#THE MAIDEN. PAST VERSE. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 6: Fury

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, everyone! I know, I know - yeeting these out, aren’t I? A small change of plans, in that this one is the OG Chapter 4 split in half; I’m THIS close to having Chapter 7 done, too, and after that, it’s minor edits to the existing work. I’ve done the major reworking for this instalment, so yaaaaay! Only gotta rephrase/add slight things to upcoming chapters to make it all round out cohesively. As always, thanks to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reassuring me that this makes sense! YAY!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap, dubious consent.

Luring you in is easier said than done.

He finds you when and where he can, your seemingly untraceable movements easily resolved through quick conversation with Harrold Westerling, none other than the Lord Commander himself. A stolid, serious man, he’d taken little issue to his Prince’s request, providing Cole’s whereabouts with an ease that speaks to the Kingsguard’s acclimatisation to your routine. He does not particularly enjoy searching you out by means of the Stormlander knight, but needs must.

Daemon does it all, too. He spends what time he is able in your company, taking care not to press his suit too forcefully and scare you off; he regales you with tales of his nobler deeds and escorts you to meals with your family; he unearths his old stockpiles of accrued riches and selects the few among them he thinks you might like; he plies you with adulation and declares you to be the fairest maiden in all the known world, the envy of every creature fortunate enough to lay eyes upon you. He gives this endeavour all the effort he possesses, more so than any past conquest, for you are infinitely more valuable than some cheap fuck, and he is so sure that you will receive his attentions with a sweet smile and a ready spirit, all too willing to take the hand he is silently offering with every look and every word, urging you to accept him and—

And nothing. It drives him mad. So distracted is he that he begins to draw further and further away from his old associates, declining their entreaties wherever he might. The most recent occasion had left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

“Come on, man! Where is your head tonight?” Dargood asks, leaning across one of his many acquaintances to yell at him over the din. “You’ve not said a word all evening!”

Daemon lifts the tankard and takes a lengthy draught. “Ah—perhaps you bore me, then.” A wan smile curves as their gathered companions roar with laughter.

Truthfully, he’s been avoiding the lot of them; they desire little else than to drink and fight and fuck. While his taste for such pastimes hasn’t exactly waned, his enthusiasm has taken a great blow. He can only presume it has something to do with you, blasted tempting girl you are. Each time he resigns himself to one of these outings—each time he must playact at interest in the whores Dargood parades before him in yet another reputed establishment—all he sees in his mind’s eye is your face, wounded disappointment clouding your beauty and transforming it into something haunted and sorrowful.

Kettleblack snorts. “Of course he’s bored, what with his Delight waiting for him in the Keep! Probably wishing he was back in her right now!”

“Or is it his Delight in that shithole that he’s craving?” Hollard asks. The reminder of the whore—of that embarrassingly public affair in which he’d shouted your name in a fucking brothel, of all places—churns in Daemon’s gut.

He looks suspiciously towards Dargood, who shrugs innocently. Dargood had been the only one to pay attention as the whore had led him away and up the stairs; and, when he’d lurched from that shabby chamber after spilling himself like a green boy, he’d come across the other man loitering in the hall outside, expression alight as though he’d just learned some great secret.

He’d have to impress the importance of silence upon his longtime comrade a little more forcefully, it seems.

“Whatever will he do—two silver-haired lasses ready to spread their legs for him?” One of the men whose name he cannot recall grins, revealing his missing front teeth in all their hideous glory. Eyes glittering meanly, he adds, “Who has the time?”

Daemon dislikes the turn in conversation. “Now, now, lads,” he says with a conceited sneer, though his heart isn’t in it. “It’s poor form to tell tales of the royal bedchamber. Or one’s exploits in them.”

“Lucky bastard!”

He levels a look at this unknown. “I assure you; my mother and father were wed.” The manner in which he emphasises it, with a raise of the brow to accentuate, leaves no man unaware of his intent.

“Oi!” he exclaims, indignant even as the others guffaw. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Nothing at all. Only; they say bastards have a certain”—here, Daemon pauses and lets his gaze travel assessingly over his form, settling back with a smirk after completing his observation—“ look about them.”

Uproarious mirth follows his pronouncement, though it did not nearly warrant the volume with which the varied cackles and chortles now ring in his ears.

Hollard slaps his back, guffawing all the while. “Stop terrorising him, my Prince! He’s wroth enough as it is, what with you getting to tumble two Valyrian whores!”

“One cost me a single silver.” Daemon waves him off drolly. “You’re welcome to her. The other”—he thinks of Rhaenyra’s penchant for glittering jewels with a snide sort of affection—“well, you can’t afford her.”

“Tell you who I’d like to have a go with, eh,” Kettleblack slurs, having been in his cups for far longer than the gathering had taken place. “Our People’s Princess.” Daemon’s chest tightens at the mention of you. “Reckon she’d be a first-rate fuck, don’t you?”

“Mm.” Dargood smacks his lips after slamming his tankard back on the table, an unreadable stare trained upon his Prince. “She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Thought the confident ones were your type.”

“If it has a cunt between its legs, it’s my type.” This ignites a wave of jeers and more than one crass comment about whether or not he’s taken up horse-fucking as of late. “Oh, fuck off!” Kettleblack says irritably. “Not what I meant. Besides, she’s a looker. None of you would refuse, surely! Can you imagine it? The sound of her—”

He’s speaking before he even realises. “That’s enough.”

The harshness in his voice spurs them all to an abrupt silence.

Daemon had left not long after, unable to stomach spending longer than he had to their presence. Their ribald banter was by no means the most vulgar it had ever been—in fact, it was positively tame in comparison to some of the sentiments expressed in past encounters—but hearing them discuss you so crudely made him uncomfortably aware of how tasteless many of his own thoughts of you had been.

After this disturbing epiphany, he seeks distraction by throwing himself ever more into the task of winning you over, only to be thwarted at every turn.

His flattery is for naught; your lips curve up shyly when you look at him, but so too does this occur when any other compliments you. You absorb yourself in his stories, probing where you will and exclaiming in pretty ahs of girlish fascination, but so too does this happen when your half-sister natters on about her own day to your keen ear. You accept his gifts with earnest solemnity, clutching them to you as a child with a prized doll, but so too do you hold tight the flowers young Jacaerys presents to you after a morn spent in the sun.

Ever agreeable, ever kind, ever polite you are to his overtures—but you do not warm to him in the way he expected you to. The way he wishes you would. In truth, he isn’t entirely sure you are even aware of his motives, for you do not regard him with the same hesitance you do the Tyrell lord or Lannister or your idiot brother. Is that a terrible thing? he wonders. It is not as though you particularly like any of them. Nonetheless, he remains, frustratingly, your uncle and nothing more.

This is partly his own fault, he knows. The court had once had its pleasure in the scandal wrought by Daemon’s calculated seduction of Rhaenyra, obvious to all but the King himself—and what had resulted? His banishment, her ruination, his years in exile and her marriage free of passion. No such occurrence is to be the conclusion of this attempt; thus, he is resigned to stepping out from the shadows, conducting his business in the safe light of day. Never once does he dare to hint at anything less than what is proper in the presence of others—and never once does he dare meet with you alone. There can be no errors this time.

As such, his suit remains overlooked. He can do nothing else but persist, waiting for you to finally realise his intentions.

How tedious it is to lower himself to such a competition with no real opponent! He is the only one worthy of your pedigree, a man of high enough birth that you would not be ridiculed by wedding below your station. A man who could ensure you kept your familiar life in King’s Landing with your family, who could garb you in the finest velvets and silks and jewels this side of the Narrow Sea, who could give you trueborn Targaryen children worthy of your royal womb.

And yet, strangely, wooing you excites him. For all his many pursuits and passions, he had never once played the role of valiant suitor; and the sight of your pleased face as he offers you presents or walks you around your garden in amiable conversation tugs at a long-buried part of his soul. He wants to be your hero, wants you to worship him. In the bedchamber, yes, but also on his arm for all to see, to know that he has won your affections as assuredly as he has won your hand.

It is this that goads him to seek you out today.

You had welcomed his presence in the dank library, the scent of stale leather and rotting parchment permeating the echoing space. It’s fucking cold, too, in a tower so high up in the Red Keep he can swear the air feels thinner. You’d pulled out your winter furs, draping them over your shoulders to stave off the chill, and he’d noted with amusement that you’d done the same to your guard. Ser Crispin was fetchingly shrouded in flaxen hide, complementing his armour rather stunningly. His attempts to get a rise from the man at this had failed, with the cunt obstinately refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” you say, grinning at the dubious twist of his lips. He has come to find that, for all your solemnity, it is easy to amuse you. “Go on, kepus—try.”

“Finne… laz anha—ezat swafeek.” He grimaces at the words as they leave his mouth. The flavour feels distinctly wrong.

“Seh—wa—fikh.” You correct him gently, nodding at him to try again.

Your Ser Lysan Marios is in the corner of the room, chin to chest as he snores in the only comfortable chair in the room. He truly is an old man. With dark skin and white hair, Daemon has never seen a person with so many lines on their face, looking more like the craggy hills of his dead bronze bitch’s prized Runestone than actual human flesh. A man of acuity and hilarity, it is no wonder you enjoy his company.

“It is best to let him rest,” you had said as the man’s lids had drooped and his head had lowered forward, slumping in his seat. “He has been unwell lately—I worry for him.”

You had since obliged with his entreaties to teach him some phrases in Dothraki. It is a hard-won process. His jaw and tongue are unused to situating themselves for throaty dialogue, being far too used to the lyrical fullness of his ancestral native speech, but it is entirely worth it to watch your sweet face light up.

“Sewafikh,” he says.

You gasp excitedly, wiggling in your seat. “The whole thing!”

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” he says, smirking at you when you clap. He can’t help but find you endearing in your joy, eyes shining and smiling bright. “Now, little girl—what have you just made me say?”

“I thought you would find this phrase most useful.” You grin impishly. He narrows his eyes at you.

“And this useful phrase is?” His brow quirks.

You’re already giggling. “You can now ask ‘where can I find the wine?’ should you discover yourself surrounded by a khalasar.”

A startled guffaw bursts from him at your cheek. You are a surprisingly witty little thing, and he has found himself more and more charmed with each hour he spends in your presence. A consummate royal youth, you are exceedingly well-versed in the politics of social niceties, navigating your exchanges so expediently that he has learned he must actively work to keep up.

“Impudent brat.” He chuckles, eyeing you as you catch your breath and making a list of all the parts of you he intends to get his hands on when you are his.

Curls of silver bundled into a braided coiffure, strands threatening to escape—and he finds this more and more apt a metaphor for your character, a timid little bird just waiting to be set forth from its cage. The damnable temptation of your throat thankfully encircled with the abundance of precious stones forming the Valyrian steel necklace he had gifted you some days prior, a welcome respite from being besieged by the involuntary seduction of pale skin. Voluptuous waist and widened hips in perfect shape for his hands to span. Rounded cheeks and pouty pucker and dewy-eyed gaze…

You are a maiden strumpet waiting for her first lesson in the art of carnality. He is determined to be your instructor in this. Your only instructor.

“Here,” Daemon murmurs, withdrawing the reason for his visit from under his chair. He leans forward and places the item upon the desk before you.

You had paid little attention to the wooden case tucked under his right arm as he sauntered in, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon his as you uttered a courteous greeting, mildly perplexed as you always are when he seeks you out. He watches you as you open the chest now and lift out the carving inside, the same size as the little book before you. Your small hands turn the object curiously as you ogle the fine details of the gift, a soft little gasp of wonder escaping bow-lips.

You glance back at him.

“Is this Caraxes and Athfiezar?” you ask softly. He nods.

It had not taken long to realise your partiality lay less along the lines of ostentation and more meaningful simplicity; he’d only need to recall your lacklustre enthusiasm for Jason Lannister’s lion pendant to form such a notion. (Though, it may very well be that the gift had come from Lannister that had inspired such indifference, he thinks amusedly.) He had solicited the services of a common toymaker entirely by accident, having taken notice of the man’s goods during a nightly stroll through the city.

Daemon had been absent-mindedly making his way back from that eve of tension with Dargood and his crooked companions, only to find that his feet had taken him entirely past the route to the Keep. Instead, he’d moved north along the Kingsroad to Cobbler’s Square, idly observing the shopkeepers flog their wares along the street. One look at the stall upon which were arranged brightly-coloured carvings—an array of lions and horses and dragons, of knights and ladies and Kings in an assortment of sizes, shapes and poses—and he had known that the skill of the man would be something you’d enjoy, honest and artful. The peasant had been overawed when met with a request from the Prince of the City, eagerly accepting the task of producing a miniature replica of your dragons.

The man really had spared no detail, he muses as he surveys your inspection of the sculpture. It is truly a fine piece, carefully depicting his crimson mount snarling and wound around the central figure of your own reptilian steed. They are posed as though they are about to take flight. From the whittled minutiae to the meticulously applied paints, it is a worthy representation of the pair. He would have to make further commissions of him.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” you breathe, running the tips of your fingers over the hewn surface in concealed awe. You are careful not to disturb the layers of colour affixed to the wood. “I love it. But you should not have bought me anything”—you look back up at him with a frown as your hand lightly reaches up to touch his previous gift fastened at your nape—“for you have already given me something very valuable.”

(“I will treasure it,” you had said, stunned wonder muted by the veil of decorum. He has yet to see you without it; he likes to view it as almost a brand marking you as his.)

Cole is glaring at him from the entry to the library. Daemon sneers, lip twitching in smug enjoyment as the man looks away.

“Why ever not? I was thinking of you,” he asks gently, reprovingly. If I push too hard, she will withdraw. “I enjoy giving you things. Allow your old uncle to indulge, sweet girl.”

You smile unbidden, a flush blooming on the tip of your nose.

“You are not old, kepus,” you whisper, refusing to look at him, and a thrill tingles at the top of his spine at your receptiveness.

He is about to respond when there is a knock upon the door. It reverberates through the room, the bare stone floors serving to propel the noise around. Cole opens it to reveal the mousy form of a servant girl, the plain red linen of her dress and the cream caul adorning her head denoting her as one of the royal staff members. She colours as she notices his presence, quickly glancing away.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, bobbing a curtsey to you and lowering her head, “but the Lord Tyrell is awaiting your presence.”

He seethes internally as you resignedly stow away his gift, giving it a final caress before latching the box closed. Fucking Denys. He’ll be damned if you dare entertain the notion of wedding that flowery cunt, all too eager to bend over for the Hightowers as he is.

“I’ll escort you, niece,” he chooses to say, solicitously stowing the chest under his arm once more as he heads off your weak protestations. He walks around the desk to offer his arm to you.

“I think you’ll find that I will be escorting her, my Prince,” Cole says stiffly, striding forward several paces. The knight stops when you turn to face him.

“Actually, Ser Criston—could you ensure that Ser Lysan makes it safely back to his chambers?” You beseech him quietly, and from the look on the Kingsguard’s face he has no doubt you are gazing up at him with wide, imploring eyes. It is entirely too winsome an expression on you, and he deliberates whether there is a man alive or otherwise who could resist the power of your pleading. “I would hate to awaken him, and my uncle can surely manage to escort me to my sister’s solar to meet with Lord Denys.”

The fastidious man insisted on meeting you for tea, of all things. Fucking ridiculous. Loath to leave you to face the obnoxiousness of his presence alone, Rhaenyra had insisted on playing host to the courting. Needless to say, the food and drink was to be the best part of the event each time he paid a visit to you.

Cole nods yieldingly as you thank him, sighing a defeat as he steps back and allows you to pass with Daemon.

Your hand is firmly wrapped underneath his arm, grip tight. The journey is quiet, and he notes that you have retreated into yourself once more. Though hates to see you unhappy, he cannot deny how well it bodes for him that you are.

“Chin up, sweetling,” he whispers conspiratorially to you as you approach the Princess of Dragonstone’s solar—the room adjoining the chambers of the royal heir to the right—and stop.

You smile weakly at his attempt to cheer you, though it does not reach your eyes, as he knocks on the door for you. Rhaenyra appears in the opening, her countenance morphing into perplexity at the sight of you and Daemon. It is clear she had been expecting Cole instead.

“Uncle,” she says, a wrinkle of confusion on her visage. “I didn’t think—why are you here?”

Her gaze shifts between you and him, noting the grip of your hand upon his arm and the manner in which he is angled toward you.

“Cole’s been tasked with an obligation by our Princess,” he replies, and it is a breath of fresh air to be able to look her in the eye and feel nothing but affection and the throb of old guilt and hurt. The desire has finally worn itself out, though the memory of it still lingers. He supposes you may have had something to do with that. “I felt it best to accompany her to your rooms myself.”

Rhaenyra nods, brow raised and mouth pressed in a thin line as she opens the door wide to let you both in. You whisper a small thank-you to him as you slip away from him, politely moving forward for the visitor to make his introductions to you.

Denys Tyrell is surely the most repulsive man to grace Westeros, Daemon thinks disfavourably.

The man stands aimlessly in the centre of the room, appearing to be idly examining the tapestries depicting the Targaryen Conquest adorning the walls. A stout, rotund lad, he is encased in a garish, ill-fitting doublet of pale sky brocade with gold flowers, straining mightily at the buttons. His features are diminutive among ruddy flesh, save for the huge, meticulously groomed moustache decorating his upper lip. The son of the late Lord Matthos, he is probably one of the few suitors close enough in age to you to bond with over the delight of being young.

And yet, he is still not good enough for you.

“Your Highness.” He bows dramatically, a ridiculous flourish of the hand punctuating the finish.

Daemon has to restrain the urge to scoff at the fawning grandiosity of the gesture. He observes with half-hearted intrigue as the lad’s eyes flick to him and his lip curls in an abortive sneer before quickly returning to you. Another one of his ‘supporters’, he expects.

You politely tip your head and engage in small talk, asking after the quality of his lodgings and the welfare of his family in a manner that suggests you have gotten this routine perfected over the course of these meetings. He wants to roll his eyes as the man brightens, loudly beginning to chatter his poor niece’s ear off.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra hisses from next to him.

Glancing over at her, he sees she has a forbidding look upon her face as she jerks her head towards the open door. Bemused, he follows her out of the room, casting a brief look back at you as you engage in conversation with your suitor. Flowery cunt.

Rhaenyra shuts the door quietly before rounding on him in the middle of the hallway.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Daemon?” she asks, looking around quickly for any loiterers. The corridor is silent.

“Can I not walk with my own niece now, Rhaenyra? You really must apprise me of the new laws. I wasn’t aware that it was now a crime to chaperone my own blood—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She scoffs, waving her hand toward the closed door. “Finding her all over the Keep? Staring at her constantly? The gifts? The flattery?” She steps forward threateningly, though her womanly disposition and her lack of height serve to diminish the effect. “She’s told me all about it—I know what this is.”

He smirks down at her, arms crossing. “And what do you think this is, then?”

Her hand clenches into a fist. He wonders, entertained, if she would dare to hit him. “Don’t play the fool, Uncle; it doesn’t suit you. I won’t let you spoil my sister the way you did me.”

He scoffs. “As I recall, Princess, I took no part in your spoiling.” He is callously satisfied by the flush spreading across her visage at the imputation of his words.

Oh, yes. I know about Cole.

He continues, timbre colouring with aggravation. “And I have no intention of ruining her.” Well, not yet—not until the wedding night. “Why does everyone in this fucking city always assume the worst of me?”

“Because that’s what you do!”

She has escalated to a near yell now, whipping around in her frustration, the end of her braid lashing across his chest with a thump as she moves away. When she turns around, her eyes are bright with the gradual swell of moisture.

“You pick a target, lay them thick with pretty words and affection, and then cast them away when you’ve grown bored. You do it with father; with your lickspittles and your precious City Watch; with your whores and your women; you did it to me, and now you’re going after my sister—”

It infuriates him to hear her slander his character so thoroughly, for all that it is true. Perhaps it is this fact that upsets him more.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he asks cruelly, turning the attack upon her. He presses forward, allowing the fury to infuse his step, his words, his countenance. “Such a bitter shrew you’ve become. It’s no wonder I’ve moved on to more enjoyable pastimes. After all, your sweet sister really is exquisite—she’ll make a fine little bride for me.”

He watches with vicious gratification at the unmitigated outrage that overtakes her.

“How dare you—”

Suddenly, the door opens. Lord Tyrell steps into the doorway, lip curled and face red.

“I believe this meeting is at an end, Princess.”

The man sneers, shoving past him as he exits. Behind him, Daemon can see your distress clearly. You are still in the middle of the solar, wringing your hands and biting your lip, refusing to look at anything other than the floor before you.

Rhaenyra tries to gather herself in affecting a disposition of regal indifference, though the cracks in her façade are clear to see. “You are leaving so soon, my Lord? I am sure my sister would so enjoy—”

“I think I understand what the Princess… enjoys, Your Highness.” He scrutinises you, then turns to Daemon and looks him over disdainfully. The insinuation is obvious. It is clear that he and Rhaenyra had been quarrelling louder than intended. “And who she enjoys it with. I’ll suffer no harlot as my wife, royal or otherwise.”

How dare he. How fucking…

It is a flagrant offence to one so pure as you. Of all the women in the city, you deserve such affront least of all.

At the sight of tears welling in your eyes—brows drawn, lilac blurred by the tear-sheen collecting on your lashes, “will I ever see you again?”—the familiar, burning fire of rage overtakes him completely, the dam bursting and breaking as he swings his fist directly into the foppish lord’s face.

“How dare you insult the Princess’s honour!”

The bestial part of his nature revels in the satisfaction of feeling the man’s flesh tear under the force of his knuckles as he drags him to the floor, of feeling the grinding frisson of pain in his bones as they collide with the insipid cunt’s face. The blood spills hot and wet over that ridiculous outfit, over his fists and clothes, spraying over the floor. The lord can only cry out as Daemon rains down punches upon him, seeking to erase the image of the man who’d dared to malign you so. The Rogue Prince thinks he can hear voices, but the sound is muted, muffled, like listening to a scream underwater.

“You stupid piece of shit, how dare you—”

He aims for Denys’s nose, hoping to smash it in entirely, when he is abruptly dragged off the man and forcefully shoved away. He presses forward wildly, attempting to finish his mission, straining against the hold of Breakbones—and by the gods, the Strong boy really lived up to his name, did he not?—until he takes in the sight before him.

He slows as he views the scene. The Tyrell attendants have run in to kneel next to their lord with rags already mopping at the blood oozing from his face, Ser Willas Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard stand with hands on pommels, and several servants are looking on with curiosity and fear at the sight before them.

And you. You are enfolded in the arms of Rhaenyra, a look of abject horror on your sweet face. His heart clenches.

—the horror in your expression feels like the edge of a blade carving to his very soul. “But… you promised”—

This is not what he wanted. He had made you fear him, he can see it; he knows you are afraid. How could he? How could he?

“The Prince attacked me—this is the gravest of abuses, Ser—” cries Lord Denys in response to Ser Rickard’s quiet inquiries, clutching a cloth to his swelling and bloodied eye.

He has to get out of here, he thinks rashly, pulling out of the City Watch Commander’s hold and spinning away, stalking out of the hall—

“Your Highness, you cannot leave while—”

“Daemon, stop—”

“Kepus—”

He runs.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/121060219

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

350 notes · View notes

wen-kexing-apologist · 4 months

Note

Ships: every SCOY pair

I see you, villain, I see what you are doing and it is not going to work. I will not rewatch SCOY.

I love this show for what it says, I love getting a chance to see all the “undesirables” getting romance, and not just getting romance, but being actively pursued in those relationships. Never know what you’re gonna get out of Cheewin, but I am forever grateful to him for this show.

So, without further ado, here is what I think about every SCOY pair.

Toh and Nuea

[by the way, I wrote this and then saw @ginnymoonbeams response, so please note I did not copy her, that just how Toh and Nuea are, and I thought the similarities in our responses were too funny to change how I wrote about them]

You’ve heard of bi4bi, you’ve heard of t4t, but you know what I don’t think we ever get enough of? Freak4freak.

Part of the reason I do desperately owe this show a rewatch is because I fully skipped through a lot of the first couple episodes because I was extremely uncomfortable with Toh’s obsession with Nuea and how he was collecting things from him. But, now I love my little fucking freak, and love Toh and Nuea even more knowing that Neua a) knew that Toh was stalking him from the jump and b) was Here For It!

So I want to go back and watch it from the beginning, without skipping through those parts this time. Billy and Seng have great chemistry, once we actually get to them in a relationship I feel like Toh and Neua make sense together, and I believe their attraction to each other 100%. I love how horny they both are for each other all the time, and how much they want to just be making out in the car instead of actually participating in necessary life tasks, like going to school. I swear to God I have never seen a character with such visceral stars in his eyes as Toh has when he looks at Nuea. Nuea and Toh are so obsessively in love it makes me homophobic, and I wish them many more happy years of collecting Nuea’s straw wrappers and recycled soda cans.

Also, I love that they are verse.

Also also, and I am so sorry but I do just have to say that the first thing that always pops in to my head when I think about Toh and Nuea is how fucking sweaty Toh is all the time. Billy and Seng worked well together, they are phenomenal actors, but dear lord did it pull me out of a scene sometimes seeing Toh just absolutely drenched.

Sky and Khaojao

This is how you do blushing maiden. I have never been in a romantic or sexual relationship with anyone before, and I will attribute some part of that to uncertainty and anxiety. There is some part of me that really believes that I too would struggle with initial physical advances, and so I love every single character that both reacts to their own anxieties around intimacy while at the same time being brave enough to push past it. I love the scene where Jao pulls away like he’s timid and shy about making out or having sex with Sky, and Sky puts a stop to the action, only for Jao to be like “you don’t have to stop”. Incredible. Phenomenal. Show stopping.

I love watching Jao’s self confidence and security blossom throughout the show as he started letting himself believe Sky wanted him and loved him. They are so great together, I love how much of a unrepentant fool Sky is for his boyfriend. I want Sky and Jao to be fucking all the time so I can systematically steal all of Sky’s shirts while he is otherwise occupied.

And I seriously don’t know what they are putting in the water at Idol Factory but again, Heng and Surprise had incredible chemistry. Such good chemistry in fact that I despite knowing they wouldn’t actually do it, I would Not Be Mad if Dr. Chalothorn met a certain handsome technical specialist while working with the detective force…all I’m saying is another show with a HengSurprise match up? I would like to see it.

That said, I think my biggest difficulty with their plotline is that Secret Crush on You is about how all the people that are normally sides in these shows, the neurodivergent freaks, the trans kids, the fat kids, etc. are also attractive, worthy, and deserving of love but Jao isn’t fat. And it’s a hard thing for me because I love Surprise, I loved Surprise in that role, I don’t think I would have wanted another actor in there, or that the chemistry would have been the same. But I wish Jao had been fatter.

Intouch and Daisy

Shan, I am being so incredibly serious when I say Intouch and Daisy mean everything to me.

I will never ever be over these two. I wish, I wish with my whole entire being that we had had a bit more time with them. I don’t need a whole show. But Daisy is such a beloved character, she is oh so very dear to me, and with the emotional rollercoaster Daisy went on over the course of this show, she really deserves some dedicated time to be loved. I’ve said before one of the things I love about Thai BL is how frequently you have non-cis people just living life, vibing, existing etc and how that feels revolutionary. But despite how frequently I see non-cis people in Thai BL, I feel like we are still severely lacking in ~Gender~ romance. We have Yok in Only Friends, we have Mae in 3 Will Be Free, Molly in The Warp Effect, Ah Jain in About Youth and that’s pretty much it.

Every moment Daisy and Intouch were on screen together, there was instant joy, and to this day, almost a year after I watched that show for the first time, I still get fleeting thoughts about the translator’s note that said (paraphrasing here) “wish there was a way to explain how Touch’s way of speaking is so respectful to Daisy’s identity”. Like?????? That’s poetry to me.

They are a gorgeous little couple and I love them dearly.

Kongkwan and Fon

Becky and Freen have incredibly tangible chemistry that makes it so easy to read these two as girlfriends immediately. We got like thirty seconds of them but within that time frame we did at least get sexually suggestive jokes, and an obvious and confirmed relationship between them. To that I say let’s go lesbians!

Send Me a Ship and I’ll Share My Thoughts

#ask game #what i think of ships #secret crush on you #scoy #toh x nuea #nuea x toh #billyseng #sky x khaojao #sky x jao #hengsurprise #intouch x daisy #kongkwan x fon #freenbecky

41 notes · View notes

jenuinelycurious · 6 months

Text

So, I have a couple of thoughts about the fnaf movie. Theories, if you will. Specifically concerning Vanessa.

This will contain spoilers. Proceed with caution if you haven't seen the movie, yet, or scroll past.

Okay, Vanessa Shelly and my thoughts/theories surrounding her in the movie verse. There are 3 (with some points in between).

1) Her name. I do not think it is an alias, I think that is her actual surname -- specifically from her mom. We don't know anything about her full dynamic family life as a child, except that her dad is William Afton. So, I think it's safe to speculate that, in the movie at least, William and his wife had a divorce. Vanessa's Mom won custody over her and changed her last name from Afton to Shelly, Mom's maiden name. Visitation or shared custody was still a thing that could happen after divorce, especially in the 80s and 90s by court order in some states so kids could have some semblance of having two parents in their lives (maddening, I know), so of course she would still have photos of herself and her dad. But, the main holder of child custody can enforce a name change, if they so choose. And, if the mother went thru a name change after the divorce, so too would have Vanessa.

So, at least for me, Vanessa really is Vanessa Shelly and comes from a broken family. We can see semblance of this when her and and Mike are talking by the water drain/river in his neighborhood. When he mentioned that before Garrett's abduction, his parents were the kind you'd see on television: have family dinner at the table, hold hands, and say grace. Vanessa's expression is one of pain, longing, and jealousy--her family was nothing like that, and she likely never knew what a loving family ever felt like. This is also the moment that she truly sees the outside perspective of the damages that her father had done: she'd *never* met someone from the families that had been affected by his evil. Until she met Mike. Her father *broke* this family, just had he had heartlessly *broken her*, his own daughter. This was the start of her turning point: meeting Abby, talking with Mike, and connecting the dots on what happened. However, she is still a victim of harsh, narcissistic parent manipulation: it is always going to be a long and hard road for her.

2) "He really fucked you up, didn't he?"

I think it goes without saying that Vanessa is as much a victim as the children, Mike, and Abby in this movie (as well as the countless security guards that died prior to Mike getting the job). However, a thought struck me that...well, I'll be honest. It's fucked up and broke my heart, but it also came about when I questioned one thing during the moment when Vanessa was telling Mike in further detail on what happened to the children that disappeared during the 3rd act of the movie on the Fifth night.

*how did she know the animatronics still holds the children's bodies, when no one found them to begin with?*

Here's my fucked up theory that I'm starting to believe: William Afton not only manipulated and mentally/emotionally hurt and broke his daughter--he brain washed her into helping him abduct those children.

Yes, he was the one that did the evil deed, however, what better way to have a child that is a stranger to you be trusting and calm and not fight back when you're a 6 ft, adult sized animatronic/rabbit suit?

Have another child close by.

Vanessa was there to either lure the kids away into the back, and/or was there to keep them from screaming or running away. This also means that it's very, highly likely that she saw her father in the spring Bonny suit, kill those kids and hide their bodies. Remember, every time she talked about Freddy's and had that haunting look in her eye, we the audience heard her thoughts: screaming children.

She not only witnessed the events, she was a brainwashed participant to them.

3) "You may have forgotten your loyalties..." -- the way William said this line was filled with years of discontempt. Not just from her holding a gun at him and telling him to stop. Like, he wasn't surprised or this wasn't the first time they've seriously, seriously stood on opposing sides.

Honestly, two things on this bit: 1) Vanessa having chosen to become a police officer after knowing everything her father has done physically shows the amount of guilt she's carried into adulthood. She holds herself partly responsible for what happened, and has chosen a job that will allow her to enforce protection and safety over harm and manipulation. 2) The last thing I'm sure William would have wanted was for Vanessa to become a police officer. It puts him at danger of likely getting caught, after years of careful arrangement to prevent that from happening. When he found out that she joined the force, he was most likely livid. Scared, but livid. However, a narcissistic manipulator will never share that--instead, he most likely either blackmailed her to stay quiet (the whole "if they find out about me, I'll make sure they find out about you" spiel) OR he manipulated her. I'm more willing to believe that it's the latter, considering what she says to Mike: "If I go back and he's there... I will be useless to you. Trust me." And she said that with fear in her eyes and voice--she was aware of the power that he had over her. He's had years to break her down and become his puppet. She didn't want the chance of endangering someone that was already a victim to her father once before.

She wouldn't be able to handle that guilt.

3) "You knew!?"

So, we all know that William abducted Garrett. But like my previous points, it was something that Vanessa said that made me mentally double take:

"I didn't know when we met, but after we talked..."

**What**

After she and Mike talked about his brother, *she knew*. With only a name and some semblance of clues. Reminding here--he never said that Garrett was taken when he and his family were out camping, and he never shared a picture of Garrett to anyone, especially Vanessa. He only shared that when he was twelve, he was supposed to watch his brother and he was taken, and that he was trying to figure out who did it by way of dream theory memory retrievement. She was the one that mentioned the Nebraska pine forest poster during this talk. **Because she knew.**

Vanessa knew because she was there.

Remember when I said that I theorized Vanessa was brainwashed to help her father abduct children? Garrett's abduction would have lined up with the children disappearances at Freddy's. Mike was 12 years old when Garrett disappeared--and he's most likely in his early-to-mid twenties, most likely having been 13-15 when Abby was born (giving a three year gap, cause we don't know how their parents were with each other during that time) and Abby looks like she's somewhere between 7-10 years old, putting her birth year between 1990 and 1993. Meaning, Garrett was abducted the summer of either '87 or '88 (I'm willing to bet '87, because that's a significant year to the franchise).

It is very likely that Garrett was the first victim, to test whether or not the daddy-daughter duo that William had built by manipulating his own daughter could actually work. That she would actually follow his instructions without question and, in a heavily public setting, be able to kidnap a child from their family without struggle. Why didn't we see her in the memory dreams? She could have been sitting in the front passenger seat--Mike would not have seen her.

Again though, these are just my thoughts. These are just my theories. Decided to share them in case anyone else may have had the same thoughts--and also to get them out of my head. They've been burning holes in an already soupy brain (busy season at work--yay).

#five nights at freddy's #five nights at Freddy's movie #fnaf movie #vanessa shelly #vanessa afton #thoughts and theories #fnaf movie spoilers

21 notes · View notes

mslorelina-blog · 8 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

It was difficult to choose just five (in any of my works I can find something that I like), but here they are:

Children of tyrants - RoChu, Mature, historical hetalia, very modern timeline (late 2010s). This is something I'm most prouf of, considering the extent of research I did (had to become versed in chinese history almost from scratch...). There's a lot of RoChu works in Russian and English, but they rarely are something aside from just fluff and romance and they tend to avoid tackling controversial topics regarding Russia and China's relations in the past and present. So I decided to fix this situation.

Unexpressed - Amerus oneshot, explicit, 90s era, very triumphant Alfred and very confused Ivan. Wrote the entire fic for the last paragraph. It came out very accidental, I didn't do a huge research, was just writing a commission, and boom, this 4 pages sized piece became one of my favourite fics of all time. It seems like it's readers' favourite too.

Shards of Memories - my magnum opus; Rusame, Cold War setting with a retrospective of their relations since the XVIII century. Ivan and Alfred understand they've experienced a memory loss and decide to run away to unravel this mystery with KGB and CIA on their tail. Stopped writing this because of war, hope to get back to it soon, maybe in the end of this year <3

Ashes and Flame - historical Rusame, featuring the aftermath of 9/11 attack. Love this for the same reasons I love "Children of tyrants": had to do tons of research, learned a lot of new info, also writing about relatively modern events (especially revolving around Russia and USA) is always more exciting than about some old uncontroversial stuff.

The tale of the Feud and Loyalty - RusFin, mature, featuring Russia and Finland's relations from 15th to the beginning of 19th century (WIP). Arcticviolet's "Maiden and the Two-headed Eagle" introduced me to RusFin, AND I'M OBSESSED WITH IT SINCE THEN (recommend the work very much, go read it right now). Seriously, this ship is insanely historically-grounded, much more than lots of other popular ships, it's tragic and complex, it deserves more attention! Not to mention, Finnish history deserves more recognition. So here's my small contribution to RusFin fandom, complementary to arcticviolet's work.

#my fics #aph russia #aph america #rusame #hetalia #rochu #shards of memories #rusfin #children of tyrant #the tale of the feud and loyalty #unexpressed

32 notes · View notes

asideoftrashplease · 1 year

Text

xicheng marriage wip (ii)

I’ve been told that JC antis are complaining that “JC stans from twitter” are posting canon-verse xicheng in the canon jiang cheng tag, which I find puzzling because they seem to enjoy their JC deranged, unhinged, and coping badly with WWX’s death. Well, I TOO like my JC deranged, unhinged, and coping badly with WWX’s death!

Here’s a second snippet of my ✨xicheng marriage of convenience✨ WIP, where the Lan elders try to void the wangxian marriage on basis of an old Confucian rule, stating that younger brothers cannot marry before older brothers — so JC offers himself up for a loveless marriage with LXC, and LXC (who is depressed and disillusioned after Guanyin Temple) agrees. DRAMA ensues.

---

The old banquet table at Carp Tower, Lan Xichen remembers suddenly, had been a work of art — a long mahogany piece, inlaid with intricate mother-of-pearl branches, gold leaves, and flowers of ruby and sapphire. At the head of the table, where the Sect Leader had always sat, an ivory carp had been exquisitely etched into the table, jumping into crashing waves, with a dragon rising from the waters behind it.

Lan Xichen remembers that table vividly, just as he remembers the fateful day he’d walked past the banquet hall, only to find it broken cleanly into two. Rubies and sapphires had littered the ground where they had come detached from the once magnificent structure, and the ivory head of the great dragon had been split right down the middle. The broken halves of the table laid on their sides in the center of the room like miserable, beached whales.

He had stopped there in his tracks, eyes widening.

“What happened here?!” he’d blurted out, appalled at the brazen destruction of one of Carp Tower’s most public treasures.

Beside him, Jin Guangyao had slowed to a halt. His eyes had followed Lan Xichen’s gaze to the ruined table, and then, he had laughed.

“What else?” he’d asked simply. “Jiang Wanyin did.”

A scorch mark had sat squarely in the middle of the crack, split into two halves. Put together, however, they made the rough shape of a fist.

Chuckling dryly, Jin Guangyao had gestured politely for Lan Xichen to continue walking.

“As you know,” he had continued, “Lotus Pier has recently begun clamoring for joint custody of our A-Ling. Jiang Wanyin was here to discuss the terms of that custody.”

He had laughed again.

“Though perhaps discuss is not the right word,” he admitted. “He demanded an even split, with A-Ling spending half the year with us, and half the year with them. We all thought it was preposterous, of course. A-Ling is a Jin, and the future head of Lanling Jin at that! When I took it upon myself to propose more appropriate terms, however...”

He had shot Lan Xichen a meaningful look, and then he had raised his fist, bringing it down sharply down onto an imaginary surface.

Then, he had smiled.

“And that,” he had said, “was what happened.”

Afterwards, they had left the wing to stroll through one of Carp Tower's many stone gardens.

"Two days ago," Jin Guangyao had continued, "his matchmaking date with Maiden Yan ended in catastrophe. It was disastrous enough that he's been blacklisted by all of the cultivation world's matchmakers, every last one. They've refused to match him with any more women, mainly because in the aftermath of his last meeting, a large portion of their clients have declined to meet him, under any circumstance."

That had surprised Lan Xichen. It had seemed impossible, had seemed beyond belief that the matchmakers would reject a client of such status.

"What happened at the meeting with Maiden Yan?" he had asked apprehensively.

"What else!" Jin Guangyao had cried, his frustration beginning to peak, even through his careful composure. "His legendary temper had gotten the better of him once again, of course." He chuckles. "He flew into an inexplicable rage after Maiden Yan praised him for successfully vanquishing the Yiling Patriarch, and sent her running with a lash of his whip."

"Drawing his weapon on a woman?!" Lan Xichen had exclaimed. "That’s bad even by his standards!"

"He did not just draw his weapon," Jin Guangyao had clarified. "He lashed her. Thankfully, it missed and hit the ground where she had been standing. That whip has slain men in a single blow. I do not wish to think of what would have happened if it had actually struck her."

"That’s—" Lan Xichen had begun, at a complete loss. "That's wholly unacceptable behavior. No wonder he's been blacklisted."

Jin Guangyao had barked out a laugh.

"He’s getting from bad to worse," he had declared. "If he does not reign himself in, we should all begin to fear for the future of the Jiang sect. With a temper like that, what woman would agree to marry him? Who could have the patience to love him?" He had shaken his head. "The Jiang bloodline will die with him if he doesn’t get his act together, and what a pity that would be."

"You never know," Lan Xichen had responded automatically, "perhaps he’ll eventually find someone to love— someone to calm and soothe him, to subdue his anger and bring him peace. There’s no person who’s truly unloveable, A-Yao."

Jin Guangyao had laughed.

"Oh, Er-ge!" he had cried. "You are the goodest man I know, but even you—?"

He had cut himself off with a sigh.

"Imagine being a woman," he had said. "Could you tolerate being married to a man like him? Could you love him, Er-ge? Could you?"

Lan Xichen had been silent for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he had finally admitted. “But I would try. Everyone deserves to be loved, A-Yao. Everyone deserves someone who will look at them, past the flaws, and see the most beautiful parts of their soul. No one is unredeemable. No one."

Jin Guangyao had not said anything for a long, long moment.

Then finally, he had turned his face up to Lan Xichen. There had been a smile on his face then, a smile Lan Xichen had not understood at the time. It had been the smile A-Yao had worn in his final moments, as he'd pushed Lan Xichen away, before he'd been snatched up by Nie Mingjue's fierce corpse, and summarily slaughtered.

“Every person who has done wrong,” he had whispered then, “would pray to be dear to a person like you.”

#xicheng #jiang cheng #lan xichen #canon jiang cheng #canon jc #mdzs #fanfiction #my fic #wip #xicheng moc

127 notes · View notes

zponds · 24 days

Text

(Credit goes to JWBtheUncanny on Deviantart)

R.O.W. Pokemon Characters 1

Here is something for the Reign of Water Storyline going on in the Pokemon World, While Earth has become a Waterworld because of the Death of Poseidon and his powers now Belong to the Queen of the Oceans, It's having an effect on Mermaid Colonies on the many Worlds in the Anime Multi-verse, The Pokemon World is one of them, With the Seven Mermaid Princesses (From Mermaid Melody) Establishing there Forming Empire on the Pokemon world with not just the Panthalassa, But other Aquatic Ally Races.

Bianca seems to be surprised that she has become a Mermaid, This is due to a Serum that the People of the Water used to unlock a part of a select few Beings that may have had a Family Member who was one of the Aquatic Races, The Serum had spread through out the Pokemon world's Oceans It doesn't affect Everyone though, Only those that have Ties with the Mermaid Empires of Centuries past, If some of you are wondering how did Bianca make that Bubble-Floaty Well she Blew it herself so she can float on Dry-land When she is dry enough her Tail will Change back, But when she goes into the Water, She change back into a mermaid.

Now for Burgundy & Georgia... Well, They have become Bubble-Maidens, This was a Result of a Drug that is an Off-shoot one to the one that's in the Oceans, Professor Jenifer calls it the Bubblefication-Serum, Used by Bubble-Maidens to make Girls that join them to become one of there own (If you are familiar with the Hollow-Man Movie in 2000, It's a Similar thing But it's painless) It's sometimes used as Poison in Blow-Darts to Secretly Dart another with the Drug, It makes them posses the same Qualities and tricks of any Bubbloid You'd find on DA here, But like the other Bubble-Maidens... They are like Jelly-Gumdrops and are like Balloon-Foxes, and Be like Rubber-Dolls and Stretch and Shape-shift, Since there Nerve-Ending have been Eliminated with won't pop like normal Bubbles They are unable to feel-pain of any kind, But The affects of the Drug are... Permanent, Since... they are living Human shaped Bubbles with Air inside of them. There Normal Cloths can no longer stay on them for long and will Go right Through them since... The outer-layer of there Bodies are a Rubbery Liquid-Membrane It will sock the Fabric and Pass right through them or go inside there bodies as proven with Burgundy, However... Georgia is wearing a version of her Usual Cloths that is make of Latex so She could wear them all the time without worry of it coming off while moving, A Bubble-Maiden's Clothing will be converted into the choices of Latex or Waterproof Plastic.

#pokemon #pokemon fanfiction #bubble #bubble maid #bubble maiden #pokemon georgia #pokemon burgundy #mermaid #pokemon bianca #pokeart #pokefanart #pokemon art #pokemon fanart #reign of water #reign of water a pokemon story

5 notes · View notes

lady-of-the-spirit · 11 months

Text

OC Masterlist

Mostly made to be helpful for those taking part in the OC Creator Bingo 2023 event, but if you’re one of my followers I hope you like this little guide to my OCs! These aren’t all of them, but these are the ones I talk about the most, and some I don’t talk about but would like to.

General OCs tag: my OCs

Creations and writing tags: I'm making stuff, I'm writing stuff

Cut off is here because this is a long post and nobody wants to scroll past it.

Joan

Full name: Ioana, goes by Joan (no surname)

Fandom: The Old Guard (2020)

Faceclaim: None yet, if you have any suggestions let me know!

Their main tags: Joan, Joan vibes

Fics/blurbs available: the Joan ‘verse (AO3), her post of origin, Nile dreams of her, home after a bad day, her relationship with the rest of the guard, Joan learns she’s immortal

Character bio/premise: Joan (then Ioana) died in an earthquake in the 1400s, in what would one day be Romania, and somehow did not stay dead. The Old Guard (then made up of Andy, Joe, Nicky and Quynh) were there in the aftermath, trying to help, and because Joan met them before they could dream of each other, she doesn’t know they’re immortal like her, and they don’t know she’s a new immortal. Some 400 years later, Joan stumbles upon a newly immortal Booker and despite befriending each other for a brief time, once again they part ways without realizing what the other is.

After roughly 600 years of immortality, Joan is living a comfortable but lonely life, still unaware there are others like her. At least, until she dreams about Nile getting slashed through the throat. The dreams refuse to go away, and Joan manages to track down the young woman - and in the process, finds out not only is there another immortal like her, there’s a whole group of them, and all of them know each other. In an AU where Booker didn’t betray the team, most of her story is just her and the guard getting to know each other, trying to figure out how to make this new dynamic work, and Joan finding a place after centuries of not having anyone. Joan is aroace.

Hestia

Full name: Hestia

Fandom: Thor movies, MCU

Faceclaim: Freida Pinto

Their tags: Hestia, Hestia and Thor (for shipping purposes)

Fics/blurbs available: first post explaining her concept, Light, however sorry they are (AO3), I thought you were mine, Hestia and her relationship with the Odinson boys, “what if” episode au, Loki series meets What If AU Hestia, what Hestia thinks of the avengers, Hestia is kidnapped

Character bio/premise: Based on the goddess from Greek mythology, Hestia is the eldest daughter and princess of Olympus, another alien civilization like Asgard. The eldest daughter, but not the ruler, Hestia has taken care of the kingdom in her own way - tending to the fires and protecting the home and family - ever since they overthrew their tyrannical and abusive father centuries ago and created a kingdom of peace and prosperity - with the exception of their rivalry with Asgard. In an attempt to avoid war between their kingdoms, Odin and Zeus arrange a marriage between Thor and Hestia. While both of them range from reluctant but willing to outright reluctant, they are married and Hestia comes to live on Asgard. She is quiet and some would say "meek" or "weak", and no one expects her to get along with the brash and bold Prince Thor. Surprisingly, her calm demeanor and hidden strength makes it easy to form a friendship with him.

While dealing with culture clashes and coming to understand her new home and her new family, Hestia and Thor become friends, and then (slowly for Hestia, very quickly for Thor) fall in love. They remain happily married for centuries - up until the events of Thor 1 take place, followed by the rest of the MCU, making their lives a whole lot more complicated. Hestia is asexual biromantic.

Marianne

Full name: Marianne Ouellet (maiden name/preferred name), Marianne Schulman (legal name)

Fandom: X-Men prequels (First Class, Days of Future Past, Apocalypse) (Dark Phoenix does not exist on this blog)

Faceclaim: Clemence Poesy

Their tags: Marianne, Marianne Ouellet

Fics/blurbs available: Ethereal (AO3), a little fic about her and her husband, full character profile, text post edits, a little ‘cover’ I made for the fic

Character bio/premise: Born in 1931 in Montreal, moving to the States when she was 19, a single mother to a happy 12-year-old, widow of five years, and owner of a local used bookstore for 12 years, Marianne lives a hectic but normal life. She keeps her store running, her son safe and happy, and is happy to "mom friend" the kids around the neighbourhood. It's a normal existence - up until Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr basically break into her store, tell her they know she has telekinesis, and ask her to save the world with them and other mutants like her.

While she initially refuses their offer, she later changes her mind, needing to keep her son safe. When she joins the other mutants, she finds herself joining a community she didn't know she needed, becoming the unofficial Team Mom of the group, and facing emotional issues she had pushed down for years. Marianne is bisexual.

Kris

Full name: Kristina Maria Stark

Fandom: Iron Man movies, MCU (canon divergent after Avengers)

Faceclaim: Olivia Cooke (young Olivia Cooke - I've had her so long, I've seen her faceclaim age with her)

Their tags: Kris, Kris Stark, scarlet girlfriends (for shipping purposes)

Fics/blurbs available: an ask explaining her character, “You saved my life” wandaxkris fic, short krisxwanda fic, “what if” episode au, what Kris thinks of the avengers, Kris vs Alicent Hightower venn diagram

Character bio/premise: As the beloved daughter of Tony Stark and heiress to Stark Industries, Kris basically has everything she could ever want, and she loves it. Until she and her dad get kidnapped by terrorists and are trapped in a cave for three months. After returning home, forever changed by the experience, her dad wants to go out and make sure Stark Industry weapons are wiped from the planet, while Kris just wants to forget it ever happened and return to her normal life. It takes being terrorized by her honourary grandfather and her father creating a supersuit and becoming a public superhero to realize that their lives are never getting back to normal. It takes her father nearly dying less than a year later for Kris to take up the mantle as another superhero, pushing her life as far from normal as it gets. Kris is a lesbian.

Rose

Full name: Rose, codename Venom

Fandom: Power Rangers: Jungle Fury

Faceclaim: Brittany O’Grady

Their tags: Rose

Fics/blurbs available: a whole post I made about her premise, her choice of animal, her having a breakdown, what happens in Ghost of a Chance (AO3)

Character bio/premise: 10,000 years ago, Rose - abandoned as a child, then abused and tormented by her Pai Zhuq master - chooses to join the evil Dai Shi, wanting revenge on humanity for the pain she’s suffered. She’s made into a double agent, spying on the humans for Dai Shi. It goes well, until the war is won by the Pai Zhuq and Dai Shi is sealed away. To keep her safe, Dai Shi turns Rose to stone, and she waits for 10,000 years before he returns and tasks her with being a double agent once more, this time spying on the power rangers who threaten his attempts to take over the world.

It’s supposed to be an easy mission. She sews discord in the group, avoids getting too close, and reports back to her Lord with information to destroy the rangers. But slowly, the safety and kindness of her fake life starts to feel more welcoming than the cruelty she had accepted before, and Rose suddenly finds herself at a crossroads - to choose revenge and a life she’s been told is the only one she deserves, or her new friends and a life she thinks she actually deserves.

Ryoko

Full name: Ryoko

Fandom: Original content

Faceclaim: no official one yet, but either Li Bingbing or Fan Bingbing would be good, as both have roles with white hair (The Forbidden Kingdom and The White Haired Witch of Lunar Kingdom respectively)

Their tags: Ryoko, Ryoko and Ten, Ten and Ryoko (relationship tags)

Fics/blurbs available: human vs god appearance, commissioned art!, Forgotten, Never Stopped, All Trussed Up, Traveling Companion, Ryoko and Ten being silly, Ryoko’s healing abilities, Ryoko’s immortality, kidnapped (humor), NFWMB, Ryoko needs to sleep, Ten is insecure and Ryoko’s a good friend

Character bio/premise: Ryoko was a human woman once - about 10,000 years ago. When she discovered how to achieve immortality, though, she chased after it and became the first god in her world - the god of war, fire, death and the sun. Many others followed in her footsteps, and for thousands of years, they all ruled the world as a pantheon, with her as their ruler, the Queen of the Heavens. Flashfoward to present day, millennia later, and she’s the only god left in the world after she killed the rest of them. She wanders the world, alone as she has been for centuries now. At least, until she meets Ten, who wants to be a god and knows she’s the only one who can help him achieve his goal. Although she knows it didn’t end well last time, she finally agrees to help Ten, thinking that by helping them, she’ll be able to find a way to end her own immortality. The two of them set out on an adventure and despite her best efforts, she becomes too close to Ten, despite knowing she’s using them for her own selfish purpose.

Ten

Full name: Ten (no last name as of yet)

Fandom: Original content

Faceclaim: None yet, if you have any suggestions let me know!

Their tags: Ten, Ryoko and Ten,Ten and Ryoko (relationship tags)

Fics/blurbs available: Traveling companion, premise, goals and some background of their world, Never Stopped, All Trussed Up, grudges, piccrew appearance, Ten is a history nerd and Ryoko is unhelpful, Ryoko and Ten being silly, Ten is insecure and Ryoko’s a good friend

Character bio/premise: Uses he/they pronouns. Raised in a small farming town, and the eldest living child of five, Ten was always told by his parents - and everyone else outside of his siblings - he would never amount to anything, that he was a waste of space. Desperate to prove everyone wrong, they moved to the city to find work and support their family while also trying to find ways to achieve more, to learn and study their passion - history and legends of the world - and become more than what they are. Eventually, he crosses paths with The legendary icon of their world, the only living god - Ryoko, queen of the heavens. Knowing this is the only way they can prove everyone wrong, they convince her to show them how to achieve godhood, and to their surprise, she agrees. They set out on a grand journey together, and despite all the terrifying legends of her and her own personality, Ten finds himself growing closer to the woman, unaware of the secrets she’s hiding from him. Ten uses he/they pronouns.

Cara

Full name: Cara Anderson (chosen name), Carina Alvarez (legal name)

Fandom: MCU (canon divergent after Avengers)

Faceclaim: Odette Annable

Their tags: Cara, Cara Anderson, my sister’s ocs

Fics/blurbs available: None

Character bio/premise: Raised by HYDRA to be an assassin, Cara never knew anything but abuse and cruelty, except for the love of her twin, Quinn. That all ended when she realized just how fucked up HYDRA was and made plans to run away with Quinn. Those plans came to an end when SHIELD attacked their HYDRA facilities and Quinn died in the attack. Grieving, but ready to leave HYDRA behind, Cara agrees to join SHIELD (not knowing HYDRA and SHIELD are one and the same) and become an agent for them after being given a second chance by Clint Barton, as well as Natasha Romanoff, Nick Fury, and Maria Ross (who would eventually become her best friend). Years go by and she’s definitely one of their best agents, although she still has a lot of unprocessed trauma and anger. Things get a little better when she finds a family with the Avengers. Things get a lot better when she meets Sam Wilson, whose good heart and entire character is a bright spot in her stormy life. Cara is bisexual.

Valerie

Full name: Valerie Jenkins

Fandom: MCU (canon divergent after Avengers)

Faceclaim: Amanda Seyfried

Their tags: Valerie, my sister’s ocs

Fics/blurbs available: None

Character bio/premise: Valerie is just a kid when her parents die and she’s sent to live with her aunt. She’s still just a kid when her aunt is in a car accident and ends up in a coma and Valerie is sent to live in foster care, before running away and living on the streets. She’s still just a kid when she discovers she’s a mutant with the ability to control metal. For years she lives as a drifter, but eventually she’s able to get off the streets and make ends meet as a waitress in NYC - up until aliens attack. Using her powers to fight, she’s discovered by the Avengers and SHIELD and recruited, and ends up living in the Avengers tower with the rest of them. After years of not having anyone, she’s finally found herself a space space and a family - a family that gets even bigger when the Maximoff twins show up and she finds herself growing closer to Pietro.

#my ocs #i'm making stuff #i'm saying stuff #i'm writing stuff #joan #hestia #marianne #kris #rose #ryoko #ten #cara #valerie #kris stark #marianne ouellet #cara anderson #didn't realize how many ocs don't have last names until this lmao

27 notes · View notes

butterfly-winx · 1 year

Note

I've always found it strange that Winx/Specialist/Trix etc don't have surnames, In your Au they have them and if so which ones.

Me too, so I have of course given them names to match their family history. Let's go in order of appearance (roughly)

Bloom Peters, later Bloom Peters-Aglissier

Born: Virna Aglissier, which also means "bloom, blossom" and baby bloom magically projected her name which her adoptive parents 'translated' into their native language. Briefly also known as Varanda of Callisto

Stella XXXVI

Is the actual name she is born with, since royals on Solaria have a title name only, no personal one. Luna being an outsider and with common sense gave Stella a civilian name: Mariella Pregioni (Luna's maiden name is Giulia Pregioni)

---

Flora Augmenta Lisahani

Flora has no last name, all three of her names are given names. Her sister is called Miele Concordia Jojoba

---

Tecna Rahman, officially Tasha Rahman

Tecna adds their nickname to her official record after graduating Alfea

---

Yu En Musa

Musa has a two-syllabylic elf surname from her mother (Yu En Maylin) and not her fathers family name (Zhang Haobai)

---

Skyvian man-do Erendor, or Brandon Essikva (when undercover)

Among nobility, last names are comprised of their father's name, essentially meaning "son/daughter of someone"

---

Brandon Sanna, or "Prince Sky"

He also gets a Solarian title while courting Stella: Prince Consort Hector XVII

---

Tim Aubach

Self explanatory. The family of Timmy's father emigrated to Callisto from Earth a while ago

---

Riven El Falong

Uses Riven Sok on his visa and related records because his family name is a minority ethnic one and he feels safer that way. (Sok is like the most common last name, think Zuko saying Li)

---

Icadora Grimae, later Belladona Icy

All the Trix later adopt a mix of their current and past name (from Aegoda Belladona) . Icy's sister formerly known as Saphire is named Glissandra in butterfly verse

---

Dareena Darcei, later Padraigna Darcei

Darcy goes by a nickname formed from her last name interestingly. (ancestress: Padraigna Lyssis)

Alastormia M?, later Stormy Čestyl

Stormy lost most of her memories when Tharma (Čestyl Tharma) took over, so she doesn't know her last name actually

---

Layla Aisha Aghebe

Layla mostly just uses her first name and only Tritannus and Ligea still call her Aisha, becuase back when she was chosing her name she couldn't decide between the two

---

Helia Salador, born Helia Erica Mnemol

When Saladin sought asylum for him on Magics, he thought it was better to give him an official last name. The clerk made a mistake reading Saladin's handwriting and thus 'Salador' was created

---

Daphne Brelain Agglissier

Daughter of Oritel Vanu Aglissier And Marion Fiere Niancey. The royal family's name comes from one of the languiages that no longer exist on the planet due to their extreme cultural globalisation

---

Honourable mentions:

Roxana Birchfeld (Roxy) (Klaus Birchfeld and Morgana Pendragon)

Krystal Arancia Nadrujena Vigo (does have a last name)

Mirta Wingert

Lucy Luckhurst

Nova Berzanetti

Varanda Fiona de Numor

Diaspro Ien-do Drogo

Vanessa Vicenzio and Mike Peters

Nabu Tteke

Xiang Galatea

Paula "Poppy" Faragonda

Misandra Griffin

Mary Griselda

Farin Ebenezor Saladin

Kriszta DuFour

Ophelia Erhart

Antonio Wizgiz

Camilo Avalon

Feid Palladium

#winx club #asks #butterfly fic #names

53 notes · View notes

chibrary · 1 year

Text

title: "seb and charles on the monza sp2" source: ferrari magazine, photographed by amy shore format: article season: 2019, f1

For Sebastian Vettel and Charles Leclerc life isn’t all-work-and-no-play. In May the two Scuderia Ferrari piloti were at Maranello for a meeting with Team Principal Mattia Binotto and the team’s engineers. When their official business was finished the two drivers chanced upon a brand new Ferrari Monza SP2 and asked if they could take the car for a spin. Getting up front and personal with a Monza SP2, with its magnetic appeal, isn’t something that happens every day. The Monza SP1 and SP2 are the very first models in an extremely limited series - only 499 will be built - baptised Icona and inspired by the most important and iconic moments of Ferrari history.

The car that Vettel and Leclerc got to drive was an extraordinary example, a brand new SP2 ‘dressed’ in a livery celebrating the 290 MM driven by Juan Manuel Fangio in the 1956 Mille Miglia. The two piloti took the Monza along the undulating roads snaking their way through the rolling countryside around Maranello. The atmosphere was relaxed and humorous. When the drivers stopped for some photographs and to swap seats we snatched the opportunity for a quick chat about what racing for the Scuderia, which celebrates its 90th anniversary this year, means to them.

"I think that part of what makes driving for Ferrari so special is knowing you are one part in this incredible story,” says Vettel, who is in his fifth year with the Scuderia’s Formula 1 team. “When you put on an overall with the Prancing Horse on its breast, you know you are more than just a driver, you are an ambassador for the brand and that makes you even prouder still.”

Leclerc, a Ferrari Driver Academy graduate whose title win in Formula 2 in his maiden season in 2017 was followed by an extraordinarily powerful debut in Formula 1 in 2018 that earned him the second seat in the SF90 – couldn’t agree more: “My adventure with the Scuderia has only just begun,” he says. “But from day one, I realised it was a genuinely unique team with an unparalleled history. It’s hard not to get a shiver down your spine when you get behind the wheel of a Ferrari.” Leclerc also explained how his personal life has been affected since he joined the Scuderia: “People stop me in the street now to congratulate me and I have to say it’s really great.”

Vettel is a huge fan of the marque’s history and well versed in all the facts and figures. He is impressed with how Enzo’s passion and inspiration “are qualities which are still alive in Ferrari today with the great pride, care and attention with which cars – road cars and our F1 cars – are built. There is a unique, emotional connection with Ferrari, whether you work in the factory, are a Ferrari owner, or a driver for the Scuderia, where one is always aware of the responsibility that comes with being associated with the Prancing Horse. It is a responsibility I am privileged to have.”

Back at the Gestione Sportiva, Leclerc shares his impressions of the Monza SP2. “Getting into this Ferrari is a bit like diving into the past: it’s extreme, uncompromising, but bursting with technologies which, as is so often the case, were tested in competition. I don’t think anyone can match Ferrari in terms of the huge technological transfer from its racing cars to its road cars.” The car’s design also sets it apart. Designed by Maranello’s in-house Centro Stile, the Monza SP2 - boasting incredibly pure and elegantly minimalist forms that started out as little more than a single pencil stroke - stops time by uniting tradition and cutting-edge technology in the name of Ferrari, just as the Scuderia’s Formula 1 drivers do when they mix speed with genius in the Prancing Horse’s name.

#year: 2019 #driver:seb #format:photoshoot #format:article #series:f1

25 notes · View notes

onlyyyariii · 1 year

Text

Avatar Character Insert (OC)

Name: Hinewai (didn’t find last name yet)

Age: same age as Neteyam (yeah you see where this is going)

Character Traits: Strong hunter, experienced flyer, can weave and make clothing for her people, aids the other women in the village.

Mate: Neteyam (let’s not talk about it)

Wait until you hear their story, ugh so adorable. I’m crying.

I absolutely cannot wait to tell their story. We’re gonna pretend like some things didn’t happen in Avatar 2 and just keep swimming 🤭

I am absolutely in love with the movie and the whole universe. That being said, this character that I am writing out for you now, came to life in my mind as I was watching the movie. I did not know her name or what she looked like or anything, but I knew her story. I knew her and neteyam’s story. I knew what was going to become of this amazing character I was going to create. Neteyam brought to life this character in front of my eyes and even when well (those of you who have seen the movie know what I’m talking about) you know. Hinewai means water maiden so I’m sure those of you who are well versed with the Avatar movies know where she comes from. I have an amazing story planned out and I’m so excited I get to share it with you guys. Her name is to be pronounced as (HE-NAH- WAY), and she is to be seen as a force to reckon with. She is not easily turned down and won’t let anyone hurt her or her loved ones without putting up a fierce fight. You will see how this character comes to life as a Na’Vi woman and how her past does not define her future. 🤭 I’m so excited I’m giving hints lol. Anyways I can’t wait for you guys to read, I love you and I will write this story ASAP! It will have chapters and they will most likely be long. I will make no promises. I may start this on paper just so I can stay focused instead of switching to different apps. I love you and I’ll see you soon 😉

#ari’s fic recs #oc #ari’s masterlist #avatar 2 #avatar #neteyam #neytiri #jake sully

29 notes · View notes

soulrevert · 5 months

Text

[ * 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁: MIYAGAWA KAEDE 💿 // ( 紅葉女 ) . . . the autumnal language: fullness and falling away from the tree of self, death with a future like seeds in fruit ( © )

▍ note: kaede's story is primarily set in a modern day/urban fantasy universe but she can easily be adapted into more high fantasy settings or period verses. i love exploring her in different historical contexts and genres so if you want to thread please don't feel limited by that when it comes to plotting 💗

⇲ DOSSIER

FULL NAME: miyagawa kaede TITLES / ALIASES: koyo-onna, aki-hime, inari, lady autumn, the red lady, maiden of the ever-autumn, goddess of bounty, the fox goddess AGE: appears as mid to late twenties BIRTHPLACE: kyoto, japan GENDER: female-aligned non binary / she/they pronouns SEXUALITY: bisexual SPECIES: kitsune / gumiho ETHNICITY: japanese and korean BIRTHDAY: october 12th ZODIAC: libra sun, gemini moon, aries rising OCCUPATION: antique shop owner, formerly a miko CURRENT RESIDENCE: kyoto, japan / bay area, california usa / gyeongju-si, south korea

⇲ APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR: changes with the seasons; a red-tinged black in the summer until reaching a full crimson in the autumn EYE COLOR: usually a honey-brown, can become pure gold in battle HEIGHT: 5'4" / 162 cm BODY TYPE: lithe and compact, she is a warrior but she has more of an acrobat's build due to vulpine prowess NOTABLE FEATURES: fox eyes, the worn nature of her hands due to being a craftswoman/blacksmith, the smoky impression of tails in her wake (only to those with heightened perception)

⇲ HISTORY

THE NEXT VESSEL OF THE FOX GOD INARI was born in kyoto, japan to miyagawa noriko and kang ga-eul. a widely disputed birth as the child of this union would be unifying two very different bloodlines of foxes. the miyagawa kitsune, which date back to before the heian period and the kang gumiho which have only just begun being active in the past two centuries. the kang family began as fox-possessed individuals that eventually became full gumiho. the miyagawa dynasty is composed of direct descendants of inari herself, they view newer foxes as thin-blooded and less potent than god-touched.

noriko and ga-eul were wedded in secret and their daughter also was wrapped in a cloak mystery. even so, both fox families became aware of her presence since noriko's hold over inari began to wane with the presence of a new vessel coming into fruition. no longer able to mask their presence, kitsune and gumiho alike began to appear to leer and intimidate the family. the pair eventually decided to flee to the u.s. to avoid a confrontation with their respective families. this was how kaede came to be brought up in the bay area, california; aware of her heritage and the mantle she was expected to take on but unaware of the threat of her mother's dwindling power.

the fox remains dormant until released by ritual, thus kaede has a fairly normal upbringing until she enters university. the kami's essence begins its flow into her, sensing her mother's time running out. being that inari is a deity tied to the land this wavering is felt especially in kyoto. oni come in all shapes and form to locate noriko and bring her back to the destitute landscape left behind. though, they are drawn in by kaede's essence instead, her fox spirit having eclipsed that of her mother's. in order to defend herself her first blade manifests, kogitsune. once unsheathed the beast is awakened and inari leaves its previous host empty to enter kaede and assist her in the fight.

⇲ PRESENT

THERE CAN NEVER BE TWO. . . in the wake of her mother's death, kaede returns to the miyagawa ancestral home in kyoto to drive back the gathering yokai forces. almost immediately her presence begins to ease the land back into its former shape. while the local spirits are gladdened by her return, the foxes who had initially driven her family away have been waiting for a chance to steal her birthright. her powers begin to awaken gradually and her training begins with necessary pilgrimage.

she travels from shrine to shrine. reawakening forests or restoring spirits to ones which have been abandoned by their former yokai. the inari kami is a transient figure; the embodiment of autumn and when she goes she takes the season with her but leaves bounty behind her. the time she spends in each of these woods varies from weeks to even years. she often takes on the role of a miko during her travels and helps with the chores if there are grounds to tend to. the mortals around her seldom recognize her for what she truly is… and her face is forgotten the moment she departs to her next location.

eventually she does reintegrate into human society but it is on the fringes. in the form of an antique shop, which she owns as a front for safeguarding magical weapons and tools from the hands of those that may abuse their power. awakening the inari has given her heightened senses ill-equipped for the cacophony of modern life on average. that being said, it is her gumiho aspect that craves social interaction and the company of humans. there is quite a lot of internal strife she faces between the conflicting needs of the two foxes she houses. this conflict manifests itself outwardly as well as she begins to have run-ins with her trickster spirit half-siblings who try to appeal to her natural desire for mischief. she is led astray multiple times throughout her life but always wanders back to the path of renewal.

⇲ ABILITIES

embodiment of autumn: inari is an interesting deity as she has taken on many forms and aspects since her conception. it is said each kitsune who houses her highlights a different shade of her godly sovereignty. for kaede inari is a renewal goddess, a harvest goddess, a lady of abundance. for her mother, noriko, she was a god of commerce and ruled by precious metals.

ecological empathy: kaede is directly tied to the land. depending on how long she inhabits a wood her connection only gets stronger with that particular forest/environment. this means she can sense all the wild life and coax the natural environment how she sees fit.

zoolinguism: this goes hand in hand with her eco-empathy. she can communicate directly with animals considering many spirits take on the appearance of beasts and mythic creatures alike.

aki no mori ( the forest of ever-autumn): this is like… a stage 5 skill and is not a feat possible for her right after awakening her godly aspect BUT aki no mori is the inari's domain. it is a liminal space, a pocket dimension if you will that is a waystation for spirits and yokai under the inari's domain. this is where the fox goes to heal and recharge after battle. it is space between life and death and the border is not breached unless the kami allows it.

famine: what the goddess gives the goddess can also take away. this ability is typically classified as a curse but she can make a land barren. this is not an ability she takes lightly and is usually only employed to punish spirits that have wronged her. many spirits are directly tied to a physical coil, be it a lake, or a mountain. kaede can poison the very essence of these places and in many ways this is more excruciating death than a mortal wound.

swordmandship: in her lifetime kaede will wield nine different blades which are representative of her nine-tails. she will endure a trial for each and some will even be forged by her own hand. the inari is the guardian of swordsmiths and that is why they are her weapon of choice. not every sword will be a katana some may even be tantou or daggers and she takes a fondness to a korean jikado sword at some point.

⇲ KITSUNE/ GUMIHO TRAITS

shapeshifting: becoming a full fox is a rarity. both gumiho and kitsune are very protective of their true forms. seeing their actual face is associated with stealing their power. they also will wear thousands of different human faces throughout their lifetime and seldom are seen in the same form twice by mortals. in kaede's case she is more grounded in humanity and does have a human face she is partial to… but it is unsure if it is her "true" face.

obfuscation: related to this lack of a "true" face it is difficult to look directly in the face of the goddess. kaede's features are constantly shifting and are always changing to the slightest degree that can cause a sense of vertigo if one stares for too long. she will wear a kitsune mask at times for ease when she doesn't want to focus her energy on keeping her face from shifting.

yeowoo guseul (the fox marble/bead): the fox marble… is a kiss of death in a way. the fox marble is said to house a gumiho's divine knowledge. they can gift this knowledge to mortals through a kiss, they exchange the marble back and forth and if it human swallows it they absorb some of the gumiho's essence. legends have said if a fox bead is housed in a mortal long enough the gumiho will become human. since kaede is no regular gumiho and comes from a kitsune lineage she will not become human even if she gives her marble away. instead she will weaken depending on who she chooses as a host… and that host does not necessarily have to be human.

divine allure: the fox is a charmer. a seducer, and an excellent manipulator of emotion. extremely convincing liars it is almost impossible to know when the truth is being told or not when in her presence. kaede herself does not employ tactics of seduction often but whether or not flirting is her intention, foxes have a supernatural allure to them. they draw you in, they are captivating creatures because it is impossible to ignore their vulpine features even when they are playing at human. there is something off about them and this entices rather than repels.

#* ocs: kaede miyagawa

4 notes · View notes

scifrey · 11 months

Text

Keepsakes

A Plane Ticket: Destiny

Status: Complete

Series: the Hob Adherent series (this is the last story in the series. No, really, I mean it.)

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Johanna Constantine, Despair of the Endless, Orpheus, the Kindly Ones

Summary:

Morph and Hob travel to Naxos for their honeymoon, but once there, Hob is tasked with a quest as Vassal of the Endless that will force Morph to confront and amend one of his greatest past cruelties.

Picks up directly after the epilogue of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 or below:

Part Four: Destiny

Only, it's not a breeze.

It's a gale, and it's inside the temple, circling and circling the table, whipping up their clothes and tossing the offerings on the altar into the corners of the floor, of the domed ceiling. The tapestries rip from their moorings, the blossoms scatter, the vases tumble and shatter. And in the centre of it all, Orpheus is utterly unmoved by the wind. His hair isn't even fluttering.

Hob clings to the windowsill to keep from being blown into the wall, bracing his shoes against the slick marble and reaching out to wrap one arm around Morph to keep his skinny arse from going flying.

"What the hell is this?" Hob shouts over the roar of the miniature tornado.

"The Kindly Ones," Morph says, voice barely loud enough to be heard, but too disconsolate to shout.

"Kindly… who?"

And then a woman appears. She stands behind Orpheus, halfway to the temple door, which is banging catastrophically. She is young… no, wait, she is about Hob's age and she… no, it's an old woman, he mistook her flying silver hair for a scarf and… no, she's…

She's three women.

They move around one another, swift and seamless, and every time he thinks that he's figured out what one of them looks like, he realizes he's seeing someone else entirely.

The Kindly Ones, Hob echoes in his mind, thinking they look nothing of the sort. They look furious. They look…

“Furies,” he says, feeling like a complete dolt for not putting it together sooner. His husband is, after all, the inspiration for the Greek God of Sleep. Morph's son is Orpheus. His ex-wife is a Muse. Of course the three every-shifting women before them are The Fates.

That’s just Hob’s life now.

"Dream of the Endless!" one of the women booms. Hob thinks it's the crone. "You know the rules!"

"Aye, I know them!" Morpheus calls back. "I know them, old witch!"

"And yet you seek to do this thing?" howls the mother. "This terrible, terrible thing?"

"I do!"

"By what right?" screams the maiden.

"By right of respect!" Morph challenges. "By right of compassion!"

The wind abruptly cuts out.

"You know the price," the three women ask, together.

“I know. And I shall pay it,” Morpheus says. He steps out of Hob's arms, raises his chin and thrusts out his chest like the miserable hero of a wan melodrama. “I shall spill family blood, and so die.”

“You what? Abso-fucking-lutely not!” Hob protests. He grabs Morph's arm hard, jostling the poison bottle. A little part of him wishes he'd made Morph drop it, but he's not spiteful enough to actively try to destroy it. “You’re not dying on our goddamn honeymoon.”

"When would you prefer I die, Hob Gadling?" Morph asks, raising an arch eyebrow at him.

"Never! Like you promised me!"

"And then when shall you have me release Orpheus from his suffering, as I promised him?"

"You—you can't—that's not… there has to be a way to… to have one without the other," Hob says, struggling and feeling like if isn't careful, if he doesn't watch his words now, if he fucks this up, it'll be over before he knows what's even happened.

All his happiness.

All he's fought for these last few years.

All he's ever wanted for the last seven hundred.

Gone.

Just like that.

“He’s not Endless!” Hob shouts, suddenly. He punches the air in his passion. Then again, he shouts: “He’s not Dream of the Endless!”

“He is not,” acknowledges the crone, reluctantly.

“And so isn't he exempt from the law that says he must be destroyed in return for spilling family blood? Orpheus’ father was Dream of the Endless. This man is not Dream!”

“But he is Morpheus,” the maiden answers sweetly. “If you’re keen to split hairs, then Orpheus is the get of this facet of Dream. And it is Morpheus’s loins from whom the boy has sprung.”

“Then…” Hob gropes for another solution, there must be one, there must. Hob's heart feels like it's about to crawl out of his mouth, the bottom of his feet itching with the desire to fight, to punch, and bite, and scream to save his beloved. “Ah! Orpheus has renounced Morph, claims they’re no longer family, surely that must mean—”

“Robert Gadling,” the mother says gently, pityingly. “A break in love and trust is not the same as blood. Your efforts do you honor, but the laws of creatures and worlds older than you can ever hope to become cannot be so easily reputed as that.”

Hob's life is shattering.

The sky is splitting, the earth is cracking open, the seas are boiling and nothing is actually happening for real because the Fates are cruel, not kindly at all. How can everything be ending when the sunset is painting the still, warm interior of the temple with the last rosy-fingered rays of sunlight?

How can the world keep spinning on so blithely while Hob's is ending?

"Don't do this to me," Hob pleads, groping at Morph's sleeve, petting his wind-tossed hair. "Please, please don't make me go through this again. I can't be widowed again... I can't lose you, I can't—"

Morph remains as regal and unmoveed as the Parthenon.

“Then…" Hob gasps, and he can't breathe, he can't get enough air. "Then I’ll… I'll do it."

Now Morph shrinks back, clutching the bottle to his belly. “Hob, no,”

“No, it’s fine, I can do it for you, for him,” Hob sobs, tears spilling over his lids and cascading down his cheeks, flooding up from the deepest chambers of his stuttering heart. "This must be what Despair meant. You don't mind, do you, my lad?"

"No," Orpheus says softly, his own eyes glistening. "I do not mind, stepfather."

"Give me the bottle, duckie," Hob says, holding his trembling hands out.

"Erasti, I would spare you this," Morph pleads miserably.

"And I would spare your life," Hob insists. "My darling, please."

“Your offer is noble, Hob Gadling," the crone cuts in gently. "You are a good man, husband of Morpheus the Abdicated Oneriomancer, spouse of the former Dream of the Endless. But you are family by marriage, and therefore party to the pact.”

"There has to be a way!" Hob howls, fists and teeth and eyes clenched hard on his desperate frustration. He turns to Orpheus. "Knowing the price, can't you… please, can't you stay? Can't you just try?"

“I am tired,” Orpheus gasps, his own tears finally falling. “You would not think it, having no body, but I hurt constantly. The pain is unbearable. I am so tired, father. I want to sleep.”

"And sleep you shall," Morph rumbles. "The Sandman bids it so."

He works the stopper out of the phial.

“Wait,” Hob says, throwing a hand out to block Morph’s advance. “Wait! Wait. Please!”

Morph waits.

“Sleep, you say?” Hob asks, kneeling before Orpheus, begging him.

Orpheus rolls his eyes. “As a euphemism for death,” the lad sasses. "Or is that not in common parlance any longer?"

“No, I’m aware that… no, what I mean is… listen,” Hob says, shuffling closer to keep what he says to Orpheus as private as possible when they’re surrounded by celestial and eldritch creatures. “What if you did sleep?”

Orpheus narrows his eyes—every bit as dark and moody as his father’s were in his Dream form—and purses his lips. “And then what?”

“Well, you’re the oracle,” Hob says. “ You tell me when human technology will be advanced enough to build you a new body from your own DNA. When medical advancements are such that nerves suffering from phantom agonies can be soothed. When it would be good, and kind, and beneficial to wake you. To give you back what you've lost?”

Orpheus gapes at him.

But that's not a no.

Hob can work with 'not a no'.

“Your father and I are human. Immortal, and human," Hob presses. "What if you slept, and when you woke, the world was such that you could have a body again? Hands to play a lyre, a heart to find new love, legs to dance?”

“I shall love no other but Eurydice,” Orpheus proclaims with a scowl.

Hob exchanges only the most fleeting of glances with Morph. They are both on their second deep loves. Hob has no doubt that while Orpheus adores Eurydice still, and will never stop aching for her—as he does Eleanor—that there is also more love in the lad to give, and more for him to receive. He doesn't say as much, doesn't want to diminish this moment or Orpheus's longing, nor scuttle his chances to make this work.

"There can be life again," Hob whispers shakily. He is mucousy and flushed, and sweating, and desperate. He is a poor pilgrim, come to pray with his palms up, imploring the god of this temple for sanctification and a single, really very little miracle. "But first, sleep. Just sleep."

Orpheus's mouth twists in a thoughtful moue, again so like Morpheus's own expressions that what's left of Hob's heart wrenches and burns. Then he huffs, like he's come to a decision, and his eyes roll back in his head.

Hob clutches at the edge of the altar, pressing his forehead against the edge of it hard enough to cause himself pain. Morph rests one hand on his shoulder and squeezes three times. The temple is silent, waiting for Orpheus's judgment, and Hob does his best to suck back his heaving sobs, to not disturb the hallowedness of that selfsame waiting.

The white shine of Orpheus's eyes finally fades.

Hob looks up, daring to hope and schooling his fluttering soul to bear the opposite.

For that is who Hob Gadling is, in all of this.

The Hope to every Dream.

Orpheus tilts his chin down to meet Hob's eyes. Brown-to-brown. Immortal Human-to-Immortal Human. One who has lost love-to-one clinging desperately to the one he has.

"I accept your terms, Hob Gadling," Orpheus says gently.

Hob's so relieved he actually retches. Every organ in his body surges outward, as his the very cells that make up his insides are desperate to shoot across the sky like fireworks, incandescent with his joy. He swallows back his gorge, once, twice, which leaves him shaking and panting.

"Thank you," Hob burbles. "Thank you." He scrambles to his feet, and after Orpheus nods to give his permission, stoops to kiss his stepson's face. First one cheek, then the other, then the centre of his forehead, all the while murmuring, " Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Morph pitches the bottle of poison out the window, and Hob laughs with giddy delight to hear the tinkling shatter of the glass against the talus at the bottom of the cliff.

"May I?" Hob asks, hands out, and again Orpheus acquiesces. Mindful of how gritty and tear-wet his hands are, Hob scoops a length of red silk off the floor, shakes it out, and gently wraps it around his hands. Then he makes a cradle of it between his arms, and turns to Morpheus.

"Help?"

"Of course, erasti," Morph says, catching on, and gently lifts his son and places him sweetly onto the soft, cool fabric.

Orpheus sighs in relief, and Hob guesses it must be very irritating to sit in one attitude for so long, no matter how plush the cushion was.

When Hob looks up to address the Kindly Ones, he realizes they are no longer there.

"Where now?" Orpheus asks.

"To the villa," Hob says firmly. "Then, back to London, I guess. And from there, we devise a good place to sleep until you tell us otherwise."

"A thousand years," Orpheus says.

"A thousand years, then, my son," Morph agrees, with his firm, deal-made nod.

It sounds so like the way that he told Hob that he'd meet him at the White Horse in a hundred years that Hob can't help another relieved, giddy giggle. Together, they pick their way over the broken crockery and tangled fabric, and Morph pushes the dangling splinters that are all that's left of the door.

They step out into the cool gloaming, and pause.

The Endless, all seven of them, stand in a single line to the right of the path.

"Siblings!" Morph gasps, stepping close to Hob's side.

"Little brother," Death says, from her place at the head of the line. "Nephew."

Hob, knowing his role as Vassal in this pageant, steps forward and presents Orpheus to her. With Orpheus's catlike eye-squint of permission, she lends down and busses a kiss off each of his cheeks.

"I am sorrowed that my help brought you to this," Death says. "And more sorrowed still that I could not have circumvented Eurydice's death. But oh, my nephew, I am pleased that you are giving life a second try."

"Thank you, my aunt," Orpheus says.

Death steps back, and Hob presents Orpheus to the next in the honor guard.

Destruction, too, offers kisses and condolences, and regret that his help led to this. Orpheus forgives him, thanks him for trying. Next in line, Delirium reaches out, pinches something invisible from the top of his head as if one would pluck out a hair. When he pulls her hand away, Orpheus shudders and groans in relief.

"No PaIn WhILe YoU SleEp, NePHeW," Delirium promises, and offers her own kisses to his cheeks.

Despair is next, and she too plucks something away from him. "No misery while you sleep, either," she promises, and kisses his cheeks.

As Hob moves to the next in line, Despair pinches the trailing length of red silk as they pass, and gives Hob a knowing look. He glances back over his shoulder and gasps. In their wake, in all the places the tail of the swag touches the grass, the not-poppy flowers from his dream spring into existence.

Next come Daniel, in a small, very pudgy child-Dream of the Endless form, clasped on Desire’s hip.

"Well done, Handsome Hobsie," Desire purrs. Hob shakes his head, demurring. Right now is not about him. "I suppose I'm the last of the three good fairies to bestow a gift, huh, nephew?" Orpheus makes a confused noise. "Don't worry, I'm sure Dream here will catch you up on all the fairy tales you've missed. As for me…" They pluck at the air above Orpheus's crown, and what little tension a disembodied head can hold melts away. "I take from you desires lost and thwarted. Do not spend your sleep in regret."

They offer Orpheus their kisses, and then tilt forward so Daniel can have his turn.

Daniel reaches out to pat one fat hand gently against Orpheus’ nose. Whatever silent communication passes between them, Hob is not privy to it.

“Well… that’s a blessing,” Hob laughs. He feels so full of love and lightness that he thinks he could fly if he just concentrated hard enough and took a step into the air.

“Of some sort,” Orpheus says, wrinkling said appendage. When Daniel paps it twice more, grinning with all of his charming childhood dimples and his three whole teeth.

At the end of the line, Destiny, his book dangling heavily from where it is shackled to one wrist, holds out a simply wrought stone cradle. Inside is a plush cushion.

" You do not go to London, my nephew. You sleep in my garden, cared for by my attendants, and doted upon by your family," Destiny says with all the sedate finality of one who already knows the future.

Hob holds Orpheus high enough for Destiny to kiss. Then, gently, Hob transfers Orpheus to the cradle, facing outward.

"I'm so happy," Hob says. "Thank you. I promise, my lad, it will be worth it, in the end. Death's a mug's game." He kisses each of Orpheus' cheeks again to the tune of Death's laughter.

Daniel raises his pudgy baby hand, and a very small silk bag of Dreamsand appears in it.

This, he offers to Morph.

“Sleep, my treasured son,” Morpheus says, accepting the bag and sliding the bow out of the drawstring, so the silk flutters down over his fingers, leaving the glittering sand in a quiet pile on his protected palm. “Find me in the Dreaming when you are ready, and we will honor and grieve Eurydice as befits my venerated daughter-in-law.”

“Venerated?” Orpheus repeats, hopeful.

“Venerated,” Morpheus confirms firmly. “And much missed.”

As apologies go, it’s a subtle one, but Orpheus understands.

The lad cannot nod, but he gazes up at his father warmly, a small smile curling into the side of his mouth. Morph kisses each of his cheeks, and then steps back, just far enough, raises his palm, and lovingly blows sand into Orpheus's face.

It's midnight by the time Hob and Morph make it down the mountain. Destiny departs for his garden at once with Orpheus, and despite what Robert Frost has to say about, Death cannot stop for any longer tonight. But the remaining Endless had accompanied them for the return walk, taking their turns making idle chatter and ensuring that neither human comes to harm on the darkening path.

Tenderly, gently, Orpheus's eyes slide closed, and he slips into his thousand-year sleep.

----------

They see Morph and Hob to their rental and make their goodbyes and Hob, with much good cheer, tells them all to fuck off and stay fucked off for the rest of his honeymoon, thank you very much.

The drive back to the villa is silent, but Morph rests his hand on Hob's thigh, and keeps it there the whole time. His other hand he uses to cradle his chin, as he leans on his arm, and peers out of the open window at the stars. His hair flutters in the breeze, reminding Hob of Matthew's long feathers as he soars over the city.

The solemn quiet lasts through Hob making them some decaf tea, and their drinking it wrapped around one another on a lounge chair. When his mug is empty, Hob sets it aside. Morph follows suit, then tugs Hob down into the pillows, before turning his gaze back to the sky. Though his eyes are blue, Hob fancies he can still see distant galaxies sparkling in them.

"We will see him in the Dreaming," Morph sighs, wriggling his way into his husband's arms. "I will walk with him, and talk with him, and grieve with him. We will visit his mother in her dreams, and we will… make it better. Fill it with grace, again. "

"I have every faith that you will, duckie," Hob says, throwing his leg over Morph's hip to squeeze him close, to weigh him down with the gravity of his love and the soft warm animal comfort of his body.

"This is not a happily ever after," Morph says mournfully.

"No, but it's not an ending, either," Hob whispers. He kisses Morpheus's cheek, the closest bit of him he can reach, and then his shoulder. "And I am so thankful for that."

"I was Prince of Stories," Morpheus admits. "I tried so hard to rewrite it. For him. For them. I thought, if I could change the narrative, if I could change the way people remembered it, told it, then the collective remembering would change it."

"But the old tales always return to their original forms?" Hob asks, remembering the faint sorrow with which Morph had told him that in 1789.

Morph nods. “I wanted to save him."

“You did, duck,” Hob replies, pulling a light blanket he'd discarded on the other lounger this morning blindly, only by touch. He pulls it up over their shoulders. “I promise you. You did. We'll wake him, when it's time. And it will be good.”

"It will," Morph purrs, sliding in close to steal a single, slow kiss. "After all, he has so much to live for."

the end

7 notes · View notes