiss on their cheeks before dismissing them while she went to greet the King and Queen. Aelinor was grateful to not be part of that conversation.

She did hope for a chance to see her grandfather before the feast in a few days, but she wasn’t sure she could brave the pressure of a formal reception.

The children (if they could even be called that anymore) were left to explore the castle. Jace and Luc rushed ahead, anxious to see the training yard from when they were young, but Aelinor lingered in the corridors, taking in the changes that had been made. She supposed things were bound to feel different, as she was much older than she had been, but there were many changes to the Keep.

Statues of the Seven decorated the halls where before there had been relics of Old Valyria, and many of the murals of risque artwork, which she had giggled over many a time, had been replaced with more modest, spiritual imagery.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Aemond thought of it all. To her it seemed a great and upsetting change, but what had it been like for him? To see the histories and stories he had grown up loving slowly stripped away?

People stopped and stared as she passed, but she did not let it bother her. Taking the time to smile at the few faces she recognized she watched as it dawned on them who exactly she was. Perhaps it had not been widely publicized that they were coming to court. She was once again glad for her decision to change.

The dress was not ornate — few of hers were — but the deep blue velvet and long white sleeves that flowed past her wrist did convey a certain stateliness. And they hid her hand, which probably added to the mystery. The wide neckline, which dipped low enough to display some of her cleavage and wide enough to hang tauntingly off her shoulders, was the closest she could come to emulating the fashions she remembered of the court. But now, she saw that fashions were much more modest, and it didn’t take much to realize who was responsible for that.

“Princess Aelinor!” Ser Harrald’s familiar face appeared in front of her, pulling her away from a stained glass piece of the Mother and the Maiden. He looked a few years older, perhaps, but she was just as happy to see him as when she was a girl.

The last time she had seen him, he had been carrying her away from Aemond as he screamed on the ground, blood pouring from his eye.

Shaking the horrible memory from her head, she decided to ignore the many courtiers surrounding them and stood on her tiptoes to wrap the man in a hug. “It is so nice to see you, Ser Harrald.”

“And you, Princess,” he gave a polite squeeze, and then took a step back. “You have grown up absolutely beautifully if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she smiled. “It seems much has changed since I was last here.”

“Not as much as you would expect,” he said knowingly.

Aelinor laughed, not quite willing to think of all the possible implications of his statement. “As it is, I must find my brothers. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them, have you?”

Ser Harral smiled. “As I said, Princess. Not much has changed. Most of the action takes place in the training yard, and that is just at the south end of this corridor.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Aelinor nodded. “I will see you later, I hope.”

“As do I.”

With a proper, deep bow, he continued down the hall in the direction she had come from, his white cloak billowing behind him. Now in a much better mood than she had been when she stepped into these uncertain halls, Aelinor hurried toward the training yard. She would collect her brothers, force them to go and clean up, and then they would have time to relax a bit from their journey.

Briefly, the thought that Aemond might be there crossed her mind. Probably not, as he had never enjoyed training, choosing to do the bare minimum out of obligation more than anything else, and she couldn’t imagine him choosing to spend time there of his own choice. But she couldn’t quite squash the butterflies that were fluttering in her stomach.

Things were coming back to her as she stepped through the door into the training yard, recognizing the mud-covered mat used for brushing one’s boots off, even the walkways above the yard usually covered in mud. But when she looked up to survey the yard, she was surprised to find it completely silent. There was no clanging of metal, or the duller impact of the wooden practice blades. No playful yelling or bellowed instructions from knights training their squires.

She quickly saw the reason why. She had just reached the top of the stairs when she caught sight of Ser Vaemond striding across the yard, heading straight for her, a gaggle of servants and guards trailing behind him. It seemed that the crowd in the training yard had fallen silent at his arrival.

Aelinor stepped to the side when he reached the top, offering a demure curtsy. “Ser Vaemond. It has been a long time.”

“Indeed, Princess,” Ser Vaemond gave her an appraising look. “Indeed.”

“I would have expected you to arrive well before us, as it is your petition we are here to witness, after all.”

“Don’t pretend there is any propriety in this farce.” Ser Vaemond scoffed.

Aelinor glanced up, narrowing her eyes. “We are here to hear the King’s justice, grand-uncle. Sure it is too soon to call any of this a farce.”

Ser Vaemond laughed then, and she was reminded of that day at Driftmark, when he had used her aunt’s death as a chance to taunt her and her brothers. “I wouldn’t be so quick to call it justice. Not when you will soon have to face the truth of this.”

Aelinor gave him a polite smile. “And yet, it was not our company who saw fit to arrive through the back door.”

She didn’t offer him another curtsy as he strode by her, ignoring her words. A tiny inkling of pride made her stand a bit straighter. Surely, if that was the first test of this whole affair, she had proven that she could do her part.

Forcing her face back into a pleasant expression, she marched down the stairs, spotting her brothers right away, next to a large crowd of gathered people.

“Jacaerys! Lucerys!” She called, hurrying out onto the ground, the hem of her skirt dragging through the mud. She sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness from whichever maid had to clean the filth from the velvet. Both boys turned to look at her, away from whatever was happening at the center of the circle. And Jace…he looked unsettled.

Coming to a stop in front of them, she tried for a comforting grin, aware of the eyes on them. It was hardly a surprise that they were on edge after Ser Vaemond’s dramatic arrival. “Come on, we need to go clean up.”

“Lina?”

There it was. That voice that she had imagined a thousand times since she had last heard it. He sounded so different, his voice older and deeper and more serious than she remembered, though how she had gleaned all that from a single word was beyond her. But it didn’t matter, because it was still his .

And there he was, standing at the center of the circle, a sword in his hand, a patch on his eye, his long silver hair tied back. Aemond . He was tall, taller than she had imagined, which only seemed unfair given how he was also more perfect and handsome than she could have envisioned.

He was staring straight at her, his mouth hanging open, chest heaving, as though he had just finished a bout and hadn’t quite caught his breath.

Aelinor was suddenly overcome with a sense of embarrassment. She looked…she should have picked a different dress. Oh, why did their first meeting in nine years have to be after she’d gone tramping through the mud, calling after her brother’s like an idiot? Had she even brushed her hair?

Luckily, Jace must have seen the panic on her face, for he quickly grabbed her wrist, gave a quick nod to Aemond that she didn’t fully understand, and pulled her away.

“Compose yourself, Aelinor,” he whispered in her ear as they rushed back up the steps, Luc close behind them. “Or this will be a very awkward week.

Still, Aelinor turned to look over her shoulder. The crowd had moved on from whatever they had been watching, no longer interested in the long-lost princes or princess.

But Aemond hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, his eye fixed on her.

Still trembling, Aelinor gave him a small smile, as much as she could muster.

And Aemond smiled back.

Gods she was beautiful.

Aemond felt like an idiot. After nearly ten years of waiting, of holding his breath for the moment he would get to see her again, and instead, he’d been dumbstruck like an idiot. Because Lina….Lina was beautiful .

She’d always been pretty, of course, and he had thought that from the first moment that he saw her. But she had stood in front of him, a woman grown, with her silver hair falling in loose waves past her hips, lilac eyes shining as she searched for her brothers in the crowd, and he realized that without a doubt, Aelinor was the most beautiful woman in the world.

But then she had seen him, seen what he had become, covered in sweat and grime from hours spent training, his eyepatch and the scar that crept out from behind it, and she had run. Not only had she run, but that bastard Jacaerys had been holding her hand. Seeing them together, Aemond was even more convinced that they were not a good match. He might not deserve Aelinor, but for Jacaerys to even think of touching her…it made his skin crawl.

Tossing his sword aside, ignoring Ser Criston’s cry, Aemond hurried after his niece and nephews, entirely unsure of what he was doing.

“Gods, Aelinor, your face was hilarious,” Luc was laughing as they strolled through the halls. “I’ve never seen your eyes so wide.”

“Shut up,” Aelinor flushed. “It was just a surprise to see him.”

“Here? In his own home?” Jace rolled his eyes, his hand still locked around her wrist. “Or was it the eyepatch? I admit, the wound was more hideous than I had expected it to be. But I suppose something like that will never truly heal.”

“Of course not!” Aelinor shook him off, annoyed. “It was just…a surprise.” What could she say? That she had been dumbstruck by how unbelievably handsome Aemond was? Her brothers would never let her live it down.

“Wekk, I hope you get a handle on it for tomorrow,” Jace gave her a wry grin, clearly exasperated by how poorly she was hiding her true feelings. “We need to appear strong and united.”

“Of course we do, and we will,” Aelinor reached out to squeeze Luc’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Luc. We’ll get everything sorted out.”

“I hope so, because I—” Luc stared over her shoulder, his eyes widening. “Umm…Aelinor?”

“What are you…”

“Aelinor!” Aemond’s voice called from behind her, tone sharp and unforgiving. It sent a thrill rushing through her veins. “Wait!”

“We have somewhere to be, Prince Aemond,” Jace said quickly, reaching again for her elbow. “Forgive us if—”

“I wish to speak to Aelinor,” Aemond repeated, and Aelinor felt his presence like a magnetic force as he came to a stop behind her. She shouldn’t have turned, but as soon as she did, finding him only a few feet away from her, slightly out of breath and staring at her with unsettling intensity, she knew that nothing in the world could have moved her from that place.

“Aelinor?” Jace whispered.

She cleared her throat, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Jace. I’ll catch up with you all later.”

He didn’t look convinced, but Luc poked him in the back, urging him away and down the corridor.

Aelinor turned back to Aemond slowly, her hands knotting in the sleeves of her dress. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do?

“I’m sorry about back there,” Aemond said quickly, almost tripping over the words as he rushed to get them out.

“Back there?” Her thoughts felt like soup, all rational thought lost in the overwhelming sensation of Aemond .

“In the courtyard. With my—” He gestured to his face, leaving Aelinor even more confused. “I know it can be quite…jarring and I…” he trailed off.

Aelinor just stared at him.

Aemond had no idea what he was doing. He’d rushed after her, so determined not to let her slip away and refusing to let her be swept away by her brother and then…and then what? As soon as she’d turned to look at him, all he could remember was how pale she had become in the courtyard. When she saw his scar. And now he was stumbling like a fool as he tried to apologize, and she stared at him like he was the world’s greatest fool.

“It’s ugly, I know…” He was still talking, wishing that he had the self-control to silence himself. “But the patch makes it more bearable and you won’t have to see—”

Aelinor slammed into him, nearly knocking her backward with the force of her hug.

“What are you talking about, you fool?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. “Ten years, and all you can do is apologize for your eye?”

Aemond choked on the words, trying to find something to say. Aelinor was embracing him. How many times in the past years had he imagined this exact moment? Each time he had convinced himself that it would never happen, not when she was…well her …and he looked the way he did.

And not it took every ounce of his willpower to lift his arms and wrap them around her waist, resisting the urge to hold her so tightly and lift her off the ground.

But she was hugging him, and when she pulled away, there was a brilliant smile on her face.

“You look very roguish,” she declared. “Like a pirate.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He smiled thinking back to that day when they had said goodbye. When she had been the first person to make him feel that perhaps things weren’t so bleak after all. Before she had left, and he’d learned just how bleak the world could be.

A shadow passed over her face. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“I know—”

“I just wanted you to know that it would never have changed how I felt about you.” She coughed. “Then or…or now.”

As she spoke, she was moving back to a safe, court-appropriate distance. That fleeting, perfect moment was already cursing himself for not taking the chance to hold her more tightly. For a few precious seconds, it had felt as though nothing had changed. He had been her Aemond again.

But things weren’t the same, were they? He knew that better than anyone, when he spent his days listening to his mother and grandfather as they quietly connived to secure Aegon’s place on the throne. They subtly spread their poison about his half-sister and her pack of bastards, of which Aelinor was one.

And she wasn’t Lina anymore. She was Aelinor. A woman. A beautiful, ethereal woman, and even if she could embrace him like no time at all had passed, everything was different now.

“You come to support your brother’s claim?” Aemond found the most neutral topic he could think of, one that wouldn’t set his heart pounding.

Aelinor took a deep breath, as if composing herself, and then nodded. “At the request of my mother and my…Prince Daemon. And for Luc, of course. He may be a rascal, but I am fond of him.”

This surprised Aemond. “I can remember having to fight him off when he was trying to pull your hair out. Forgive me if I am skeptical.”

“Yes, well,” Aelinor chuckled. “He has matured. Slightly. The same cannot be said of Jace.”

The mention of her elder brother instantly soured Aemond’s mood. He didn’t want to talk about her betrothed, he didn’t want to even think about it. Only minutes before, Jace had been leading Aelinor away from him by the arm, a sight he would not soon forget.

But she had embraced him, and that….that couldn’t count for nothing.

“I imagine things are going to get a bit hectic over the next few days, wouldn’t you say?” Aelinor asked. “Before the petition?”

“I would imagine so,” Aemond agreed, both of them fully aware of what they meant. Whatever farce might be put on at the ball the next day, tensions were still bound to boil over. It was inevitable that they would be drawn into it.

A crowd of tittering ladies strolled by, stopping to bob curtsies to the familiar prince. Each of them carefully avoided looking him in the eye. It irked him more than usual, an irrational worry flooding him that perhaps Aelinor would see how the ladies of court feared him, and realize that she should do the same.

“Is there something interesting about the floor?” Aelinor’s tone was light, almost teasing. “I admit that much has changed since I was last here, but I find the floor tiles about the same.”

Everyone’s gaze darted to her, and Aemond was shocked to see a tight smile on her face. Her tone might have been in jest, but there was nothing humorous to be found in the harsh glare of her eyes as she studied the other woman.

“My lady?” One lady said, her eyes darting about, looking for an escape. Aemond thought he might have been introduced to her at one time, but couldn’t be bothered to remember her name.

“ Princess Aelinor ,” he bit out, the ladies all cowering back a step.

“Apologies, Princess Aelinor,” the ladies all curtsied quickly. “I beg your forgiveness.”

Aelinor waved her hand. “None needed. So long as you can tell me why you are studying the floor with such devotion.”

The ladies gaped at her.

“Because,” Aelinor continued. “Some might find it disrespectful, to refuse to meet the eye of their Prince.” Her voice was still light, but Aemond felt the chill she directed at the women.

They all floundered, speaking over each other. Aelinor sighed, almost in boredom.

“Leave,” he barked at the other women. “You have bothered the Princess long enough.”

They practically ran down the halls, nearly tripping over their skirts.

“The entire Keep will tremble in your wake by tomorrow.” He said to Aelinor.

She sighed. “I hope not. I just…” she looked up at him. “Are they all like that?”

“Most of them,” he nodded. “Though I confess, they got marginally better when Aegon and Helaena married and I became the only option. They tend to leave me alone now.”

She furrowed her brow. “Well, then they are idiots. I knew there was a reason you and Helaena were the only people I ever liked.”

Aemond swallowed, unsure what to say to that.

“Walk with me, Aemond,” Aelinor took his arm, not waiting for him to offer it, and began to lead him down the hall at a leisurely pace. He internally grimaced when he realized that her beautiful dress was pressing against his sweaty training shirt, but that worry was quickly overshadowed by a much more pressing concern. Aelinor was touching him. If he angled his body slightly, her side would have pressed into him. How was he meant to maintain composure, when she was so damn close.

“You’re very tense,” Aelinor noted.

“I…” What was he supposed to say? I’m tense because this is the closest I’ve ever been to a woman, and closer than I ever thought I would be to you. “I am sore from training.”

She frowned at that. “Cole works you too hard. I never liked him.”

“From the sound of it, there are very few people you do like.”

“True enough,” she smiled at him, squeezing his elbow with her hand. “I like Jace occasionally, Luc most of the time. Helaena of course. And then, I like absolutely. Everyone else is simply irrelevant.”

It might have sounded callous if anyone were to overhear, and it could hardly be taken as a surprise. Why shouldn’t a spoiled princess hate everyone around her, except for her favourite toys? But Aemond knew exactly what she meant, for he often found himself feeling the same way. Though there were many people and things in his life that he knew on some level he cared for, they all faded into the background when it came to Aelinor. Even in the years they had been apart, all it would take was for him to think of her, and his entire perspective on a situation could change. His favourite horse was a white stallion because it was what the hero rode in the stories he had told her when she was a girl (when the heroes weren’t riding dragons). He had been presented with over twenty horses to choose from, but as soon as that thought of Aelinor had entered his mind, no other horse would do.

He could never bring himself to indulge in his cups the way his brother did, always remembering the sour look on Lina’s face when she had supped wine for the first time.

Gods above, there was a sapphire embedded in his skull, because she had suggested that it would look pretty.

“What of your parents?” He asked. “Surely you must hold some love for them if you followed them here.”

It was a thinly veiled attempt to bait her, and Aelinor knew it. “I love my mother dearly, of course, though we have never quite understood each other. I imagine that is the way with most mothers and daughters.”

True enough. Aemond knew all too well that his own mother struggled to understand Helaena, though he doubted there was any actual effort applied.

“And Prince Daemon…” Aelinor sighed, and Aemond noticed that she did not call him father . “My mother loves him, and so that is enough. It does not make me any more eager to spend a few weeks cooped up in the Keep with them, conspiring against the Hand and his…” She trailed off, shooting him a nervous look. “Forget I said that.”

It was already forgotten, but Aemond nodded anyway. There was no contest between his reluctant tolerance of his mother’s father and the esteem he held for Aelinor.

“You must help me escape, Aemond,” Aelinor smiled up at him. “I don’t care if we go flying, or if we’re hiding in the stables, but I must have a reprieve from all this.”

This was…this was almost too familiar. How many times in their youth had she grabbed him by the arm, begging him to help her escape from her lessons or luncheons? He had never once, in all that time, failed to oblige.

He stopped suddenly, an idea winking into existence. “Then let me give you dinner. This evening. Just the two of us.”

“Dinner?” Aelinor tilted her head. “Where?” The many times they had eaten together in the past had almost always been in the confines of one of their chambers when they were but children. But they were no longer children, and family loyalties aside, it would be grossly improper for a young man and a woman to dine privately in closed rooms.

“My father’s library,” He named the first place he could think of that could offer some degree of privacy without ruining their reputation. The King was too ill to make use of it, and neither his siblings nor his mother ever ventured there. “You can be free of your family for an evening, I can be free of mine, and we can regale each other with tales of our brilliant exploits.”

He tried not to think about how their families might perceive this plan. Of what Jacaerys might think to find Aemond dining with his betrothed. But Aelinor didn’t look the least bit bothered by it, and that gave him a shred of hope. He intended to grasp onto every second of Aelinor that he could before she was swept away from him.

Aelinor was grinning. “You do make a very tempting offer.”

“There will be lemon tarts,” he added quickly. “And all your favourites.” He hoped the cook was skilled enough to make angel cakes with berry sauce before that evening.

“Ah well, then I cannot refuse,” Aelinor dropped his arm and gave a small smile. “I shall see you then. At sundown?”

Aemond gave a jerky nod, halfway between a bow and a friendly farewell. Aelinor just smiled wider.

“And Aemond?” She called, still walking away.

“Yes, Lin—” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Princess?” He couldn’t go shouting her given name in a public corridor, never mind that there didn’t seem to be anyone around to hear it.

“I have no need of lemon tarts. Bring yourself, for that is all I need.”

He stared at her until she faded from view, her skirts swishing as she disappeared around a corner.

And then Aemond sprinted for the kitchens.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #fanfiction #fanfic #lady of the ashes

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loulouwrites · 6 months

Text

Secrets . Tommy Shelby

summary: tommy shelby is dead, and his life has just begun

warnings: angst, talk of death, grief, post season 6, abuse, discussions of domestic violence, unedited,tommy shelby having a normal job? lmk if i missed any!

word count: 5k

Death was no stranger to Thomas Shelby.

He had killed more men than he could count, he had lost more friends than he cared to remember, and he had died six months ago - at least, that's what everybody thought.

He wondered if he should have felt more guilty. He was sure his family had grieved him - he hoped they had, anyway - but he would not blame them if they hadn't.

He imagined, as they grieved them, relief also passed through them, he imagined them feeling guilty for thinking such a thing. He knew Ada would feel terrible, shake the thought out of her head, but it would be there.

Thomas Shelby was dead, and that meant his terrible legacy died with him.

He didn't feel anything when he thought about his family's reaction, because his was the same. He grieved the loss of himself, he grieved those he loved that were still living, knowing he would never see them again. He grieved the dead, his dead wife, his precious daughter that was taken before her life truly began, and he grieved that he was not going to see them for a long time. But, admist his grief, that wave of relief washed over him, he felt his stomach untwist, he felt the weight on his shoulders disappear, and for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

For the first time in his life, he was exactly where he needed to be.

Alone.

Nobody here knew his real name, nobody knew what he had done, and most importantly, nobody cared.

The first month he had has been dead, he had met a group of travellers, they had welcomed him into their camp with open arms and open bottles of cheap whiskey. He had been lucky they didn't recognise him, the community being so small, but by some miracle, they didn't.

He didn't stay long, the group was too insular, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they ran into a group who did know who he was, and who would tell anybody who would listen that the dead Thomas Shelby OBE, was not actually dead.

The second month, he had travelled north and had worked on the shipyards in the North East. They were used to all kinds of people travelling there for work and leaving after a few months to move on to bigger and better things - he had lasted two weeks.

Thomas Shelby was no fool. He had no need to work jobs on shipyards or factories. He had given his businesses away, he had buried his titles with him, but there was always Shelby money somewhere, hidden in different parts of Birmingham, money that was meant to stay hidden.

Enough to allow him live comfortably for the rest of his life.

The third and fourth months were spent collecting that money and trying to find something to do with it.

He was not a man that was made to relax. He didn't enjoy sitting, or reading, or any leisurely activities, he was born to work. He had always been like that, always working towards something, always reaching towards a goal, but he had done everything a man could do, and now, it was time to rest.

He liked living in the countryside. He had thought it might be too dangerous, too many nosy neighbours and friendly questions, but not too many people passed through, and those that did didn't care about where he came from, they tended to just ask him for directions to the nearest town.

He lived a lonely life, and he liked it that way.

He did have one friend. When solitude became too much, even for him, he would venture the two miles to the nearest house, where a charming elderly widow named Pearl lived.

Pearl was nearing seventy-five. She had lived for two centuries, she had seen a queen die, a king crowned, she had seen her sons shipped off to war and never return, and she had seen many liars in her time. And yet, she did not suspect the nice man who lived close by to be anything but an honourable, young man.

Pearl's husband had died almost twenty years ago, and she had seen the look of a bereft spouse on Tommy Shelby's face the moment she had seen him - but she never asked him about it. They didn't talk much over the dinners Pearl would prepare, they didn't really need to, they had both talked enough in their time.

It was a chilly night when Tommy approached Pearl's little cottage. He always came to dinner on the last Sunday of the month, how that habit had formed, he had no idea.

The old woman had greeted him with a smile at the door, waving him inside where it was warm and inviting, the smell of her cooking a warm welcome.

He had barely sat down on the wooden chair at the foot of the table when a crash came from the adjacent kitchen, and he had shot the woman fussing over him a questioning look, to which he shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Pearl," a woman's voice called from the kitchen, the door swinging open "I broke two of your plates." The woman stopped in the doorway when she noticed Tommy sat at the table, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Pearl waved a dismissive hand at the woman, patting Tommy on the shoulder and waving her over to the table, encouraging her to take a seat.

"It's only a couple of plates," Pearl said, "I have too many, anyways." She pointed to the woman that had gingerly sat down to the right of Tommy, introducing her before disappearing into the kitchen to plate up their dinner, "she's a family friend and will be staying with me for a while."

"Pearl has spoke of you very fondly, Tom." The woman smiled, leaning forward in her chair.

Tommy hadn't bothered to change his forename.

"I'm glad to hear it," Tommy grabbed the glass of water that Pearl had placed on the table before he had arrived, "she hasn't mentioned you before, though."

Tommy was good at reading people, always had been, and he didn't miss the way the woman's red painted lips tightened, her smile slightly straining at his words.

"I should be offended." She let out a huff of laughter, "I always thought Pearl and I were close."

"Not as close as I am with Pearl." Tommy joked, noticing the woman's posture relax as she leaned back in her chair.

"Yes, well, Pearl makes friends very easily. I don't think she has ever met stranger."

Tommy smiled at the woman's words, his eyes flickering across her face. She was pretty, her makeup was perfectly applied to her face and her hair was immaculately styled, even the red varnish on her nails was perfect.

She shifted under his gaze, and Tommy realised he hadn't spoken in at least a minute, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed at what he was sure she thought was him leering.

The awkward atmosphere was thankfully broken by Pearl reentering the room, her hands full as she balanced three plates in her arms. Tommy was quick to jump out, taking the plates from the older woman and setting them on the table.

The dinner conversation was more lively than it usually was when Tommy visited, Pearl seemingly thrilled at having another presence at the table, so much so, the two younger people in the room could barely get a word in for the entire meal.

Pearl had excused herself after dinner, claiming it was too late for a woman her age, and insisting her two friends make themselves a cup of tea before Tom headed home.

The clattering of cups on saucers were all that could be heard in the living room, the awkward tension returning as they sat on the sofa.

She reached over to the side table, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, offering one to Tommy, which he declined with a shake of his head, though he did inhale extra hard when the smoke drifted his way.

"You and Pearl have become quite close." She said eventually, flicking the ashes of her cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the coffee table.

"Oh, we're the best of friends." Tommy nodded, his voice flat, but his eyes carrying a glimmer of humour that she clearly picked up on, her lips curling into a smile.

"I'm almost jealous."

"Of me?" Tommy raised his eyebrows, "or of Pearl?"

Her laugh was one of the best things he had heard in a long time.

"I suppose it must be nice having a friend, it's so rural here, it must get lonely."

"Loneliness isn't always a bad thing." Tommy muttered, and she didn't miss the bitterness in his tone.

"I suppose you're right," she sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette, "as long as you choose it."

Tommy hummed in response, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. "Why are you here?" He didn't mean for the question to sound so abrupt, he meant to ask it in a friendly manner, instead it came out like an interrogation, and her eyebrows raised in surprised.

"Pearl is an old family friend, she offered me somewhere to stay for a while."

"For a while?" Tommy asked, "won't your husband miss you?"

He flinched at his words. Subtle.

"I'm not married," she offered him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "what about you? Pearl told me you live alone."

"Widowed." Tommy shrugged, and she nodded in response, but she didn't say anything, she didn't offer him her condolences, or ask what happened, and he would be eternally grateful for that.

He saw himself out a few moments later, thanking her for the tea, and telling her to thank Pearl for the lovely meal.

"It was very nice to meet you...Tom..."

"Smith." Tommy answered from the front door.

He had never had a very good imagination.

◇─◇──◇─◇

He saw her again three days later. It was Wednesday when she arrived at his door, holding a basket of rock cakes in her hand, pushing past him into his house before he had time to protest.

The house was unbearably plain. He hadn't bothered to decorate the place, keeping the furniture that was there when he had purchased it. He watched as she took in the living room, her head moving around, taking in the bare walls and dated carpet.

He imagined it looked strange, there was not one personal touch in the entire house, no paintings, no photographs, just the daily newspaper thrown on the table in the corner.

"I love what you've done with the place." Her tone was so serious, Tommy almost thought she was being genuine, and his eyes widened until she turned her head to meet his gaze, a smirk on her perfectly painted list.

"I've been known to have an eye for interior design." He smirked back, and she snorted at his words.

"Pearl sent me." She held up the basket in her hand, "she made too many."

"You'd think she would no portion control by now." He said, taking the basket from her and setting it on the table, next to the unread newspaper.

"I think she made the specially for you." She smiled, "it's nice."

"It is." Tommy agreed and she began walking around the living room, a frown on her face.

"What do you do?" She asked eventually, her tone incredulous. He frowned at her words, his face questioning. "I mean...there are no books, no writing materials...what do you do all day?"

Tommy considered his response, but what could he say? 'I spend all my time pondering every mistake I have ever made?' 'All I do is wonder what my family are doing at this very moment?' 'I wish I was actually dead?'

He just shrugged.

"Do you not get bored?" She sounded truly concerned about him.

"Only boring people get bored." He told her, his mother had told him that when he was young.

"Now I see why you're so fond of Pearl. She's the only entertainment you have."

"She's more than enough." Tommy joked dryly, and she smirked at him, a knowing look on her face.

"Well...have a good day." She made her way to his front door, "God knows how."

The door had closed behind her before he could respond.

He didn't go and see Pearl that night, instead choosing to walk through the empty fields surrounding his property. He enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere at night here. The sky was clear, there was no city fog or grime that hid the stars in the sky, the air was crisp and fresh, not assaulting his lungs as he walked. It allowed him time to think, but he didn't think about the bad things outside, those were reserved for the confines of his house.

When he was out in the calm of nature, he allowed himself to think about the good things, few as they were.

When he returned to his house, he almost missed the object that had been placed on his front step, he would have if he hadn't tripped over it when he went to unlock his front door.

He picked up the object as if it were a bomb, rather than the leather-bound book it was, holding it between his thumb and forefinger with a frown on his face.

Jane Eyre.

He couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

◇─◇──◇─◇

"Did you like it?" She asked him two weeks later. Tommy didn't know they had ended up walking together every lunchtime on a Saturday, but he couldn't find a reason to complain.

"No." He huffed, "I didn't like Jane Eyre either, by the way."

She rolled her eyes at his words, not phased by his clear displeasure. She had started leaving books on his doorstep every week. The first had been Jane Eyre, which Tommy had read in only three days, not pleased by the story one bit. The second had been a Charles Dickens novel that he had already read years ago, and he didn't like it the first time either.

"I'm starting to think you don't like much." She grumbled, nudging his shoulder with hers as they walked down the country road.

"That's not true, at all." He said, placing a hand on her lower back, rubbing circles there. They both stopped walking, heads turned to face each other, he leaned his head in, their foreheads almost touching. He noted the nervous look in her eyes, how her body stiffened under his touch, "I like Pearl." He removed his hand from her back, continuing his stroll, smirking when he heard her modest heels clicking against the pavement as she tried to catch up with him.

"You have a terrible sense of humour." She huffed, a smile on her lips.

◇─◇──◇─◇

She became a regular fixture in Tommy's life. He saw her more often than he saw Pearl, for she would venture to his house whenever she felt like it, asking him his opinions on the books she had given him, sometimes she would turn up with flowers and plants to 'brighten the room'.

He didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. She wasn't an imposition in his life, she didn't ask him questions about his life, she didn't pry when his mind seemed to be elsewhere, she kept their conversations to the books they had read and their upcoming meals at Pearl's house.

If he were still a suspicious man, he would have found it strange.

Why was she so disinterested in his past?

Was it because she didn't want him to be interested in hers?

But, he wasn't that man anymore, and he learned to be grateful for their encounters, no matter how shallow they were.

She eyed him suspiciously from across his kitchen table, the china cup hiding the bottom half of her face. She had become quite good at reading him over the months, she could tell when he wanted to say something, and when he didn't.

"What's on your mind?" She placed the cup down, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Where are you from?" He asked her, his expression blank, not suspicious, but not completely uninterested, either.

"South."

"South." Tommy repeated, nodding his head.

"Where are you from?"

"North."

"North." She replicated his nod.

"Why did you move here?"

"I got sick of the city, Pearl offered me a place to stay at hers."

"You didn't work?"

"No." She sighed, bringing her cup of tea to her lips again.

"You've never been married and you didn't work. Family money?"

"Something like that." She shrugged and Tommy could see the irritation growing on her face.

"Must have been a lonely life."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" She stood up from her seat them, brushing out the small creases in her green dress, her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but she shook her head, grabbing her handbag and leaving the kitchen.

Tommy felt guilty, but he didn't try to stop her.

◇─◇──◇─◇

He didn't see her for another few days. He knew she was avoiding him, it didn't surprise him when she didn't show up for their afternoon walk the next day, or when Pearl informed him she hadn't been feeling well so she wouldn't be joining them for dinner.

Pearl didn't miss the way his shoulder's deflated when she informed him.

Tommy didn't miss the ghost of a smirk on Pearl's face.

He saw her again exactly one week after she had stormed out of his kitchen. He had ventured into the nearest town to buy the essentials he had run out of over the past month, when he saw her, she was exiting the bakery.

She stood out like a sore thumb in the rural town. Her blue button up dress was cinched at the waist, the hat she wore was perfectly placed on top of the fashionable waves of her hair.

She didn't look like she belonged in the countryside, better suited for the nicer streets of London, or even, New York.

Tommy supposed he didn't particularly fit in either.

He approached her as she was about to enter the post office, offering to take the string shopping bag from her arms, which she declined with a polite smile.

He followed her into the post office, lagging behind due to the multiple women exiting, thanking him for holding the door.

He stood by the entrance, watching as passed along letters to the man at the desk, reaching to her purse to pay for the postage, plus a pack of cigarettes and some cherry drops.

He held the door open for her when she left, struggling to keep up with her quick steps.

"I thought you had no family." Tommy said, her pace slowing, making it easier for him to walk by her side.

"I didn't say that." She muttered, her gaze fixed ahead of her, "I said I had no husband. We all have family, Mr Smith."

"No all of us."

"Aren't you a widow?" She frowned, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze, "you had no children?"

The word got stuck in Tommy's mouth, "no." He flinched at how small his voice sounded.

"No brothers, sisters, parents?"

"No."

She didn't pry, she just nodded, letting a comfortable silence take over as they walked home.

She invited him in when they got to Pearl's cottage, informing him the elderly woman was in Brighton for the weekend, visiting her sister who had recently fallen ill.

He had gracefully accepted, helping her unpack the numerous shopping bags in the kitchen, and offering to help her cook dinner, but she shook him off, telling him she cooked better alone.

She wasn't as good of a chef as Pearl, Tommy noted as he struggled to cut his lamb, the meat slipping along the plate with the force.

She grimaced when the glasses shook on the table, a clear indication she had cooked the meat half an hour too long.

"I'm sorry." She sighed, "I've never been a good cook, or good hostess."

He waved a dismissive hand at her, finally gathering a cut of lamb on his fork, trying not to chew too aggressively under her watchful gaze.

"You don't have to eat it." She told him, setting her knife and fork down, "God knows I'm not going to."

"It's...good." Tommy said, trying to discreetly pick out the tough meat from his teeth with his tongue, she shot him an unimpressed look, and he huffed a laugh. "I've had worse."

"Hopefully Pearl will be home soon, I'm going to starve if she isn't."

"I could do with some starvation, I've had to get my trousers let out since I moved here."

"I lied." She said suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, and Tommy's eyes squinted in confusion.

"I'd say you were truthful...you really aren't a good cook."

"No." She groaned, sipping the red wine she had poured for herself, "I lied to you...about my life."

"I'm not trying to be funny, love, but you haven't told me anything about your life."

Her expression relaxed somewhat as she looked at him, but he could still see the worry in her eyes.

"I did. I said I've never been married."

She rose up from the table, pacing the small dining area with a sheepish expression on her face. Tommy breathed out heavily, gently placing his knife and fork on his plate as he watched her.

"You have been married?" He asked, not enjoying the way his stomach faintly twisted. He barely knew this woman, he had no right to feel betrayed because she had lied to him.

"I have been." She muttered, and his eyes narrowed further, but he didn't respond. "I mean...I am? Still...I think?"

"You think?" Tommy finally spoke, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and concern. He stood up from the table, mirroring her pacing movements as he tried to make sense of it all. "What do you mean you think you're still married? You either are or you aren't."

"I am." She spoke with conviction, halting her pacing to face him from the opposite side of the table. "I am still married."

"Why did you lie?" Tommy's words came out harsh, though he truly didn't mean them to. He had no right to judge her, he was just as bad, but he couldn't help but feel offended by her deception.

She looked down, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her wine glass. "I didn't mean to lie, it was just easier than the truth."

Tommy knew exactly what she meant.

"My husband wasn't kind," she continued, "he didn't physically harm me, but it would only have been a matter of time. He would find me if I stayed with my family, so I came here."

She didn't owe him an explanation, and Tommy was rather floored she had given him one.

He knew what the old him would do.

He could feel the primal, violent desires he thought had died rise up inside of him.

But, he wasn't that man anymore.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked her finally, moving to stand directly in front of her.

She shrugged at his words, "I don't know. I just don't like secrets."

Tommy felt a pang in his stomach.

"Everybody has secrets, love."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

◇─◇──◇─◇

Something changed following their conversation over dinner. Whilst Tommy assumed she would pull away from him, they seemed to get closer over the weeks.

Tommy wasn't sure whether he wanted to spend so much time with her, but he didn't put up much of a fight. He should have felt guilty about it, she had told him her secret, and he was still clinging on to his.

There were many times he thought about telling her, like on the walk they took where it started to rain and they had to run back to his, or when she brought him extra scones Pearl had made, or when she was lying with her head against his bare chest on a Sunday morning, but he never did.

They were just passing time.

That's what she had said before she left his house one morning. They were both lonely, neither of them had anything better to do, they were doing each other a favour.

"How did you get your money?" She asked him as she buttoned up her blue dress.

He choked on his cigarette smoke.

"What do you mean?" He asked, once his wheezing had subsided, standing from the bed to get dressed.

"You bought a cute little home in the countryside, but you don't work...I'm curious."

There was nothing hidden behind her smile. She wasn't asking for any reason other than wanting to know more about him.

The guilt returned to his gut.

"Gambling." He shrugged, buttoning up his shirt, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Gambling?"

"Horses...got lucky."

It wasn't exactly a lie.

◇─◇──◇─◇

Tommy enjoyed his mornings with her. He enjoyed the simplicity of waking up slowly, lighting a cigarette as he looked down at her sleeping form. He always woke up before her - he didn't sleep well, she was a master at it - and he liked it that way.

"I feel like we're abandoning Pearl." He told her, watching as she rubbed sleep from her eyes at the kitchen table, accepting the cup of tea he placed down in front of her, raising an eyebrow when she declined the toast and marmalade, reaching for a biscuit off the plate in the middle of the table instead.

"Tea and biscuits is the best breakfast you can have." She had told him.

"You're abandoning Pearl." She said, "I live with her."

"You haven't been home in days."

"That's your fault." She told him, "you're the one that trapped me here."

"I trapped you here, did I?"

"You make such good cups of tea, it makes it hard to go home."

Tommy hummed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Pearl does use too much milk."

"Exactly. You've spoiled me." She smirked, standing from her seat. "But you're right...I should go home." She brushed his shoulder when she passed him, "I'll see you around, Mr Smith."

He made sure to kiss her before she left.

◇─◇──◇─◇

The three days without her allowed Tommy time to think.

He enjoyed his time with her, but he could never seem to think clearly when he was in her presence. Her charm and wit would cloud any thought he had until he was utterly consumed by her.

It wasn't much different when she was gone, either.

His thoughts were still entirely made up of her - he wondered if it was because her floral perfume still lingered on his pillow - but he was able to properly assess the past few months.

He remembered how hollow he had been. How there was nothing to think about but the ghosts of his past, how he would tremble when he remembered the things he had seen, and the things he had done.

He remembered how she had changed that.

Now the haunting memories only came back in hushed whispers, whispers he could easily ignore when her laugh was so much louder, her presence much more dominating.

He wondered if he could love somebody he barely knew. Somebody who didn't know him at all.

Of course she knew small things.

She knew he preferred jam on his toast, she knew he didn't like sugar in his tea - a fact she had been horrified to learn - and she knew he was haunted.

She never asked him about it, but she knew. She couldn't ignore the way the nightmares made him shake, she couldn't ignore his body feeling like a furnace under her perfectly manicured fingers.

She didn't ask him, but he offered her an answer anyways.

He paced the floor of his bedroom, his breathing finally returning to normal, his eyes meeting hers from where she was sat up on the bed, her eyes concerned.

"France." He had muttered, returning to his spot in bed beside her.

She said nothing, instead, laying her head back on the pillow, her hand resting on his chest, above his rapidly beating heart.

It wasn't exactly a lie.

He pondered the timeline of their relationship as he walked to Pearl's house on a chilly Sunday evening.

They didn't know each other, not really, that was the beauty of it. She didn't know who Tommy really was, but she knew enough to feel safe with him. He didn't know much about her past, but he knew enough to know she could be trusted.

He didn't know much about her.

Yet, Tommy loved her anyway.

It was a strange feeling. He felt lighter, he felt happier, but there was still the guilt.

She had not offered him more information than was needed.

He had outright lied to her.

And so, as he approached the neighbouring house, Tommy decided he would tell her. He would tell her his real name, he would tell her what he had done, and he would tell her loved her.

There was no anxiety when he got to the front door, knocking lightly, even though Pearl had told him there was no need to. There was no need to feel anxious, because he was sure she felt the same - and he was certain, no matter what, she would not betray him.

Pearl greeted him with a smile, ushering him in as she always did. His eyes darted around the living room as he shrugged off his coat, the room looked the same as it always did, but something felt different.

He offered to help Pearl, knowing she would decline as always, pushing him towards the dining area.

He frowned when he got to the table, his eyes lingering on it for a moment too long.

It was set for two.

He glanced at the older woman in a silent questioning, and she sighed heavily under his gaze.

"She went home, son." She said, reaching over to rub his arm, a maternal comfort.

He knew she could see the confusion on his face, whether she could see the devastation and betrayal, he did not know.

"When?" He managed to ask, his throat dry.

"Two days ago." Pearl said, gently pushing Tommy into his seat at the head of the table. "Husband came up to get her, took her back."

He wished the woman had punched him in the stomach.

"And you let her go?" His voice held no venom, he was simply deflated in the chair.

"You can't force a woman to stay somewhere she doesn't want to, my love. No matter how much you want to."

She didn't wait for him to respond, leaving the room to plate up their dinner. Tommy's eyes stayed fixed on the place she would be sitting if she were here, his eyes not wavering from the empty chair.

It would have been easy to be sad.

It would have even easier to be angry.

But, he felt nothing.

She was just another ghost that would haunt him in his nightmares, and if that were the only way he would see her again, he looked forward to them.

He could not feel betrayed by her.

He was the liar, after all.

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