#maths of ice & fire | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hollowwhisperings · 2 years

Text

The Sister-Wives of House Targaryen, in Westeros: Marriage & Motherhood, Crowns & Corpses.

CW: discussions of incest, fertility issues, & child brides. mentions of infant mortality, self-defenestration. spoilers for future events of the "House of the Dragon" live-action series, as presented in its source material "Fire & Blood".

KEY

Title NAME family name (if not targaryen), born DATE: age when first a bride/mother/queen/corpse

Queen VISENYA I, b. 29 BC: ?/41/29/73

Queen RHAENYS I, b. ~25 BC: ?/32/25/35

Princess RHAENA of Dragonstone , b. 23 AC: 19/20/×/50

Queen ALYSANNE, b. 36 AC: 13/16/12/64

Princess ALYSSA, b. 60 AC: 15/17/×/24

Queen HELAENA, b. 109 AC: 13/~13/15/21

Queen DAENA "The Defiant", b. 145 AC: 15/~25*/16/unknown

Queen NAERYS, b. 138 AC: 15/15/34/41~53

Princess AELORA of Dragonstone, b. 195~211 AC: ?/×/×/?

Queen SHAERA, b. 226 AC: 14/18/33/34~55**

Queen RHAELLA, b. ~246 AC: 12/13/19/38

*Daena's marriage with her brother was never consumnated: she had an affair with a targaryen cousin.

**an unexpected butterfly corrects: as a Queen Shaera is noted as remaining at court in 260 AC, Princess Shaera could not have died at Summerhall)

With these data points, the following averages can be made:

ages of siblings being wed (by force or elopement);

ages when first pregnant

life expectancy.

In some instances, specific women will be excluded due to being outliers to the group as a whole or split into contrasting groups to determine any effects of shared circumstances.

Marriage

The average Targaryen sister-wife was married at 13 years old.

If separated by how "willing" these girls are to wed their brothers, two groups are made:

Unwilling/Obedient: Visenya (unknown), Helaena (13), Daena (15), Naerys (15), Rhaella (12).

By Choice: Rhaenys (unknown), Rhaena (19), Alysanne (13), Alyssa (15), Aelora (unknown), Shaera (14).

The average age of the willing brides is [17.75], while the average coerced sister-bride is [13.75]. That said, even Westeros considers pregnant <14 year olds to be Too Young: that tilts the balance between "willing" & "forced" toward the latter. Thusly,

Most Targaryen Sister-Wives Did Not &/or Could Not Consent to their Marriages.

Motherhood

Due to their being outliers, Queen Visenya I, Queen Rhaenys I, and Princess Daena are excluded from this calculation: the Conquerors postponed pregnancy until they were done conquering; Daena's brother refused to bed her so she broke out from the Maidenvault to find someone who WOULD, her child being hers alone. Princess Aelora has no recorded pregnancies.

From 7 sister-wives, both the average & median age for a first pregnancy is at 16 years old.

This, while not ideal IRL, is "young but otherwise fine" by the standards of Westeros.

Where this becomes troubling is "in the family": only 5** of these mothers had a living parent to support them during their first pregnancies.

There is rarely a significant age gap between sibling-spouses and, being siblings, there would only ever be 2 grandparents available to support the couple.

For all but 5** of these first-time mothers, their pregnancies, births (& complications thereof), and eventual parenting of children was without true guidance.

Being wealthy and highborn, servants likely did the majority of "practical" parenting - feeding, hygiene, recognising illness or injury, attending to colic, watching for accidents, etc - but, as children grew older, the issue of Discipline would be raised. Many sister-wives found pregnancy difficult, almost all experienced miscarriages and stillbirths, and 3 sister-wives (Princess Alyssa, Queen Naerys, Queen Rhaella) ultimately died of pregnancy.

(More on the subject of Parenting in House Targaryen will likely follow in future posts)

Crowns

This is less relevant in this post than in another planned post, on the ages of kings, but only because there is little to no data on the deeds of Targaryen women outside their beds: only Queens Visenya I, Rhaenys I and Alysanne are written holding court (for the purposes of this series, note that Queen Rhaenyra I will be discussed & counted amongst Westerosi "Kings" and not as a "Queen", despite styling Visenya & Rhaenys as Queens in their own right but counting them amongst Queens-Consort).

Death

An average life expectancy for a Targaryen sister-wife is somewhat difficult to do due to the differences in their circumstances: most women exist only as listed in family trees, even within the Royal Line. Maesters (and, to briefly be a Doylist, the ASOIAF books as a whole) seldom mention any woman past the date of her last child's birth, disappearing entirely thereafter unless their death was particularly morbid or unusual. While it gives opportunity to thus claim that, say, Queen Myriah Martell's lacking a date of death must mean she still lives, an immortal hidden from the public eye, it also makes any calculations we CAN make even more unreliably accurate than those made thus far.

Firstly I will refresh memories by again listing Ages At Death, adding "Cause/s" thereof (if known):

Queen Visenya I, died of old age at 73.

Queen Rhaenys I, killed at 35.

Princess Rhaena, died of "old" age at 50.

Queen Alysanne, died of "old" age at 64.

Princess Alyssa, died of pregnancy at 24.

Queen Helaena, self-defenestrated at 21.

Queen Daena, apparently immortal (disappears from histories after revealing the father of her son, Daemon Blackfyre).

Queen Naerys, died of pregnancy aged 41~53 years.

Princess Aelora of Dragonstone, assumed to have unalived herself (details unknown).

Queen Shaera, **survived Summerhall and still lived in 260 AC. As she does not appear in any of Ser Jaime's flashbacks to the court of Aerys II, nor the stories recalled by Daenerys Stormborn, it can be assumed Shaera died prior to 281 AC, aged 34~55 years old.

Queen Rhaella, died either of pregnancy or the Storming of Dragonstone at 38.

Despite age and pregnancy being natural causes of death, the circumstances of each sister-wife & the nature of their being Targaryens (incestuous, royal, magically-adjacent) makes me hesitate to truly call any of these deaths "natural". Furthermore, Westeros canonically has moontea and other contraceptive methods readily available: if, however, the King has decided that he requires more children then it becomes Treason to prescribe or use any birth control. Even if the wife in question is long-past the ages where pregnancy is safe or reasonable (for the mother and for any children). Thusly, any queen who dies of pregnancy can, very technically, be considered as having been killed by her husband & king.

(Princess Baela's death by pregnancy is "natural" in the sense that it is "natural" to expect a safe & healthy pregnancy when your entire family is an incestuous phone tree designed by evil blood wizards who took "blood of the dragon" very literally /j?)

Despite common belief, human life expectancy has not hugely changed since historic times: the discrepancy comes from how overwhelming the statistics of infant mortality were. Generally speaking, if you survived childhood you could expect to live into your late 60's... unless there was drought or war or, say, a surprise dragon from beneath the floorboards to crush you while its rider makes a dramatic entry & exit.

"Old" age for Targaryen dragon riders is difficult to calculate because few lived long enough to die from age: the effects of blood magic, being born of centuries of incest, and dragonriding on a person's health can be guessed but is compounded by the effects of too many pregnancies from too young an age, surviving battle & resultant trauma, etc.

So, while the average life expectancy of a Targaryen Sister-Wife is 42.8 years (rounded) and the median is 38 years... the means & timings of these deaths are incredibly circumstantial. Such is the case with royalty in a feudal setting, and with any character known as a Targaryen.

Overall Patterns

It is notable that (with one exception) after the extinction of House Targaryen's dragons, all instances of siblings wedding each other are forced by parents or then-presiding kings. While not evident in this list, which excludes both the "otherwise-related" and "unrelated" consorts, there is a pattern of having a sibling-marriage every other generation (as sandwiched between marriages between cousins).

This generational trend would have been interrupted by the likes of Maekar I but for multiple unexpected tragedies (the Great Spring Sickness of 209 AC, the events in the Dunk&Egg novellas, Summerhall) resulting in the last Targaryen king being Aerys II, son of siblings Jaeherys II & Shaera, the brother-husband of Queen Rhaella.

Of 11 recorded instances of Targaryen sister-wives, all ended up directly positioned to take the Iron Throne: Princess Rhaena was Considered to succeed her uncle Maegor's usurpation but refused, favouring her younger siblings Jaeherys I & Alysanne; Princess Alyssa's eldest son was Viserys I, chosen heir of Jaeherys I over his cousin Rhaenys and her son, Laenor Velaryon; Princess Aelora was chosen as an heir by Aerys I but was dead before much could come of it.

Of the 16 officially recognised Royal Consorts (excluding Maegor's black brides, Princess Rhaena, & Prince-Consort Daemon but including Queen Helaena) in the Targaryen Dynasty, 9 were sister-wives though only 3 reigned longer than a decade (Rhaenys I dying exactly 10 years into her queenship).

Only 3 royal consorts were entirely unrelated to their spouses (Queens Alicent Hightower, Myriah Martell, & Betha Blackwood), with the remaining queens-consort being "cousins" (do not ask me how closely/removed: in Houses Targaryen & Velaryon, EVERYONE is everyone else's cousin several times over, while also being their own aunt and nephew simultaneously).

Conclusions

...are likely to be typed up in their own posts, as they occur to me, if i have not already, accidentally, presented them earlier.

NOTE: many ages used here are approximations, sourced via entries on the AWOIAF wiki & as extrapolated from crossreferencing timelines. to be Watsonian, the maesters can be wrong & write with varying objectivity; to be Doylist, GRRM is not a historian nor is his fantasy writing as historically accurate as may be assumed. Thanks are due to NobodySuspectsTheButterfly for correcting me on Queen Shaera's surviving Summerhall.

if you enjoyed this post or have found some missing zeroes or wandering decimals, do send a raven or reblog with a correction! i will add & note corrections as prompted.

41 notes · View notes

snixx · 1 year

Text

*gritting my teeth, covered in blood after spending another half an hour on yet another evil locus problem* babe you make it so hard to love you

#the fact that after all this time i still dont have a tag for hating on math #my only math tag is still and always will be #math my beloved 💖#but it's on such thin fucking ice right now #top ten things high school me would never believe i said: i like physics more than math now no question #physics fucks with my head and makes me cry sometimes yes but we always have that fire thing going #with math right now. it honestly just feels like lesbian bed death #math doesn't make me cry it just makes me depressed and frustrated these days #girlblogging.pdf #ugh wifey get your crap together #or i might legitimately break up with you for physics

3 notes · View notes

oomisluvr · 2 years

Text

SPOILED ROTTEN

(SEE: RICHBOY!SAKUSA SPOILS YOU A LITTLE TOO MUCH).

“ABSOLUTELY not.” He deadpans, glaring at you like you’ve just kicked his dog and insulted his mother. It’s not a kind tone, “Don’t ask me again.”

“Kiyoomi, you always do this,” you seethe, ignoring the discomfort of the round-cheeked waitress holding the card reader, “Let. Me. Pay.”

“Fuck. No.” He returns, redirecting his attention to the server and handing her his card, “I’m terribly sorry about her. Debit, please.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” You say as she scurries off, clearly amused at the battlefield the two of you have created in the center of this high-end, dimly lit restaurant. You wouldn’t be surprised to find a moviestar seated at the table behind you.

He repeats your name back to you in the same tone you used with him, a handsome grin on his face, “Yes, my love?”

“Stop paying for everything!” You demand, “People already think I’m using you for your money, and you aren’t really helping my case.” You’ve seen the tweets. Some are accusatory. Some are happy for you. None of them attest to your character.

“Well,” he leans over the table, finding your hands and softly stroking the knuckle there, trapping you in his coffee-cold gaze, “Are you using me for my money?”

“No,” you grumble, a little flustered at his forwardness, “But still–”

He releases your hand as the words leave your mouth, a satisfactory smile tugging at his lips, “Then there’s no issue. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to you using me for money. I’m a useful guy.”

“Kiyoomi, that’s not the point–”

“As a matter of fact,” he sifts through his wallet to find what he’s looking for, gently sliding it across the table when he locates whatever it is, “I’ve been meaning to give this to you.”

The young waitress returns with a smooth leather checkbook and a pen. He thanks her as she walks off, delivering his signature to the flimsy receipt with a few flicks of his wrist, “What’s twenty percent of two hundred? I wasn’t good at math.”

You don’t answer that, “You can’t be serious. Kiyoomi, I can’t accept–”

“Is fifty dollars enough to tip? Fuck it, I’ll just leave sixty.”

“This is your credit card.”

“You have great eyesight,” he comments, shrugging like it’s nothing, “And I have good credit. Use it for whatever. I’ll pay it off.”

You nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all, “Since when were you so confident?”

“When you started giving me attention,” He grins easily, “I’d do a lot of things to get you to pay attention to me.”

His transparency catches you off guard, “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he fires back, “You’re too pretty to not be taken seriously.”

You sigh, face feeling hot.

“You’re too much,” It takes a great effort to fight back the grin that threatens to break through, to suppress a smile at his ease, “Let’s go home.”

“Why don’t we go find something sweet?” He offers, standing to help you into your coat, “There’s a good ice cream place around here that stays open late.”

Your shy smile gives Kiyoomi enough of an answer. Thanking the staff as the two of you head for the door, he slithers a sneaky arm around your waist.

“I’ll even let you pay,” he flirts, pulling you closer to combat the late-night temperatures, “With your new credit card, of course.”

This was so self-indulgent it's actually ridiculous. Marrying rich is a very real, very serious goal of mine. Hmu for offers serious inquires ONLY <33

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #msby #msby sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #hq x reader #hq sakusa #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

13K notes · View notes

meangirls-imagines · 2 months

Text

Masterlist

+- indicates smut

WIPs List

Request Rules

About Me

Poly!Plasticsverse

CLAIMED ANON EMOJIS: 🦁💙🌕🧡🍉🧃☀️💕💌💐🍄

Regina George

There For You

Janis and Regina help Reader get over a bad breakup, revealing their feelings for them. (Y/N goes by they/them pronouns in this one.)

Fire and Ice

Regina and Reader are the school's power couple. Everyone thinks Regina is the top. Oh, how wrong they are.

Sabotage

Reader finds out Cady is sabotaging her girlfriend and making her insecure so she takes revenge into her own hands.

Used To It

Regina isn't used to being loved. She gets overwhelmed when she starts dating Reader and getting treated like she's supposed to.

Protective

Regina's girlfriend is tired of the rumors of her girlfriend. She takes matters into her hands to stop them.

Ruin Me +

Regina gets railed by reader and gets adDICKted very fast.

Regina George is a Bottom +

Regina is fed up with not being able to crack Reader, however, she soon discovers that she would be the one to crack pretty soon.

Sex Education +

Regina becomes obsessed with Reader. She jumps on an opportunity that arises and makes Reader hers.

Revenge of the Nerds (but hotter)

Regina and Reader are complete opposites, but that's why they work. Shane Oman looks to ruin that, but fails.

Regina's Protector

Reader is usually a calm and collected person. Cady Heron quickly realizes that messing with Y/N and her girlfriend is social suicide.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowgirl('s abs) +

Regina George being a bottom. That's all.

Jealous, much? +

Regina and Reader are FWB. When Reader stops the arrangement for another girl, Regina feels a hole in her heart form.

Rest and Relaxation

Regina notices her girlfriend overworking herself and takes charge of the "Take Care of Y/N" committee.

A (Different) Cautionary Tale

The story of Mean Girls (2024) with a twist.

Karen Shetty

Study Break? +

Reader has to tutor Karen. Study sessions become steamy VERY quick.

Fun Size

Karen's girlfriend is short. She's tired of it.

First Date Feelings

Karen and Reader go out on their first date.

Gretchen Wieners

Please Be Mine

Gretchen and Y/N had been best friends forever. Feelings grow, Gretchen gets a boyfriend, and everything goes downhill.

Spicy Sick Days

Y/N catches the flu. Gretchen takes care of them. (In more ways than one)

Cady Heron

Stupid With Love (Literally)

Cady Heron is new. Y/N Y/L/N is smitten.

Janis 'Imi'ike

Life Imitates Art

Janis has loved Y/N forever. Y/N has loved Janis forever. Their friends meddle and it's the start of a beautiful relationship.

There For You

Janis and Regina help Reader get over a bad breakup, revealing their feelings for them. (Y/N goes by they/them pronouns in this one.)

Reneè Rapp

On Wednesdays, We Wear Pink

Reneè is off filming Mean Girls and misses her gf. The cast gets together for the cutest surprise.

You're Sick

Reader gets sick. Reneè takes care of her girl.

Forever Will Last

Reader and Reneè hit a rough patch after the Vanity Fair Oscar Party.

Coachella Diaries

Reader supports Reneè at Coachella

Leighton Murray

Frat Parties Suck

It's basically that episode of SLOCG where Leighton and Alicia kiss for the first time but reader replaces Alicia.

Best Friends?

Leighton and Reader have been best friends since forever and both fall in love with each other. Tension rises when Leighton gets back with Alicia and Reader finally reaches the breaking point.

Leap of Faith

Part 2 to "Best Friends?" The roommates call an audible when they see how much the aftermath of the Incident™️ is affecting both girls. Help comes in the form of the Murray family.

Savior

Leighton meets reader in her math class and is instantly smitten. However, as weeks go on, Leighton sees that the reader's kindness is getting taken advantage of, causing her girl to burn out. Leighton takes matters into her own hands.

Hydrate or Diedrate

Leighton and Tatum's girlfriend gets a bad case of heatstroke during track practice. Her two favorite blondes take care of her.

Gaydar Issues

Leighton doesn't really know how to talk to girls. She made the mistake of failing to talk to Reader in front of Bela, which leads to a very awkward intervention.

#mean girls imagines #regina george x reader #gretchen wieners x reader #karen shetty x reader #cady heron x reader #janis imi'ike x reader #mean girls 2024 #reneè rapp x reader #leighton murray x reader #plastics x reader

269 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.6k

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defending you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

231 notes · View notes

xiaojunsdiary · 2 months

Text

admire from afar

shen quanrui x m! reader

prompt: your classmate ricky dyes his hair and you just cannot take your eyes off of it. but someone else can’t take their eyes off you either

warnings: flirting, blushing, flustered reader, ricky being a tease, RED HAIR RICKY

word count: 992 words

************************🎀************************

you have had a crush on your classmate and fellow acquaintance, shen quanrui, for a while now. the two of you sharing a few classes over your high school years. now both in your senior year.

he went by ricky in class but you never looked at him and thought of him that way tho. the two of you weren’t close but you had worked on some projects together in the past and greet each other in the hallways. ricky was nice, but the boy was also very popular.

he had gained popularity when he arrived halfway through your sophomore year as a foreign exchange student and had decided to stick it through to the end of high school here as he enjoyed the environment.

the other leading factor to ricky’s popularity was his undeniable beauty. the boy was stunning and had everyone infatuated. you were no different. for you couldn’t help but catch yourself staring at him from time to time, wether it be a few glance or an extensive stare, you admired generously.

* 🍒*

today started a new week of school. a lousy monday. you had done your normal routine of getting ready, brushing your teeth and walking walking to school as it wasn’t far but something was a little different.

the normal crowds that would gather about outside of school seemed to be louder today. gossip was spreading like a wild fire as you tried to listen in while making your way to your first class of the day. you heard ricky’s name slip a few times but never heard any follow up as there was so much going on.

when you had finally reached your first period: mathematic concepts, you eyed the main topic of today: shen quanrui but with red hair. a bold shade that was very different from the normal ice prince-blonde the boy had usually worn.

you didn’t realize you weren’t moving from the doorway until you heard an “excuse me” behind you. you quickly apologized and moved to sit down in your normal seat.

you began to get your belongings out on your desk as you stole another glance at ricky. the bright shade of red really complimented his features and even exaggerated them in the process.

your eyes had managed to catch his and he gave you a smile but you quickly looked away, embarrassed of being caught. you didn’t understand why as many other people were staring as well. probably because he had seen you in particular. ricky went back to conversing with his friends.

your math teacher walked in to begin his lesson while trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

stupid, stupid, stupid you thought.

*🍒*

the lesson had went on for a moment and you had started to zone out due to boredom. your eyes wandered back over to ricky who was just a few seats away, taking notes down that your teacher had insisted you write down.

he felt someone staring at him and he looked up and locked eyes with you. you felt your face heat up in genuine embarrassment as you were supposed to be taking down notes, not ogling down your classmate. he gave you a small smirk and continued taking down notes.

you decided it was time to actually do some work yourself as well. the red hue on your face not leaving anytime soon as you recall the incident that had just occurred moments prior.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

*🍒*

the bell rang signaling the end of your first period. as students gathered up their materials and begin to exit the room, it took you a minute longer to pack up your things delaying your departure.

as you were putting the final notebook into your bag, you saw a pair of exquisite shoes perch their way beside your desk. looking up to meet eyes with…RICKY?

what could he possibly want? you thought

while there was only a few inches between the two of you, you felt much smaller as he gazed down at you this closely, an undisclosed meaning behind them.

“u-uh, hello?” you asked, zipping up your back back while attempting to hold eye contact. attempting to anyway.

“hi, mn. how are you?” he asked with a small smile.

“i’m okay. you?” you asked, happy you didn’t make a fool of yourself of stuttering again.

“i’m doing great, thank you. didn’t know so many people would be staring at me today, although, there was one pair of eyes that just couldn’t seem to stop” he replied, his smirk from earlier returning to his face.

your face went aflame as he had called you out for your looks you had given him earlier .

“i’m s-sorry, i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable” you apologized, heat prominent on your cheeks.

“it’s okay. although, i’m curious” he said stepping a little closer.

“to what?”

“as to what your schedule looks like this weekend” he replies, slyly might you add.

“u-uh…,” you were in shock. what do you say?? “i’m unoccupied” a bit of hesitation near the end of your reply. shen quanrui wanted to potentially spend time with you?

“would you like to go out to dinner with me? i could pick you up” he asked, now a smile was stationed upon his face.

“yes!” you replied a little too enthusiastically, you cleared your throat” “yes, that sounds lovely”

omgomgomg, your crush just asked you out!!

“then it’s a date. how’s friday night at 7pm work for you?” he said, shifting more body weight onto his right leg, making his current pose even more attractive.

you nodded with a smile.

“great, well, see you then, gorgeous” he said while leaning in to press his lips to your right cheek before he made his exit.

you stood and stared at the door from which ricky had just left through. your face burning

what the fuck just happened

****************************************************

A/N: this shit deleted halfway though so sorry if the way i wrote it changes like halfway LMAOO. but OMGGGG, RICKY’S RED HAIR HE DEBUTED WITH TODAY, I’M FUCKING SCREAMING. I CALLED THAT SHÍT. i need him so bad, i’m blushing

posted: 03-10-24

edited: ???

****************************************************

comments & reblogs are very appreciated!! <3

289 notes · View notes

megumisgirl · 11 months

Text

nerd!megumi x fem reader part three ↝ feeding you horny ppl because this is one of my most liked and requested one! hope you enjoy <3

nerd!megumi who always tutors you before every major exam. teaches you in a more effective method. "listen, y/n," he grabbed your attention, spinning you around in your chair so you'd face him, his hands on both sides of your handrest, trapping you, "let's play a game, shall we? everytime you get an answer right, i take a particle of my clothes off. and if you're wrong, you take them off."

a sly smirk would be plastered on his face by how hard you were trying to get all the answers correctly. by now, you were just in your panties and matching bralette, and he was in his sweatpants, frurstrating tears welled up in your eyes from not being able to remember the simple math formulas that were so easy for you before, but now you need help to learn.

nerd!megumi who cooes you, strokes your hair and calms you down as you cry about your math struggles. you hugs you tightly and doesn't let go till your breathing and heart rate is normal again. but it's difficult to slow down your heart rate when you're on his lap, his large long hands under your hoodie calming you down as he whispered the softest, nicest compliments into your ear.

"shh..shh...it's okay, it's okay. it's just a math problem," he laughed airly, as he hugged you tighter, "your too smart for it, butterfly. come on, clean yourself up," he said, leaning back to look at your red swollen face, and puffy nose, your lips glossy from drool and your eyes bloodshot, "then we can cuddle, watch star wars, and have ice cream, hmm?" you shot him a small smile as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. "you look so pretty when you cry..."

nerd!megumi who sends you nudes in the middle of your lecture.

Megs <3

Attachment : 1 image. do you like it? sent 11:05am

him shirtless, with wet hair, his glasses fogged up and he's only covered by the thin towel that hangs lowly on his waist, showing his v-cut. your eyes trailed down to his abs, water droplets coat him and you hope it was you.

You

I'm in class!! sent 11:10am

Megs <3

you don't like it? Attachment : 5 new images. sent 11:25am

this time the towel was gone. his pink tip was wet and his cock huge. one of his large hand covered his cock and you closed your eyes, feeling the heat grow between your thighs.

"ms. y/n, can you repeat anything i just said, or is your entire syllabus written on your phone?"

nerd!megumi who goes to the dean demand that your teacher stop being so unprofessional and rude towards you. megumi who asks you to step outside, and threatens the dean, "i'm your top student, aren't i?" he pushed his glasses up, the dean shifted nervously on his seat. megumi stayed quiet, waiting for his answer.

"yes."

"then you know if i say something out in the public, how deeply it would effect your college. teachers would get fired, i wonder if you will even stay. especially with your affair with the assistant teacher of mrs. passwater." he smirked, the dean's eyes widened as he opened his mouth but megumi put his finger up, shushing him, "who is fifteen years younger than you. keep mr. suguro's gaze out of y/n, and i will keep my mouth shut." megumi, who comes out of the dean's office with the most unreadable of expression, "wanna get waffles, butterfly?"

nerd!megumi who is so nervous when he's metting your parents. "do you think they will like me?" he sighed, "maybe i should've worn the suit. maybe the hoodie was bit too casual." he mumbled, fixing unknown creases from his hoodie as you held his hand. "i love you so much, you know that?" you smiled at him, kissing his temple as he blushed furiously, "i hope you love me like the way i love you." he sighed, his deep blue eyes growing a little sad as you kissed his cheek.

"i love you, too, megs. you don't have to doubt my love, be like anakin." he smirked, as you smiled cheekily. your parents definately hit it off with megumi. they ate every joke, every observational comments, and they, of course, loved the fact that he was so good at his studies... and that he was rich. "they love youuuuu!" you said happily, hugging him, "we should get married." his eyes widened as you gasped, "after we graduate. and have our careers on the ground."

"i'd marry you any day." he said, mumbling against your lips, "i love you."

"i know."

#megumi smut #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro #megumi #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi jjk #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #notsfw #nsfr

920 notes · View notes

morganbritton132 · 10 months

Note

obsessed w this new saga with David and the other teachers.... perhaps them either coming over again for a small party - "it's mostly family!!" Hence being even more confused when even MORE famous people show up (THAT'S brony Erica???)

I’m picturing the same cookout from this post.

There are three new eighth grade teachers this year. Including David, there is Marissa and Jordan. Then there is Kathy, who has been at the school for two years. They are all trying to figure out what is going on with Steve Harrington.

The man is a complete mystery.

He’s a walking contradiction in a math pun sweatshirt and he is often the topic of conversation when the four of them are alone in the breakroom. Jordan describes him as ‘onion-like’ because he has many layers and Marissa always replies with, ‘yeah, a fucked up alien onion where each new layer is weirder than the last.’

It’s a bit cruel but also, they found an article about Starcourt Mall.

Who is just in a fire? Who saves a bunch of children from a structure fire that collapsed on top of them and doesn’t make it their whole personality for the rest of forever? Who just never mentions it ever?

Steve Harrington, apparently.

After David (and Kathy) left Steve’s house more confused about the mild-mannered math teacher than ever, he went home and googled ‘Eddie Harrington.’ All he found was a link to a Facebook page for some dentist.

So, like, who the hell is he even married to, right? The guy has a Grammy but not a Wikipedia page? What’s up with that?

All David knows is that when Anita (the teacher that’s probably closest to Steve) invites everybody over for a cookout and says that your partners are more than welcomed, he’s going. When Steve asks if it’d be okay if Erica stopped by on her way to the airport and Anita said yes, he’s definitely going.

He is not going to miss the opportunity to see the kid that gave her dad psychic damage by introducing him to the fucked up parts of the My Little Pony fandom. No way.

Kathy informs everybody that she will NOT be bringing her husband, but she will bring booze.

David arrives too early and ends up helping in the kitchen. He’s slicing up tomatoes with the world’s dullest knife when Steve gets there. He can’t see the front door, but he can hear Anita ask, “Oh, where’s your service doggie?”

“It’s his day off,” He hears Steve joke, “Brought the human instead.”

And then David hears the man of mystery’s man of mystery himself because Eddie says with 100% impulsive thinking and 0% brain-to-mouth filter, “Yeah, he brought his service top instead.”

David just knows that Steve is giving Eddie the same dead-eyed look of unbelievable that is reserved for students that mix their chocolate milk with peas and dare each other to drink it in the silence that follows. Anita, bless her heart, replies as happy and clueless as can be, “Oh, that’s cute. Because you provide a top-notch service.”

“Never had any compl- ow!”

The first time David gets a good look at them, Eddie’s pressed up against Steve’s back, looking over his shoulder at the pictures of Anita’s grandkids she has on her phone. One of his hands is wrapped loosely around his waist and Steve is holding the other one, fiddling with the rings on it. They look so casual, like they’re always standing that close together.

David watches as Anita points in the direction of the drinks cooler and Eddie slips away with a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck and then another to his cheek. They hold hands until they absolutely have to let go. It’s cute. Marissa, next to him, scoffs and says, “Gag me with a spoon, they’re fucking adorable.”

Eddie returns to Steve with two beers and a Smirnoff Ice for Anita, gets another kiss and clearly calls Steve ‘sweetie’ when he clinks their bottles together. Steve throws his arm across Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie tucks his hand into Steve’s back pocket like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

David loses track of Steve and Eddie for a while, catching them in his peripheral as he mingles with everybody. He seems them steal a kiss. He sees them laughing at something Kathy says. He sees them holding hands as Eddie looks utterly lost during a discussion of the baseball season.

At one point, he sees Eddie stand up on the bench of the picnic table and get yanked down by Steve. They’re both laughing and Steve gives him a kiss that is not exactly chaste.

Cindy rolls her eyes at them and says that they’re always like that.

Him and Jordan are playing cornhole against Steve and Eddie. He’s almost positive that Eddie is not as bad at the game as he’s pretending to be, but just likes when ‘Stevie baby’ guides him through how to throw the beanbags. If it wasn’t for Steve excusing himself than he probably wouldn’t have noticed the big SUV parked in the driveway.

His first thought when he sees Erica is ‘oh, she must be adopted’ followed immediately by ‘wait, duh’ and then by ‘hey, wait a minute.’

Steve gets stopped by her bodyguard before he can hug her with a big threatening hand on his shoulder. David’s still trying to figure out why she looks so familiar when Erica says to the bodyguard, “Uh, excuse you. Do not touch him. He was my first bodyguard, have some respect.”

Steve scoffs, “I was your babysitter.”

“I’m sorry,” Erica says, full of sass. Eddie is a couple steps back, grinning ear to ear. He loves when Erica and Steve get into it. “Did you bleed for me? Did you fight for me? Did you, Steve Harrington, get tortured so I made it out safe? I think so. Bodyguard.”

Eddie finally greets her with a bow, “Lady Applejack.”

Erica gives him a flat look and tells her bodyguard, “You can tase that one.”

David is still reeling from the words ‘babysitter’ and ‘torture’ that he probably would’ve missed Marissa in his ear if she wasn’t so goddamn loud, “Holy shit, that’s a fucking US Senator.”

Jordan is quieter when she mutters, “Language.”

Later in the evening when the sun is starting to set and they should all really go home and prep their lesson plans for next week, Anita’s husband lights a bonfire. David is sitting across from the fire from Steve and Eddie and he so tempted to ask what Eddie does for a living when Steve whispers something to him and then stands up quickly.

He can’t even ask what that was about because Eddie gets up and follows him, almost matching Steve’s quick steps into the house. They’re gone for a while, long enough that David gets up to check on Steve. He looked pretty pale when he rushed out of here.

He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears them, and he stops. Steve sounds tired but reassuring as he repeats, “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m fine now.”

He hears Eddie respond with, “I know, baby. I know, but rest with me for a minute, kay?”

When he pokes his head around the turn in the staircase, he can see the bottom of Steve’s Nikes hanging over the top landing. He can also see the bottom of Eddie’s boots where he’s crouched over Steve. His first reaction is to think he stumbled on them in a compromising position, but he can’t bring himself to move just yet.

“You just had a seizure, take your time getting your bearings, sweetheart. Do you wanna go home?” Eddie asks in a cacophony of jingling metal rings and chains. Steve makes a noise that Eddie interprets, “Okay, do you want me to give you space?”

“No, come –“ The sound of metal clinking together doesn’t get louder, just more and when David pokes his head around the corner again, Eddie is straddled across Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands are on his hips and then higher, pushing up Eddie’s shirt clumsily just feeling him. “Feel floaty.”

“I’ll keep you grounded, baby.”

David knows he should leave, or at least looks away, but he stuck frozen to the floor at the sight of the scar tissue running up Eddie’s sides and back. They’re deep and jagged, and old. It looks like he was torn open and sewed back shut, and it takes David a long time to get his feet to go back down the stairs.

He goes back out to the fire a little dazed and later, it’s only Eddie that returns. He whispers something to Anita and then disappears into the night.

When Cindy makes a comment about Steve leaving without a proper goodbye, David tells her to shut up.

#I made one post about David wondering why Eddie Munson is and followed it up with a post where Eddie introduces himself as a Harrington #I think it’s infinitely funnier if David is trying to find info about this man but has the wrong name #Steve has his one-sided beef with Diane. Cindy has hers with Steve #This one is long and it sorta/kinda answers the prompt this time #This was a great prompt. I really enjoyed writing this #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

880 notes · View notes

minimallyminnie · 4 months

Text

Having a bit of Trouble.

Kalim can’t handle being constantly belittled anymore.

Tsukasa Tenma 🤝 Kalim Al Asim

It’s night and you’re walking around the school

Yeah yeah, unsafe you know but…you have a magical cat who breathes fire!!!!

And your dragon fae friend who usually join is…ill. (You sent some ice cream to him!!)

Hearing Grim yap about something that Ace did is usually background noise but then it just starts to waver until Grim falls asleep in your arms

Smiling, you continued to walk around the school

You got to the famous seven statues and heard the strangest sound…

A sniffle coming from one of them

Was it a ghost? You weren’t afraid no, after all, they literally lived in Ramshackle with you and after what happened with Eliza, you couldn’t care less anymore

You stepped quietly towards the source

The statue of the Sorcerer of Sands…?

Standing there, you stared at the statue

It didn’t seem to be cr—

And then you hear a sniffle

“Why…Hic!…why am I so so dumb…?”

…wait. You knew that voice

You went behind the statue to see your boyfriend sitting in a fetal position against the statue, not noticing you standing there

“Sorcerer of t-the Sands…I probably m-made you so haha…disappointed.”

A sniffle.

“What good am I? The only person who I thought was my best friend…hated me. I need him to do everything, even my own job as a housewarden, and I can’t even cook or clean properly. I have low grades in everything but music and math while he just excels in everything. Everyone in the dorm probably likes him more than me. I’m just…a stupid, stupid, arrogant, useless, sloppy, naive, idiot who can’t even—“

He’s cut off with a sudden tackle to the floor

“WAH?! A-another assassin? Ghost? Overblot?! W-who are you?!”

“Kalim.”

He relaxed promptly and hugged you

“Oh thank the seven! I—“

“You need to shut up. You are…”

You shakily breathed out. You don’t want to repeat any of those words.

“You are not what you said.”

Kalim tenses for a second and tries to laugh it off

“It’s nothing! I was joking, y’know just talking with the sulta-“

“Don’t change the subject. I heard you and…” You wiped his remaining tears “And I can just feel it.”

Both of you moved to sit side by side against the statue.

He tried to avoid your eyes but you knew better. You held him in your arms.

“Kalim Al Asim. You’re so incredible.”

His breath hitches.

“You make everyone’s day brighter. You listen when someone wants to talk about something important, no matter how happy or sad it is. You stand up for what’s wrong, you take responsibility. Kalim, you’re incredibly kind to others. Even if you don’t have great grades, you work hard now and it doesn’t define who you are. You have this sense when someone is struggling, you drop everything just to make them smile. That to me, to a lot of people, is so much more important than being “smart”.”

Tears leak out of his eyes as he listens to your words. You cup his cheeks warmly.

“You aren’t stupidly naive but optimistic. You aren’t stupid, you just struggle with things and that’s so so ok. You changed for the better after his overblot while still being the kindest person I know.”

“Your kindness is a weapon Kalim. A warm and loving weapon.”

He starts to cry and you hold him tight in your arms as he breaks down. All the stress, anxiety, fear, anger, and everything just spilling out of him.

His grip on your jacket is tight and you can feel his tears on your clothes but you don’t care.

“I love you Kalim.”

“I-I l-love you too…”

It’ll take a lot longer than just a night to get rid of any of these deeply tangled issue. But it is so much better to have your boyfriend free from his toxic positivity.

200 notes · View notes

gentrychild · 4 months

Note

Happy New Years Gentry!! Question, how did the Anyone crew spend the New Years?

They didn't run through the portal as much as urgency propelled them through it. They emerged on the beach in a fit of sorrowful howling, varied cries of pain and one high-pitched-shriek made of the panic one could only feel during a close call with death while having to keep moving in order not to make that encounter permanent.

Izuku, though, didn't utter a sound, because he was cold-headed, professional, and slightly on fire.

Well, very on fire. The only thing separating him from third degree burns was the speed at which he was moving and even then, his entire back felt very hot and he was a second away of having his hair catching fire before he threw himself into the sea. At the same time, one of the Todoroki brothers made a noise of concern and his Todoroki iced him. While the sudden ice cube soothed the warm spots over his skin, which was always appreciated, finding his way back over the surface got slightly more complicated and Izuku had to use Float to emerge.

On the beach, Todoroki was face down in the sand and showed no intention to move. Kurogiri and Dabi, covered in mud from head to toes, had somehow managed to crash into each other and were trying to disentangle themselves, but the process was made quite complex by the fact that Hawks was half sitting, half lying on top of them, while clutching an also covered in mud Nagisa.

The spider hacker, wearing a once red cocktail dress, was clutching the silver briefcase with both her arms and legs, and she was generally communicating her intent to die before any of the security detail they had left in the jungle could get their hands on it.

This was why Nagisa was Izuku's favorite member of Anyone.

"Make some noise if you're alive," Izuku called as he removed his now ruined jacket. Not that he was regretting it. So many people had mistaken him for a deaged All for One at this party that he had sworn to himself to destroy that suit at the first occasion.

Everyone grunted, which was encouraging.

"Anyone injured?"

No response. Which was perfect. Izuku just had to secure the briefcase in the vault downstairs, take a hour long shower, and he would ordered pizza.

The teenager was about to do just that when he marked a pause. He hesitated.

He felt like he was forgetting something. Something important. Something that should have been really obvious.

Todoroki raised his head from the hole in the beach his head had created and started to count the people present here. A first time. A second time. A third time. He squinted, obviously not liking the math, then sighed.

"We forgot All for One there."

Oh.

Well, this was why Todoroki was Izuku's other favorite member of Anyone.

"He will be fine," Kurogiri decided, before putting the back on his head back on the sand and presumably passing out from exhaustion.

"Yes," Hawks confirmed. "I am sure he is having fun. That quirked alligator didn't look like it was biting him too hard."

Izuku felt himself fall on the beach, which was a conscious decision and not his legs giving out.

"And he's always boasting about his quirks," Izuku added. "He won't take him more than a couple of weeks to fly back to Japan."

Everyone nodded.

At the same time, fireworks exploded in the sky, filling the world with color. The fine members of Anyone stared at it in silence, their heads empty of any thought, just admiring the pretty colors.

"Happy New Year," Nagisa said in a trembling voice.

#anyone snippet #anyone fic

168 notes · View notes

hollowwhisperings · 2 years

Text

Life Expectancies for Mothers of ASOIAF's POV characters: Maths of Ice & Fire.

The average lifespan for the mother of an ASOIAF POV characters is 44 years, with a secondary calculation (removing a statistical outlier amongst the group) lowering life expectancy to 38 years & 6 months.

For the purposes of these calculations, women whose exact ages can only be approximated were included as "averaged out" figures from their assumed age range.

Dates & age calculations were gathered from the Wiki of I&F, with any personal extrapolations are written out when used.

Extended Biographical calculations & speculations built thereon below cut.

Dead Mums

• Lady Lyarra Stark of Winterfell, b. ~215 AC. Died between 267 & 299 AC, aged 52~74.

• Lady Minisa Whent of Riverrun, b. [244] AC*. Died between 268–278 AC, aged 18 at minimum.

*[minisa's husband hoster, b. 238-240 AC, became lord tully in 264 AC, aged ~25. as the 1stborn son of a lord paramount, hoster was likely trothed and wed in a Timely Fashion - likely around 259 AC. minisa can thusly be assumed as being ~15 in 259 AC. all this puts minisa as being at least 24 in her earliest deathdate, especially since hoster never remarried.]

• Lady Catelyn Tully of Winterfell, b. 264/265 AC. Died in 299, aged 35-ish.

• Lyanna Stark of Winterfell died in 283 AC, aged 16.

• Queen Rhaella Targaryen, b. 245-247 AC. Died in 284 AC, aged 38-ish.

• Lady Joanna Lannister of Casterly Rock, b. 244~252 AC. Died in 273 AC, aged 21~39.

• unnamed Lady of Evenfall Hall, b. <263 AC^2. The Lady Tarth was at least 19** when she died, likely older.

**[brienne of tarth's older brother, galladon, was born between 275-277 AC. given that both be and brienne were healthy children, lady tarth was at least 15 for her first pregnancy. the earliest lady tarth could have died is in 284 AC. given that lord selwyn did not remarry, i'd assume lady tarth was older than the bare minimum age required of biology when she & Selwyn began siring heirs].

• unnamed Lady Sunderly of Pyke, b. [241~247] AC***. The mother of Balon, Euron, Victarion and Aeron Greyjoy died no earlier than 274 AC (aged 33~39), and no later than 282 AC (aged 41~47).

***[the eldest greyjoy brother, balon, was born between 255-261 AC. since his mother survived to birth 4 more sons who survived into adulthood, lady sunderly is unlikely to have been too young for her first pregnancy. aeron, the youngest of sunderly's children, was born in 269-274 AC. it is unknown when lady sunderly died but her husband, quellon, only had enough time with his next wife to father an infant or 2 before belatedly joining then dying in Robert's Rebellion: this could mean she had only died recently for quellon though i'm more inclined to believe lord greyjoy was late to remarry rather than the mother of the brothers greyjoy ceasing to exist to her family after aeron's birth].

[252 ÷ 8] = an average lifespan of 44 years.

By this calculation, rhe average life expectancy for the mother of a POV character is 44 years.

This result is less skewed by its shortest lifespan (16) bur very much by its "longest lived" dead mother (here approximated as dying at 66).

Since Lady Sunderly is a notable outlier & due to her unknown time&causr of death, a second calculation was made using the Assumption that Lady Sunderly died via childbirth at ~52 (sorry, Aeron).

The adjusted calcuation [248 ÷ 8] gives an average life expectancy of "38.5 years for mothers of ASOIAF's POV characters. This estimate seems more appropriate and, conveniently, lines up with the unlifespan of the Lady Catelyn.

38.5 years as an average does unfortunately bode poorly for the following women in the ASOIAF books:

• Lady Alannys Harlaw of Pyke, b. 254-261^4 AC. The recently widowed Lady Greyjoy is at least 39**** years old and lives with her brother Rodrik at his castle, Ten Towers. She correctly believes that her husband, King Balon, was murdered.

***[Theon's eldest brother was born between 267-274 AC, requiring Alannys to have been at least 14-16 to survive giving birth to the rest of Theon's dead older brothers, Asha, and then Theon himself.]

• Lady Melessa Florent of Horn Hill, b. [235-271]^5 AC. Lady Tarly is no younger than 30.

5. [Samwell Tarly was born in 283 AC & his mother survived to have 2 more kids]

• Lady Mellario of Norvos, b. 248~264 AC. The mother of the Princess & Princes Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane Martell returned to Norvos due to becoming estranged with her husband, Prince Doran of Dorne. She is 36~42 years old.

• Lady Arwyn Oakheart of Old Oak, b. >260. The widow of Lord Oakheart, Lady Arwyn currently rules Old Oak and most recently pledged fealty to the Tyrells. This was and could be rather awkward for her son, Ser Arys of the Kingsguard. Lady Arwyn is at least 40.

While none of Queen Cersei Lannister's children have had POV chapters thus far, at 34 years old Cersei had best rid herself of her surviving children lest she too becomes a statistic! /j

Ommissions:

the unnamed mothers of Sers Davos Seaworth, Barristan Selmy, and Jon Connington.

the unnamed mother of Areo Hotah.

the unknown mother of Melisandre of Asshai.

the mothers of prologue or epilogue POV characters.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #fandom resources #dead ladies club #women of asoiaf #lyarra stark #minisa whent #joanna lannister #rhaella targaryen #lyanna stark #catelyn tully #lady sunderly of pyke #maths of ice & fire #edited 2nd june 23

22 notes · View notes

hannahlovesluca · 6 months

Text

Dear Diary,

ver - Shu Yamino

12/12/21

Dear Diary, i met a boy today. he was pretty, he said his name was Shu.

he told me i looked beautiful, he told me i was beyond beauty standards.

i think i love him.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

12/15/21

Dear Diary, mother and father were fighting again tonight. Shu came by, though. He bought me dinner and comforted me. He smells like cedar wood.

I think he might love me, too.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

12/17/21

Dear Diary, Shu gave me his coat today. I was shivering and he told me that his fire kept him warm.

Mother and father weren’t fighting when I got home. I ate spaghetti.

Went to bed happy.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

12/21/21

Dear Diary, felt weird chest pain today.

Shu told me it was probably due to the cold. Then, he lended me another jacket.

Shu cooked me dinner tonight, slept at his place. Bed was warm.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

1/05/22

Dear Diary, Shu told me a funny joke. I laughed so hard that i choked on my meatball. He had to give me the heimlich maneuver.

It was very embarrassing.

He told me things about his family. His dad is an ass.

Shu sang me to sleep.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

1/10/22

Dear Diary, chest pain came back. Brushed it off as the cold again.

Shu said that his mom wanted us to get together. I blushed.

We cuddled in bed.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

1/15/22

Dear Diary, Shu confessed to me today.

I said yes.

Boyfriend?

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

1/29/22

Dear Diary, lost my virginity today. It kind of tickled. Is that normal?

Shu said that it was because it was my first time.

He kept cracking jokes during our time.

We also planned a trip to Australia to visit his friend.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

2/02/22

Dear Diary, me and Shu are in Australia.

Luca is hyper, but nice. I like him.

Luca told me he liked my eyes, Shu agreed.

I blushed.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

2/07/22

Dear Diary, felt tired today. Slept all day.

Luca said I was hibernating.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

2/27/22

Dear Diary, met new friends today. Uki said he was going to steal my man.

I laughed.

I like Uki.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

3/01/22

Dear Diary, felt extra tired. Slept all day again.

Shu said if I slept anymore I’d probably fall into a coma.

We laughed and ate ice cream next to the fireplace.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

3/12/22

Dear Diary, studied with Shu. He helped with math.

He also taught me how to start a car with a penny.

Maybe I can commit Grand Theft Auto.

For legal reasons, that was a joke.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

3/19/22

Dear Diary, Shu caught me staring at him.

It was very embarrassing.

He said he stares at me, too.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

3/29/22

Dear Diary, slept again today.

Feeling very unmotivated.

Me and Uki FaceTimed almost all night.

Slept in Shu’s hoodie.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

4/10/22

Dear Diary, got sent to hospital.

Shu and Uki visited me.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

4/29/22

Diagnosed with cancer.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

6/17/22

Dear Diary, first Chemo Therapy today. I don’t want my hair to fall out.

Shu said if it does, he would help me shave.

Shu has been supportive.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

7/02/22

Dear Diary, head was shaved today.

Don’t think Chemo is working.

feel very frail.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

7/20/22

Dear Diary, I have lost over 45 pounds.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

8/09/22

Dear Diary, Shu cried while holding my hand in the hospital.

He doesn’t think I’m making it.

Neither do I.

……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. ……. …….

8/09/23

Tear-drops escape Shu’s eyes, he slowly closes your diary.

#luca kaneshiro #ike eveland #luxiem #luxiem x reader #shu yamino #mysta rias #vox akuma #nijisanji en #luca kaneshiro x reader #ike eveland x reader #shu yamino x reader #angst #nijisanji angst

181 notes · View notes

phrandallanton · 5 days

Text

ranfren headcannons

I've done everything but posted headcannons and a fanfiction. This won't do. Here's some headcannons of mine! All of them aren't serious so don't take them that way d(>_･ ). Feel free to ask me about any other headcannons I'll definitely give more!

Randal

• if he has any pimples on his face he definitely picks at them untill they pop

• either is really good at math or sucks at math and hates it. (No in-between)(leaning towrds sucking at math more)

• has tear stains on his homework sometimes

• he bathes everyday dispite what people think. (Luther forces him too)

• his hair gets really oily. He has tried to cook with the oil his hair produced once. Nobody ate dinner that night.

• if he's frustrated and you go to poke him he'll scream on top of his lungs, but like the scream that goes from normal yelling to banshee screeching. "stop touCHING MEEEEĚĘƏƏ!!!!"

• gets in a lot of internet arguments about things that don't matter at all ("I think you'll find it's 'whom'.")

• he'd get so mad if he ask you to hold his glasses, and you proceed to carelessly get your fingerprints all over them.

• draws with those "how to draw anime" guid books.

• if he ever took a driving test, he would have already failed the moment he opens the car door.

• loves kraft mac and cheese, double points if it's in shapes of popular marketable characters.

• now thinking of it, if he was a pasta dish he would be kraft mac and cheese.

• bites his toe nails off (gross) Luther tried to get him to stop but he probably does the same thing when no one is around.

• sneezes weirdly. Like..."ah...ah...AH CHOOwoowoowoowoo..." and shakes his head. Or if he's covering it in his elbow it'll sound like a trumpet horn.

Luther

• he can dance but it's weird.

• if you tell him a joke he'll turn it into a life lesson.

• he wins every staring contest. However if your eyes start watering he'll get worried and start begging you to blink.

• treats women (and everyone) with so much respect, but he won't hesitate to punch a women if he really has to.

• *shakes his indext finger* "no no no"

• Randal probably tried to set him up on a blind date, he didn't like that. It was very awkward to say the least.

• genuinely gets happy when there are bagels at the function.

• when asked for advice, it'll sound like he's going to say something really meaningful and life changing, but then does a complete 180. "Oh, you think your ugly? Well people will have their opinions about you and ...well... you aren't the best thing to look at. But there's worst out there ♡."

• I can see him gobbling up some cheese and broccoli.

• has a walk in closet filled with clothes and accessories he doesn't wear.

• he 100% definitely has the goofiest giggle in the planet.

• eats ice cream with his front teeth.

Nyon

• I will stand by this till the day I die, he's really funny. He has a really good sense of humor. But I could also seem him not understanding jokes too. But at the same TIIIMMEE I feel like he'd be naturally funny.

• he knows lots of slang and pop culture due to watching TV a lot and probably quotes stuff in his head. (Maybe out loud if he was talking to you)

• has a lot of opinions, will never say them out loud, even when asked.

• he's the smartest out of everyone, including Luther.

• easily amused. please give him one of those little fishy nightlights. He'd enjoy looking at it so much.

• he's good at card games and Nyen doesn't like that. (Nyen has stabbed him over games of uno)

• has a really funny looking smile. (There's that one drawing in the Christmas comic where he's smiling weird after he saw Luther's reaction to the fire place tape he made for him)

Nyen

• listens to death metal but then listens to a jpop song right after. ("Can't let gang know I fw this")

• good at math, sucks at reading.

• loves hearing about drama and will be nosy.(come on man he loves Judge Judy and romance novels)

• sounds like Tom from Tom and Jerry when he yells.

• he calls himself "The Tom Cat" and (canonically) "Top of the pets in the house hold" which is practically the same as "I'm the alpha" so he's probably has said that.

• sucks at card games. Will legit end up with half of the pack of cards in his hands in the middle of an uno game.

• actually the weakest of them all. (I won't go into all that right now. But I can definitely beat him up in a fight, just sayin.)

•him and Nyon probably have times where they stay up and chit chat for a bit before they sleep, Example (from my old notes I had):

Nyon high on weed:...why do we call oranges..oranges...but we don't call apples...reds..??..

Nyen:....sh*t...you got a point... does that mean we would call lemons: short yellows and bananas: long yellows so it doesn't get confusing?...

*they then discuss this for an hour or so*

• Snores really really LOUD. Sounds like a car.

• oddly very ticklish I bet.

~~~~~~

That's all I have now. It's 2 in the morning and I'm falling asleep. I might write other characters headcannons later.

"I'm going to sleep" -bop it

#ranfren #catmen #luther ranfren #luther von ivory #comic #web series #nyon ranfren #Nyon #nyen catman #nyen ranfren #Nyen #randals friends #randal ivory #ranfren randal #headcanon #Ranfren headcannons #i need to sleep now #yawn

76 notes · View notes

wobster109 · 25 days

Text

Why is Aventurine Preservation-Imaginary?

(The real answer is, it's probably just HoYo filling out the path/element roster, but we'll play along!)

We'll tackle his element first. It's not the easier of the two, but it's the one with less info to sort through. The basic element types are:

Elements: wind, fire, ice, lightning

Sorta-abstract: quantum, imaginary

Physical: physical

It's a pretty funny system, all things considering. Here's Gepard, he can summon a massive wall of ice through will alone! Here's Dr. Ratio, he can make a massive tower just by thinking it into existence! Oh and here's Luka. Ordinary human. Pretty good at boxing.

(Not including Trailblazer here - probably the stellaron helps her swing that bat extra hard or something.)

And in the middle, you have Guinaifen, Hook, and Serval, who use the element but do not create it from scratch. For example, Serval is conceivably using electricity from her electric guitar.

Most of the elements are pretty self-explanatory, but Quantum and Imaginary are a bit more abstract. What are these types? What do they mean?

Quantum: technology, information, data, uncertainty

In my mind, Silver Wolf is the classic quantum character. She uses hacking to change data. In her hands, the data is always shifting. Fu Xuan is another direction that quantum can go - she's a diviner, and her job is peering into the future and making sense of the uncertainty. And then Qingque has elements of both: she works in divination, and also there is uncertainty in each hand of Celestial Jade.

Imaginary: Logic, abstraction, math/physics/metaphycs, theology

For some reason, Imaginary feels to me like dealing with the grand existential questions. There's Dr. Ratio on one end, knowledge is the measure of all things, and then there's Luocha with religious symbolism all over him, the devils, the church, the insanity in his character story, healing you with a cross necklace. Welt with his black hole - there's some kind of physics in there!

But this seems more like a philosophy than an element in battle. So in practice, what Imaginary characters have in common most of all is summoning miscellaneous objects 😅 black holes, dragons, chalk, etc.

So on that note, Aventurine fits right in, summoning dice and coins all over the place! Watch your he-ead~ 🎶🎵

I would've expected Aven to be Quantum. All the RNG in his kit. . . all the gambling, all the uncertainty. . . it seems more alike Qingque's tile suits. He even has card suits on his shields!

Perhaps the Imaginary is more about his character. Much of his story is intensely existential - what's the good of his blessing when everyone he loves is gone; why are we born if it's just to die. Perhaps he brings not just another answer, but a new way to see the question—not Why am I here, but All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

A more direct question that he himself discusses is why he's Preservation. We know he was offered the chance to become a Masked Fool, and seek Elation - the pursuit of happiness. Yet he turned it down.

As his alter-ego says, he and Preservation have nothing in common.

Interestingly, he also gives himself the answer.

He didn't choose the Preservation. Aventurine chose the IPC.

But wait—aren't the IPC the bad guys?

It is fascinating to me when people make out the IPC to be the villain of this tale, or talk about him "escaping" the IPC as if he's being held hostage. Not only did he choose the IPC, he gambled everything, including his life, just for a sliver of a chance to join them.

They didn't kill his family, enslave him, brand him, or make him kill 34 other slaves. Certainly, the IPC has used Aventurine's talents and self-destructive behavior to their benefit, and is not particularly concerned with what becomes of him. They are big, corporate, and easy to hate. But they are also not the cause of his tragedy.

It's not the IPC, but rather the Katicans, that kill Kakavasha's family. His sister describes them as "bloodthirsty, cruel, and insatiably greedy." Personally I can’t say with confidence that the Katicans are villains without knowing their full history, but either way, the conflict is between the Avgins and the Katicans.

My feeling is that the IPC is amoral - they are not actively out to do harm, but neither will they go out of their way to avoid or prevent it. They are focused primarily on profit. Sometimes that means taking over a planet against the people's will. Sometimes that means making gambles. . . or sacrifices. Other times, it means hosting an Aetherium event.

So, why does Aventurine choose the IPC? What's interesting to me is, he isn't a slave to the IPC in any sense - not even in the lack-of-choice sense of Topaz's planet. He had a choice. He could have become a Masked Fool. So, why?

It all comes back to this:

"Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back if you see fit. Exploitation and treachery are simply tools of the trade. But remember, I don't make deals that don't pay off... So, I hope you don't disappoint me."

The IPC is a tool to him, a means to an end. He expects that the IPC will use him, and in exchange he intends to use the IPC.

But to what end?

It's got to be something big. He could have become a refugee or an ordinary IPC employee, and instead he took the risk of lying about Tayzzynronth's remains. He let himself be arrested and brought to Jade. "I bet you won't send me to the gallows." Death was a possibility, so it had to be worth that risk.

My guess is that he wanted to save the Avgin people.

(And in this sense, Preservation is his true path after all.)

His sister tells him, "As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry." Perhaps his goal was to save the remaining Avgin people, bring them away from the land of rock and sand and hardly any rain, and give them a home where they could prosper. Or to environmentally transform his home the way the IPC transformed other planets. To do that, he'll need more money and power than an IPC grunt's income. But with a Stoneheart's power, the IPC's money, and the Intelligentsia Guild's knowledge, he could make that happen.

(It feels off. It feels like too simple of an answer.)

But the Avgin people are all gone. Aventurine specifically says there aren't any left. Now that his reason is gone, what will become of him?

In a way, he does offer us an answer.

Aventurine: There will come a day when the sky will drizzle, and I will hear the call of Gaiathra Triclops and know that it is time for me to go and be reunited with my family. Aventurine: So until the time comes... I should be preparing. Kakavasha: Preparing for what? Aventurine: Preparing to face them, Kakavasha, and to make them proud.

He will go on to live a good life. What form will it take?

I don't think he can ever completely shake off the responsibility of being the last surviving Avgin. It would be quite a leap for him to settle down and have a family, so perhaps he'll have to pass it forward some other way. Either by preserving the culture (another museum management event?) or by dedicating his wealth and power to saving other peoples.

The thing about being somewhere is, you can't help but grow into it, and it grows around you. And now, he has. . . allies who are a bit closer to friends than he might think.

He has two coworkers who willingly handed over their cornerstones for his plan—cornerstones more precious than life itself. He seems to genuinely look out for Topaz (advising her against getting involved in Belobog), and she talks about him cheerfully during 2.1. And I am sure that bringing him into the IPC was a significant personal risk for Jade, especially since he'd already caused the IPC a major financial loss. For Jade and Topaz, he has—if not their trust, at least their respect in his abilities.

And he has the Intelligentsia Guild's top Mundanite fussing over his survival. Not for the Avgin bloodline, and not for profit or the success of a mission. Acheron refers to Ratio as his “friend”, and he doesn’t bother to deny it.

He has three allies/maybe-friends involved in a grand scheme with him, and isn't there something addicting about scheming together? Something as marvelous as what the Trailblazer has with the Express? So, I don't think he'll leave the IPC anytime soon. He carved out this path with his bare hands, made a life and a purpose for himself, and even made some friends along the way. Now, it's time to live it.

#honkai star rail #spoilers #aventurine #the IPC #character study

49 notes · View notes