#Twenty-Second Ruler

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 3rd

Hate Sex, Papa Emeritus II x Catholic!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: Hate sex; mean dom!Secondo; virgin!Reader; catholic!Reader (for now); degradation; piv; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); semi-public sex; corruption kink; cunnilingus; multiple orgasms; dubcon; choking; breeding kink?; cum eating (because I’m a slut for it okay? I’ll see you in the goddamn parking lot); vaginal sex; loss of virginity;

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Your father becoming the Pope was not something you anticipated, but it was definitely a dream of his. As his daughter, you had your own responsibilities to the church that you had to maintain, as well as making sure your father’s reputation and standing in the Catholic church remained good and respectable.

You had made it your mission to save as many souls as possible, but only one you had given up on. He was the second son of a man named Nihil Emeritus - a lowly man who called himself Papa and claimed to be the anti-Pope for the Satanic Church. The leader of the opposition. His second son, known simply as Secondo, was cardinal to his father, and was a real piece of work.

You had, in previous years, tried to show him the way of the light, the way of the Lord. But he would always counter you with ridiculous quips and notions about Him that made your blood boil. How can one person be so blind to the rulers that oppress them as much as Satan did? How can they follow a beast so blindly and stray so far from all that was pure?

Constant talks between Satanic and Catholic churches would happen to set specific boundaries both physical and spiritual, but once a year, the Vatican and the Ministry would meet to set an example to followers on both sides - though everyone hated these meetings and wanted them to end, it was important for your church to be seen at the very least converting the dark ones with kindness and love that our Lord had shown you and taught you to be.

This year, for the first time in a hundred years, the Ministry were to host the talks and you were nervous to say the least. You were uncomfortable entering such a sinful building, filled with demons and lost souls, covered in pentagrams and statues of the Devil. As you walked through the white marble halls, you clutched onto your crucifix necklace and prayed quietly for the Lord to keep you safe.

Outside, they had a press conference and photo opportunity. Your father and the blasphemous Nihil had their pictures taken together, shaking hands and pretending to engage in important conversations for the sake of the press, before the rest of the churches were invited to take photos together like a NATO Summit. He was placed next to you.

His ungodly mismatched eyes hidden underneath layers of thick, black paint making him look like a bald panda. Not a single hair underneath his zucchetto, instead the only hair on his head coming from his eyebrows and his moustache. It would be unseemly to compare his aesthetic to a certain kind of video, but he definitely looked like he came straight out of it. You were both in our twenties but his choice of appearance made him look so much older than you. Yet there he was, confidently standing in a respected Cardinal’s uniform, soiling it with a grucifix and a perverted smile.

For the photograph, he put his arm around you, and rested his large, leather gloved hand on your bicep. Though your face was smiling like you were happy to be there, your insides were crawling with disgust. You shoved him off you as soon as the cameras had switched off. “Get your filthy hands off me, you creep!”

“Only for the photo, dipshit. Believe me, looking at you makes my dick soft.”

“Must you always be so vulgar?”

“Must you always be a prude?”

“You know, you are such a-”

“Children,” You heard your father’s voice and immediately silenced yourself, “come.”

“Yes, father.” As you walked towards your father, you brushed passed Secondo’s shoulder hard and held your head up high, preserving what remained of your dignity. You knew your father would force you into penance later for your emotional outburst.

The day was seemingly endless, and you often found your mind drifting away with itself thinking of other things. At first, your mind went to lunch - what would those hellish kitchens serve you? No doubt ground up fetus spaghetti. But when your eyes met Cardinal Secondo’s, your thoughts drifted to him instead. If he wasn’t so brutish, he would be attractive. If he was Catholic he would be attractive. But he was Satanic, an abomination. He needed saving.

Finally, you were granted a break and ran to the restroom as quickly as you could. Coming out, however, you ran into Secondo again.

“Oh, look! It’s the little snob.” He said, his face as stoic as usual. “Probably pissed out the holy water she drinks.”

“Go stick your face in it, see how it feels to burn.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

“You should repent. Beg the Lord for forgiveness. Turn to the light.”

“I’m much happier under the watchful eye of the fallen archangel, thanks.”

“You’ll burn in Hell.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Filthy sinners deserve to rot there. You and your family will suffer if you don’t-”

He moved towards you and grabbed your chin with his index finger and thumb, his eyes filled with anger and hate. You felt your heart rate spike in fear, yes, but there was also something else you couldn’t identify. “Listen to me, you stupid little sheep. I couldn’t give a fuck about your Lord, your God or the idiots who follow you. I don’t care about that fucking book you live and breathe by and I don’t care about you. You dare to come into my house and dictate what I do? I’ll do what I please, and worship who I please. Maybe you should repent, Sathanas would appreciate how you looked on your knees.”

“Get off me!” You shoved him as hard as you could and freed yourself from his touch. “You vile, filthy pig!” You hit his shoulder. “You sinful, disgusting cockroach! I would never get on my knees for evil bastards like you or your deranged goat god!”

“But you would get on your knees. Unless of course, you’re a virgin.”

You hit him again.

He gasped. “You are!” He laughed. “Saving yourself for marriage, huh? Keeping yourself pure and holy for a god that would kill you with no thoughts of regret.” He grasped onto your chin again. “I could save you, you know? Show you a better way of living. Worshiping a god who worships you back, and sends you the greatest pleasures you’ve ever known.” As he spoke, his face got closer and closer to yours until he was a single inch away from you. You could feel his breath on your face, smell the coffee from his break just moments ago. “Tell me to stop, little lamb, and I will.”

You should have. You don’t know why you didn’t. Maybe there was a part of you that hated how controlled you were by your father. Maybe there was a part of you that wanted to be tempted by a servant of sin. You weren’t sure about the reason, but you knew that when his lips touched yours and he pulled you in for the most passionate kiss you’ve ever had, or the only kiss you’d ever had, you were tasting a glimpse of the pleasure he offered you. His tongue immediately sought entry to your mouth, and you granted the permission, letting him take the lead and teach you what to do. It felt so good. You had to stop. This was wrong.

You pushed him off you one final time and slapped his face. No words were spoken, there wasn’t anything to say. He didn’t look offended by your slap, nor did he look put off by it. He still looked at you with the same lustful expression he had moments ago. And you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your hands gripped his cassock and pulled him back in for another kiss, this one more violent and desperate than it was before. It was messy, all teeth and tongues and no finesse to it whatsoever. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to his body, before gripping onto your ass. The feel of his covered hands clutching onto you sent a thrill through your frame you’d never felt before. Before you knew it, a moan had escaped from your lips and caught up onto his, which made him smile.

The sound of people approaching made you both pull away from each other. You began to panic. You were sure you looked disheveled enough from the kiss alone, and the Cardinal’s cheek was beginning to redden where you slapped it. In a panic, you grabbed hold of his hand and ran into the first unlocked door you could find, keeping the lights off and shutting yourselves in as quietly as you can. Secondo was chuckling at you, but you simply held a hand over his mouth and kept as quiet as you possibly could. You couldn’t be seen being intimate with a member of the Satanic church! It would ruin everything. When the people left, you sighed in relief.

You had unknowingly pulled both of you into an office of some kind, but you didn’t know whose office it was, or if they’d even be back. It was in the silence of the room that you realised what you’d just done. And how close you were to Secondo. Before more doubts could sneak back in, your lips found each other’s again. You don’t know who started it, but now that you had, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. His zucchetto was the first thing to hit the floor, followed by your own hat and your heels.

Secondo’s mouth travelled to your neck and began placing open mouthed kisses there, driving you mad with want. You couldn’t think of anything else other than him. You loathed him, he was evil. But he felt so good.

He backed you up against the desk in the room and continued to kiss your neck, his hands roaming all over your body. His were the first to touch you in so many places: your shoulders, your arms, your waist, your stomach, your breasts and now your thighs.

Your legs opened for him automatically so he could slot comfortably between them. Your sun dress hiked up over your thighs, giving him perfect access to your panties which were now drenched in your arousal. It wasn’t long before his hands made their way under your skirts and stroking over your vulva. He barely pulled away from your neck to utter his words, “the good Catholic girl, soaking wet for the Devil’s son. Do you think your god is watching, little lamb? Hm?” His fingers moved your panties aside. “Do you think he’s disappointed in you giving into temptation?”

“Yes.”

He stood up straight, his forehead touching yours as his finger rolled over your clit. You released a strangled noise at the new sensation, and your hips bucked. “You’ve been a good girl up until now, haven’t you? Keeping yourself pure for your god. My god sent me to you,” he pushed one finger inside your wet heat tapping upwards immediately, “I am His gift to you. Tell me, little lamb, will you accept His gift, even just for today? Will you let the one you hate the most defile you?”

“Yes!”

He kissed your lips again as his fingers hooked into your pure white panties and pulled them off you. He got onto his knees and directed your legs to rest onto his shoulders. You couldn’t help it. “I hate you so fucking much - ah!”

He silenced you by wrapping his lips around your clitoris and sucking hard, not giving you any chance to ease into this. You could feel him smirk into your cunt as he lapped up your juices, shaking his head and licking away until he was convinced you were seeing stars.

Your hands flew to his head, holding onto him as if you were about to float away. The pleasure was so overwhelming, and nothing like anything you’d ever felt before. Sexual pleasure of all types was a sin - and you had never indulged at all. You were too scared to. You were an adult, so sheltered about adult things you knew nothing of what your body could do. But now here you were, legs spread with the son of the anti-pope licking up your arousal like he was eating his first meal in days.

That same son was now inserting a finger inside of you again, tapping up and making you cry out. Your noises were uncontrollable and loud, but there was nothing you could do about it. Silence didn’t feel like an option. You needed to make noise and you couldn’t explain why. You gasped when he added a second finger. Your hips moved on their own accord and you bucked into the pleasure, simultaneously wanting to escape it but also get as close to it as physically possible.

“W-wait!” You said. Your words were slurred and your voice full of panic. “S-something’s happening. You - mmm - you have t-to stop please!”

He ignored you entirely, refusing to stop his ministrations no matter how much you squirmed. “Stop, y-you sack of sh-shit. Oh my God!” His other hand, somehow so powerful, stopped your hips from wriggling away and pinned you to the desk. You were helpless when you toppled over the edge, seeing black as you came for the first time. Secondo worked you until you were overstimulated and collapsed back onto the cold wood of the desk. Your body covered in sweat and your breathing laboured. Your head was spinning from the intensity and you could barely move.

Secondo stood, his hand on his crotch moving his cassock out the way to free himself. His cock was big, or to you it was anyway, girthy and as long as his hand. He gripped your hips and pulled you towards the edge, making sure you were easy access for him. He lined his cock up to your vulva once more, but instead of pushing inside he rubbed himself against your folds, groaning at the feel. “This is your last chance,” he told you, “tell me to leave and I will. If you don’t, I will sodomise this virgin cunt of yours.”

The feel of his cock against your folds was torturous. Your hole was clenching around nothing, screaming for him to enter you and have his way with you. There was a small voice in your head telling you to run, leave now while you still could. Your whimpers and the sound of your wetness was now the only noise in the room.

“What do you want, little lamb? Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”

He stopped his ministrations and placed the head of his cock at your entrance and pushed in the smallest amount, not enough to completely penetrate you, but enough to drive you insane. “Tell me what you want.”

“F-fuck me.” The request tasted weird but you meant it.

Secondo nodded. He grabbed hold of your hand and held it. “Look at me.” He told you.

For a second, you looked vulnerable and it made his dick throb. You sat up and placed your hand on his chest, nervously pushing him away with no force. “Will it hurt?” You had always been told that it would hurt, and now you were scared you’d be in pain.

His own tough facade dissipated briefly, and the hand that wasn’t gripped in yours went to cup your face. “No.” He said gently. “You are wet enough and my fingers stretched you. But if it hurts too much you must tell me.”

You nodded.

With you now concentrating on him, he began to push into you. His thick cock spread your walls a little further than his fingers did, and the pressure was a lot. Both of your hands moved up to his neck, grasping onto him, as your eyebrows worried and your mouth fell open. Every time you thought he would stop he just kept going.

“You good?”

Your body was on fire. There were too many things to feel. “Yes. Oh God!”

The toughness returned to his demeanour and there was a dark glint in his eye. “Your god can’t help you now, little lamb.”

Before you had the chance to process his words, he pulled out of you and then slammed all the way back in, causing you to scream It felt Earth-shatteringly good to have him inside you. He did it again. And again. “You sadistic bastard!” You exclaimed in between moans.

He laughed but said nothing, instead concentrating his gaze on where your bodies met. Every rough thrust sent you a little further across the desk, and your back couldn’t remain upright. You allowed yourself to lie back down again, your body jiggling violently with every movement. You had to bite your finger to keep you from screaming again.

“Look at you,” Secondo began, “lying there with your - fuck - your legs spread like a c-common whore.” You tightened. “The whore likes being reminded of who she is, hm?”

His hips moved faster and faster as he got more into his head, watching your tits bounce as he defiled you.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Devil steal that tongue? Mm, shit. No smart remark? Wh-where’s that snobby cunt who keeps telling me to repent now?” He pulled out of you and manhandled you off the desk, spinning you around and bending you over it slightly. He slammed into you once more. His hand wrapped around your throat. “Oh, that’s right, she’s booking herself a one way ticket to Hell.”

“Fuck you!” You hissed.

“Giving yourself willingly to the son of Satan. Oh, how the righteous fall from grace.”

His other hand ran seductively down your body, and as his teeth began to bite your ear, his finger stroked your clit in circles. His breath in your ear, his hand on your clit, his cock in your cunt, it was all too much. You were surrounded by him, breathing him. He was everywhere and difficult to escape. But you didn’t want to escape. This was the most free you’d ever felt, the best you’d ever felt. You came around his cock this time, tugging at his cassock and gasping for air, collapsing back onto the table.

In your mind, you saw the crucifix within your private quarters at the Vatican - the very same one that was gifted to you by the previous pope. You could see Jesus as if he were right in front of you. The look of disappointment present on his face as he watched you give into temptation and gift your most sacred gift to the Devil. The disappointment didn’t make you feel guilty for once in your life.

With that thought in your mind and the fog cleared, you began taking control, meeting Secondo’s thrusts with as much passion as he was giving which stole a guttural moan from him. “Oh, fuck, just like that. Let me fuck this tight, virgin cunt. Take my cock, you fucking whore.” Both of his hands grasped your hips with such tightness, you thought he would bruise you. “You’re gonna make me cum. Is that what you want, little lamb? Shit! You want me to cum deep in this cunt? Knock you up with the fucking Antichrist, hm?”

No. It was too risky. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Cum inside me. Give me your filth!” You heard yourself say.

With a growl, Secondo stilled and emptied himself into you, letting his own body fall forward and pin you down to the desk. You had no choice now, you were forced to take all his cum whether you wanted it or not. How would you beg for forgiveness now that the Devil’s seed was spilling into your willing womb?

Despite his exhaustion, Secondo dropped to his knees again and ran his tongue through your folds, collecting his cum from your pussy and working you towards your third and final orgasm. This was bordering on pain, but it felt so good. Your knuckles turned white from how hard you gripped the desk. Turning to look behind you, you saw him practically worshiping your cunt, and that alone was enough to tip you back over the edge.

When all had finished, and you were both redressing in silence, you realised the implications of what had just happened. You had committed the ultimate sin… and you didn’t want to go back…

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day ⛧ Part 2

#mel writes #kinktober 2023 #ghost kinktober #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fan fiction #ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo #secondo x reader #secondo smut #papa secondo #papa secondo smut #papa ii #papa emeritus ii smut #papa emeritus smut

[aevumgames]

✦ | To light the darkest of paths.

Those Long Dead is a medieval fantasy interactive fiction story, with angelic imagery and themes worked in, and a focus on romance. It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, potential sexual themes, violence, and death. More warnings may be added as development goes on.

Three generations.

That's how long it's been since this kingdom was conquered. In a time of great upset, the First Queen led a rebellion against reviled rulers and oppressive laws. Waging war with unmatched cunning, she rallied many powerful soul mages, known as angels, to the cause. From that conflict, the kingdom of Calcherth was born, built on the bones of the old empire. The First Queen ruled with great compassion and wit, but not all sins are forgiven with time. For the deaths she had caused during the war, the First Queen was murdered by the very people she had endeavored to lead.

The loss of its ruler did not spell the end of Calcherth, however. The coup was quickly suppressed, and the First Queen's son took the throne in her place. Now, many years later, the scars on Calcherth's short history have faded, and advances in soul magic improve lives for many within its borders. However, those same advances are viewed as a threat by Calcherth's neighboring kingdom, and many fear war is on the horizon once more. To make matters even more dire, the Second King has suddenly passed away, leaving his youngest son to succeed the throne long before he is old enough.

The effects of these events are so far-reaching, that even you are beginning to feel them, far to the southwest in the remote town of Lest. You are the child of a retired knight of the kingdom, who traded in his sword for the deed to Lest's tavern. The Fool's March, your father has named it, and the humble, but beloved tavern has been the center point of your entire life. But now, with rumblings of war, your father plans to pick up a blade once again, heading to the capital to enlist and leaving you behind in your childhood home. With him no longer by your side, what will you do when a threat to the entire kingdom comes for you? What will you do when you find out you may be a soul mage, yourself?

Medieval Fantasy setting with angelic imagery and themes, and a focus on romance.

Adult characters, with the main cast being mid twenties to early thirties.

Customizable MC. Select your first name, last name, pronouns, appearance, orientation and manifestation of powers.

Five romance options of varying gender and personality, who you can interact with as you choose.

More to come as development continues!

Kaine Breckem (he/him) - The blacksmith's former apprentice, who your father took in and hired at the tavern a few years ago. A kind, but mischievous individual, Kaine cares about others a great deal, but that doesn't stop him from being full of snark. Kaine can be your closest childhood friend, or someone you unfortunately work with; the choice is yours to make. Regardless, he's rather protective of you... but who will protect him when he needs it?

Vermillion "Millie" Lousat (she/her) - A descendant of a noble family, Millie has extensive education and combat training... and is also quite the social butterfly. It doesn't matter if it's the docks or the Gilded District, if you want connections somewhere, Millie has them. She wears her heart on her sleeve and doesn't care about the consequences. Maybe you'll catch her eye, somewhere amidst the mass of other's trying for her affections?

Leon Calcherth (he/him) - Technically a prince, Leon is the standoffish older brother of the Young King, Caleb, but is no longer considered to be in line for the throne. He greatly regrets the situation this has put his younger brother in, as they're very close. Leon is not easy to get close to because of the way he acts, but maybe the prickly prince has a softer side underneath the thorns?

Milo Lance (they/them) - The commander of the Order of Light, and they absolutely live up to the position. Practically raised in Gilramore's guard barracks, Milo's personality tends to come across as stiff and business-like, but in actuality they simply enjoy being effective and to the point. A truly gentle soul in a warrior's suit of armor, if you can persuade them to let down their guard.

Clementene Fairwreight (she/her) - Celementene is a talented soul mage for the Order, but she is a researcher at her heart; field work isn't particularly for her. A slightly nervous disposition and bad eyesight really only add to her penchant to stay within Gilramore's white stone walls. Her surprisingly daring experiments with magic captivate most of her attention, but maybe she'll find something in you that can capture her focus as well?

Demo last updated 4/22/2024.

ITCH.IO PAGE | PATREON | DISCORD SERVER | PINTEREST

#if wip #if intro #twine wip #interactive fiction #interactive fiction game #sorry for the repost but the first one wont show in the tags 😭 #those long dead if

[thelordofgifs]

Ranking all the Kings of Gondor

Based on what, you may ask? Vibes. Let's go.

Eldacar. Twenty-first King. THE bestest boy in the legendarium. The hero of the Kin-strife, the archetype of immigrant child trauma, the exiled king, the vengeful father... we love him so so so much ok!!

Aragorn. First High King of the Reunited Kingdom. Yes I know your list would put him at the top but this is my list and I do what I want. Anyway he's wise and kind and "the hands of the king are the hands of a healer" and he's brave and clever and has an excellent fairy-tale romance going on and I am very much not immune to Viggo Mortensen covered in blood with unwashed hair.

Elendil. First High King. He's brave he's cool he's wise he DEFEATED SAURON. Love him.

Isildur. Second High King (co-ruler). Justice for my boy the movies did him so so dirty!! Anyway he saved the line of the White Tree and fought so so bravely and he did his best. I will not countenance Isildur slander actually.

Valacar. Twentieth King. Ranks this highly mostly because he's my blorbo Eldacar's father, but Valacar is cool! His father sent him to the Northmen to build an alliance and Valacar promptly fell in love with their chief's daughter instead. And then Vidumavi died long before he ever even became King and you have to wonder if Valacar feared he would outlive his children too :(

Aldamir. Twenty-third King. Also ranking highly mostly because of genetic proximity to my guy, but Aldamir is sooo tragic actually. He's a second son who never should have become King except his older brother was MURDERED and maybe he spent the rest of his life trying to live up to him!! Also he was also killed in battle which I am sad about. This family cannot catch a break.

Eärnur. Thirty-third and last King. This is the idiot who challenged the Witch-king of Angmar to single combat and was never seen again, but I have a soft spot for him on account of. that was really sexy.

Eldarion. Second High King of the Reunited Kingdom. We don't know much about Aragorn and Arwen's son, but movie!Eldarion is very cute which is enough to earn him a high rank.

Rómendacil II. Nineteenth King. An all-round competent guy who ruled as regent for years for first his lazy uncle and then his lazy father. Built the Argonath!! Also he's Eldacar's grandfather which again earns him points.

Eärnil II. Thirty-second King. Ended up with the crown after his predecessor and both his sons were killed in battle (although NOT his daughter. JUSTICE FOR FÍRIEL). Anyway Eärnil strikes me as a decent guy who was doing his best. Props to him for taking pains not to alienate the Dúnedain of Arthedain.

Ondoher. Thirty-first King. The aforementioned predecessor, who is mostly ranked highly because I feel bad that he died :( and he tried to ensure Gondor would still have an heir to the throne if he and his eldest son were killed! But his youngest son joined the battle in disguise and got killed anyway!

Minardil. Twenty-fifth King. Another tragic one, he was Eldacar's great-grandson and was slain in battle by the descendants of Castamir. I am upset about this.

Meneldil. Third King. We don't know much about him, but he was the first solo ruler of Gondor and also the last child born in Númenor before the Downfall, which is cool.

Telumehtar. Twenty-eighth King. Finally got rid of the last descendants of Castamir, excellent work.

Calimehtar. Thirtieth King. Defeated the Wainriders attacking Gondor in a great alliance with the Northmen, which we love to see. Also he built the White Tower of Minas Anor! Good for him.

Anárion. Second High King (co-ruler). He was initally a lot higher on the list because I feel for him always being overshadowed by his father and brother, but then I learned he was killed by a THROWN ROCK which is kind of pathetic ngl. Sorry, Anárion.

Tarondor. Twenty-seventh King. Had the unenviable task of rebuilding the realm after it was ravaged by the Great Plague, but unfortunately he moved out of Osgiliath for good (which makes me unreasonably sad. I love Osgiliath) and also allowed the watch on Mordor to lapse for good.

Eärendil. Fifth King. We don't know much about him, but his name is nice.

Anardil. Sixth King. We don't know much about him, but his name is also nice.

Telemnar. Twenty-sixth King. Died in the Great Plague, sad for him I guess.

Narmacil II. Twenty-ninth King. Slain in battle with Wainriders, made no impression on me at all.

Siriondil. Eleventh King. We know very little about him, but that's a good name.

Cemendur. Fourth King. Boring and doesn't even have a good name.

Turambar. Ninth King. Mainly this low down because THAT'S A TERRIBLE NAME WHAT ARE YOU THINKING.

Hyarmendacil II. Twenty-fourth King. Defeated the Haradrim in battle, good for him I guess.

Atanatar I. Tenth King. No personality. I don't like his name either.

Rómendacil I. Eighth King. Defeated some Easterlings in battle, but apparently not very well because they later killed him. Oh well.

Ciryandil. Fourtheenth King. A Ship-king, and I don't like Ship-kings (mostly because Castamir tried to be a Ship-king).

Ostoher. Seventh King. Didn't do much, although he started the practice of the King spending his summer in Minas Anor. Good for him? I guess?

Eärnil I. Another Ship-king. Died in a great storm, which is one of the perils associated with being a Ship-king!

Calmacil. Eighteenth King. Generally incompetent. Gains a couple of points for being Eldacar's great-grandfather.

Narmacil I. Seventeenth King. Also pretty incompetent. He let his nephew do all the work of ruling for him.

Atanatar II. Sixteenth King. Lived in indolence and splendour, and neglected the watch on Mordor which was not very wise of him!

Hyarmendacil I. Fifteenth King. Ok he actually sucks. The King who defeated the Haradrim and instituted the practice of taking their sons as hostages to live in the court of Gondor.

Tarannon. Twelfth King. The first of the Ship-kings, also known for his loveless marriage to his wife Berúthiel who gets blamed for everything for some reason.

Castamir the Usurper. (Technically) twenty-second King. Should not be on this list and is here purely so that I can say. FUCK. THIS. GUY.

#lotr #eldacar #aragorn #elendil #isildur #valacar #not tagging all of them #this took me most of an afternoon please admire

[wanderingsorcerer]

The 72 Demons Of The Ars Goetia

This will be multi parts and in each one we will be going over each branch of them "whoop whoop" let's get cracking

Starting off the 72 demons of the ars goetia are the amalgamation of the Occult Writings from the 15th century. Compiled into one text in the 17th that is where we get what is now known as the Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis or simply The Lesser Key Of Solomon. Due to many translations spelling changes depending on region and personal preference for the author.

Let's start the Journey with the KINGs Of Hell

Baal (Bael): is the first king of hell with estates in the east and commander of 66 legions. This King is distinguished by his three heads, One of Toad , One Of Man, and One Of Cat. He teaches the art of invisibility and the power to Garner The Favor of Others. He also rules over Love and Science.

His Symbol

As with most Spirits in the Goetia they prefer people who are clever and intelligent. Someone who is willing to put in the work instead of relying entirely on the power of the deity

Paimon(Paymon): one of the kings of hell with estates in the NorthWest he is the ruler of 200 legions of demons. Paimon is depicted as a man with an effeminate face, wearing a precious Crown, and riding a Dromedary. He is said to roar upon arrival and speak in a loud voice until asked a question from the caster. Paimon teaches all arts, philosophies, and sciences, and secret things; he can reveal all mysteries of the Earth, wind, and water, what the mind is, and where it is, and everything the conjurer wants to know.

His Symbol

To summon him it is common practice to have a Sacrifice prepared, usually one of personal significance to the caster.

Beleth: one of the Truly Mighty and terrible kings of hell he is the ruler of 85 legions of demons. Beleth is depicted riding a war house and is said to have Loud music blaring as he arrives. He is said to look terrifying upon arrival and will attempt to frighten the caster to see if they are brave.

His symbol

When summoning him it would be best to hold a silver ring on your left hand middle finger to your face, as to show him his respect due to his rank in the infernal realm.

Purson: One of the Great Kings of Hell, being served and obeyed by twenty-two legions of demons. Purson is depicted as a man with the face of a Lion, carrying a Viper in his hand, and riding a bear. He is commonly associated with the AntiChrist. His powers include knowing all hidden things, discovering treasures and divination (telling all things from past, present and future). He can take on a human or astral form.

His Symbol

He represents the sun and the moon and symbolism from both is best when beginning his summoning. I.E Silver and Gold Jewelry and coloring

Asmodeus(Asmoday): One of my personal favorites, he's the one I have the strongest relationship with out of all of the demons in the Ars Goetia. Labeled as The Thirty-second Spirit He is a Great King, Strong, and Powerful. He appeareth with Three Heads, whereof the first is like a Bull, the second like a Man, and the third like a Ram; he hath also the tail of a Serpent, and from his mouth issue Flames of Fire. His Feet are webbed like those of a Goose. He sitteth upon an Infernal Dragon, and beareth in his hand a Lance with a Banner. He is first and choicest under the Power of AMAYMON, he goeth before all other. He teaches the Arts of Arithmetic, Astronomy, Geometry, and all handicrafts.

When summoning him be respectful he has a soft spot for academics and is a true wonder of a friend to have on your spiritual journey, just don't wear hats around him.

Vine: is an Earl and also a King of Hell, commanding 36 legions of demons. This demon is portrayed as a Lion holding a snake in his hand and riding a black horse. He can tell present, past, and future, discover witches and hidden things, create storms and make the water rough by means of them, and also bring down walls and build towers.

His Symbol

Acts as an elemental guide unto those who may seek to attack you. Vine is also a divinatory spirit who will also brings initiatory knowledge to Wizards, Witches and hidden aspects. Summon him if you wish to learn more about the Occult.

Balam:is a great and powerful king of Hell who commands over 40 legions of demons. Balam is depicted as being three-headed. One head is the head of a bull, the second of a man, and the third of a ram. He has flaming eyes and the tail of a serpent. He carries a hawk on his fist and rides a strong bear. At other times, he is represented as a naked man riding a bear. He gives perfect answers on things past, present, and to come, and can also make men invisible and witty.

His Symbol

From the Daemonolatry Goetia by S. Connolly

“Invoke Balam to get over social awkwardness or to find the inner reasons for shyness or discomfort. Leave a piece of gold in offering to Balam (And his sigil) on the altar to keep magickal works secret until they manifest the desired results.”

Zagan: A Great King and President of Hell, commanding over 33 legions of demons. Zagan is depicted as a griffin-winged bull that turns into a man after a while. He makes men witty; he can also turn wine into water, water into wine, and blood into wine as well as blood into oil, oil into blood, and a fool into a wise man. Other of his powers is that of turning metals into coins that are made with that metal (i.e., gold into a gold coin, copper into a copper coin, etc.).

His Symbol

Turns things into their opposites. Invoke to help curb addictions and bad habits or make delusional people (or dabblers) to see the truth. Zagam rites are a Daemonolatry Keeper ritual

Belial:He is a King of Hell with 80 legions of demons and 50 legions of spirits under his command. He was created as the first, after Lucifer. He has the power to distribute senatorships and gives excellent familiars. He takes the form of Two Beautiful Angels sitting in a Chariot of Fire.

His Symbol

He must be presented with offerings, sacrifices, and gifts, or else he will not give true answers to demands.

Always when working with these entities show them great respect and take into considerations that the majority of these are gods from other cultures that have had there meanings shifted over the years to be perceived as demonic. Treat them with kindness and respect and for the most part they will treat you the same. Do your research and learn. Learn more everyday and don't forget to have fun. The occult is a wonderful and beautiful thing and I hope to take you on more journeys with me.

We will continue this next time when we go over the Dukes of Hell.

Thank you for being here with me and having tea with me on the other side of the Great divide :)

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#goetia #ars goetia #demonology #demons #witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #magus #magi #grand magus #solomon #solomonic #lesser key of solomon #key of solomon #occult #occultist #occultism #WanderingSorcerer

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 💚💚💚

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

💚💚 Scorpio Moons, even Moon in the 8th house or Cancer over the 8th house, talk about their sex life either in songs or accidentally "out" some of their sexual preferences online, in podcasts, interviews. Beyonce, a Scorpio Moon native, said she felt somewhat embarassed about song Partition (which is about sex with her husband) when she realized her parents will hear the song as well. Same with Justin Bieber (Cancer over the 8th house native) who wrote song Yummy, which he admitted was basically about his sex life.

💚💚 I noticed Aquarius, Capricorn and Gemini Jupiter are more prone to establish some sort of "rules" in their marriage or with their spouse. Albert Einstein, for example who is an Aquarius Jupiter at a Gemini degree (27 degree) had some unique, unconventional rules established in his marriage with first wife Mileva Marić. Which were that his wife should not expect any intimacy from him, should not reproach him in any way, should stop talking to him if he requested it, should leave his bedroom or study immediately without protest if requested and should refrain from belittling him in front of the children. This is even more prominent if Jupiter is also in the 3rd, 10th or 11th house. Jupiter retrograde natives second guess marriage a lot. Or they might marry the same person twice or they question themselves whether that are able to follow through with the committment and even if they are able to commit in the first place. Or they dislike sacrifices and compromises that marriage brings. There are so many real life celebrity examples of this, such as Elon Musk, Justin Bieber, Steve Jobs, Oprah Winfrey.

💚💚 Gemini Jupiter encounters issues in marriage only, because they seem too invested in their job. It's like they are metaphorically married to their job, work in the community or with social media. Famous Gemini Jupiter natives are: Taylor Swift, Steve Jobs, Tom Brady, Shania Twain, Billie Eilish, Emma Watson etc.

💚💚 Capricorn Moon likes to feel needed, but they do not like needy people.

💚💚 Pluto over the 2nd house transit or in Solar Return chart means that you could receive financial aid, especially from the government and other national institutions.

💚💚 I noticed sometimes person’s surname can be quite revealing about their major threes (Sun, Moon, Rising). Gemini placements can have an animal surname, most often also bird name. Like Fox, Robin, Wolf. Taurus Suns can have a surname that means field, cook, food aliment Youtuber Josh Carrott has Carrott surname and he is a Taurus Sun. Such as Mia Goth has Goth as a surname and is a Scorpio Sun.

💚💚 If you are looking at bands, Leo Sun almost always ends up the frontman or the lead singer. Like Joe Jonas from Jonas Brothers or even Mick Jagger from The Rolling Stones for example.

💚💚 Taurus Sun women often go for bad boy type of partner. Even if their person is the biggest softie and sweetheart. The physical appearance is always tall, hunky, with tattoos or piercings. Real life examples are Megan Fox (Taurus Sun) and grunge-y looking partner MGK, Debby Ryan (Taurus Sun) with Josh Dun from Twenty-one pilots who has tattoos, Behati Prinsloo (Taurus Sun) who has partner Adam Levine, again many tattoos.

💚💚 I noticed Capricorn Suns are always the ones best dressed in the friend group or the one that just dresses in more down to earth, simple, humble and plain clothing so that they don’t stand out too much or draw too much attention.

💚💚 I noticed not a lot of people who date share the same Rising sign. However, Scorpio Rising often times finds and dates another Scorpio Rising.

💚💚 Leo over the 7th house or Leo Descendant or ruler of the 7th house in the 5th house especially when younger can date people that don’t even truly want them or be with them. 🙁

💚💚 After marriage, Libra Chiron people often make their marriage their whole identity.

💚💚 I noticed a pattern with Mars retrograde people. Such as actor Sam Clafflin, Michael Jordan, Morgan Freeman, Theresa May or Robert Downey Jr. Often due to not being as assertive, people would start talking over them or they start a sentence and then don’t finish it, but start a new one or use a lot of “you know”. They often are what people would expect of retrograde Mercury people.

💚💚 Aquarius and Leo Moons really like quirky, modern, fun looking home decor and furniture. They would buy nipple pillows, big stool in form of an orange breast vases. They really don’t take themselves too seriously when it comes to decorating their home.

💚💚 5th house shows your primary education and even creative extensions of self. 2nd house shows earning abilities and manner of meeting financial obligations. 12th house shows emotional blocks and hidden support. 6th house shows your food preparation, but also attitude towards work. 10th house shows how the world judges you. But also your responsibility to society. 11th house shows money from your actual profession, not your job. 1st house shows your very, very early environment.

💚💚 Cancer Suns just love their bathroom selfies.

💚💚 Gemini/Virgo or Aries and even Taurus over the 3rd house often get their driving license in high school. Aquarius and Capricorn might wait a little and do it when they get their first steady job or after their first Saturn Return. They could also buy a car shortly after. Pisces over the 3rd house might decide do car share or car pool or they pass their driving license, but don’t own a car. Libra over the 3rd house could rely on their partner’s car and for them to drive them around.

💚💚 Sun at 20 degrees women often go for the “odd” guy. Sometimes this translates to unconventional looking as well. Such as Mila Kunis who is Sun at 20 degrees native who dated Macaulay Culkin.

💚💚 Taurus Suns often end up getting along with everyone, especially in school and work settings.

💚💚 Aries Mercury can end up always wanting to stay positive no matter what. Always putting on “a brave face”.

💚💚 Pisces Sun photographers are really good at taking pictures of parties, because they capture the moment so well. Libra Sun photographers, on the other hand, really focus more on taking shots of attractive people, not so much with the setting itself and especially couples. Famous photographer Tyrell Hampton who took a picture of Selena Gomez and Hailey Bieber was a Libra Sun.

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

#astrology observations #astro notes #astro note #astro observation #astroblr #astro community #astroismypassion #astrology blog #astro #zodiac #astroismypassion blog #natal chart #astrology #astro observations #chart reading #birth chart #chart interpretation #scorpio #synastry #astrology observation #astro blog #pluto transit #pluto in the 2nd house #scorpio moon #moon in scorpio #leo sun #sun in leo #capricorn moon #moon in capricorn #taurus sun

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 2 - “Peter”

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Visions of a past life plague Felina as she recovers from burnout. Rhys seeks answers. Azriel comforts his mate as past-trauma comes crashing down on her. A former lover tracks her down.

Part 1 - El Paso - Series Masterlist

warnings: past trauma, panic attack, references to sex, elements involving death, blood drinking, violence

Forgive me, Peter. My lost fearless leader.

“Quit fidgeting, Y/N.” Mother whispers as she runs a brush through my tangled hair.

Father is in Windhaven this week and I’ve been free to roam the skies as I please, whenever mother turns a blind eye. The arts district is vibrant with life and so often my family carries me out kicking and screaming. Well, aside from my brother who hides his amusement behind a mask of irreverence. He knows I love the rainbow.

Of course, Rhys has been gone on courtly business for weeks and I am dying to see him. My brother, the one person who truly understands me. Well, as much as one’s older brother can understand their sister.

I miss him.

“Sorry, mother.” I sigh. “I’m just excited to see my brother tomorrow on our travels.”

A pause of the brush strokes gliding through my hair shoots worry through me. I grit my teeth, bracing for her next words. “What is it?” I inquire, turning to see Mother’s lovely face downcast before her warm gaze meets mine. “He’s been held up and cannot travel with us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I sigh. Hurt running through me. It’s not his fault, he’s busy and a far more benevolent leader than our father is a ruler, though he plays the game quite well.

An hour later as I lay in bed my heart races, my thoughts spiraling into the places I do my best to forget. The males of this court always let me down. Oh the perils of being the second born heir, younger than those surrounding me, female, and never taken seriously.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling.

A note appears at my bedside.

“Night’s truest bloom, there is no starlight without you. Won’t you cast thy gaze upon my room? Xx, Peter”

I smile at the flirtatious note, biting my lip. “You know I can’t but think of me as you bask in sunlight while mother and I trudge through the Illyrian forests tomorrow. Rhys bailed.”

“I don’t like that you’re traveling alone. Shall I come escort you?”

I blush at the thought of walking arm-in-arm with him. Gods, I’m so totally enamored. How did it end up like this?

“You High Fae, so territorial.” I write back.

“You are partly High Fae yourself, my lady. In fact, I’m pretty sure you offered to kill the last female who got too close for your liking.”

My stomach turns. I would. The female’s a lech.

“Semantics. I’ll see you when I get back. Dream filthy dreams of me.” I press a kiss to the letter and send it off.

“Only the filthiest, my sweet Felina.”

She said she was trying. Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

—————-

Felina

“Y/N?” A cautious voice stirs me from my dream. I wake to find myself in a very large bed, surrounded by luxurious blankets that likely cost twenty-fold the standard linens I’d become accustomed to - the ornate room around me more spacious than anywhere I could recall resting my head.

My body is sore, lethargic. I stretch my arms and - ouch - stiff as well.

“Take it, easy, okay? Your body was under a lot of stress.” I blink my bleary eyes to see Azriel’s concerned gaze fixed upon me.

My body feels weighed down from exhaustion but my heart, it feels heaviest of all - a feeling I’ve continued to carry since Azriel found me at the Inn. Shouldn’t I be happy to have a piece of my life in place? I have a mate - and from what I can recall, a damn good one as well.

I open my mouth to speak but his eyes go distant, a look I’m familiar with but trying to place.

An urgent knock intrudes upon the silence, a look of irritation crossing Azriel’s features before he mutters an apology to me. “He couldn’t wait for me to speak with you apparently.”

My gut clenches, dread overtaking it as the door opens. In walks a male with a face so familiar that my heart’s pace rushes. My brother, Rhys.

“Y/N.” He chokes out, love and longing written all over his beautiful face. “You’re home.”

The name. Y/N. So familiar and so foreign. I remember it now but Felina brings me comfort. “Felina, please call me Felina.” Pain flickers across his features before giving a subtle nod. “Okay, Felina.”

His eyes sparkle as tears form in his eyes. “How? How are you here? Where have you been?”

I reach a hand to touch his face, the scruff beneath itching my palm, his hand instantly finding it and leaning in. It feels so warm and familiar and yet, I yank my hand away like lightning. “I don’t know.” My breaths quicken. Flashes of centuries of lies and manipulation rush into my head and it’s all too much. I can’t process this. I can’t relive it.

My hands find my torso, wrapping myself tightly, I can’t catch my breath. The hot blur of tears fill my eyes as I screw them shut. “I’m sorry- I- I“ can’t finish the sentence as I heave, trying my best to even out my breathing and failing miserably. The inky feel of power seeps from my skin and I can’t process the male voices speaking beside me. My name; a cold, icy voice giving a command; a broken voice of night giving in to whatever was commanded as heavy footsteps pace away, and then -

Darkness. Warmth. A heartbeat in my ear. A brush of lips against my hair. Azriel.

I stay there, sobbing as the emotions crash into me like the surf to rocky shores. The pain doesn’t alleviate for what feels like an hour, the rhythm of my mate’s chest finally bringing me back to the present.

When my eyes open, Azriel is draped over me, wings cocooning protectively around my body, his heartbeat the steady constant in my ear. “I’ve got you.” He whispers. I give into his warmth and drift off again.

————————

Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Lovers in a field. Brushed hands at balls. Green eyes meeting violet. Shared smiles.

Words from the mouths of babes

Tears cried into a broad shoulder. Whispers of “It’s not fair”, drunken chants of “fuck the cauldron!”, late nights and long dances beside reflections of starlight.

Promises oceans deep

Young lovers questioning eternity, the forces of fate. Letters signed with pen names.

But never to keep

————————-

“Brother, you need to sleep.” Rhysand stressed into Azriel’s mind.

The stubborn bastard had refused to leave Y/N’s side for the days she’d been unconscious. A huge part of Rhys beamed at that. Who was he to question the bonds forged by fate? Was Azriel being his sister’s mate ideal? In a sense, no. As an older brother, he’d always felt protective over her. But Y/N had always gravitated to Azriel, even as a child his shadows could calm her when she was fussy, his patient demeanor had always been a soothing balm to her inquisitive mind. He’d listen carefully as she pondered the great mysteries of life out loud long after the rest of the family had tuned her out.

“I’m fine.” Azriel’s conscious growled in return.

He sure as hell didn’t sound it.

“Let me send darkness to soothe her, just long enough for you to eat and get some sun.”

A pause and then the mirthful reply of “Is it an order?”

Maintaining composure the High Lord replied, “Is it necessary for me to do so?”

Ten minutes later, Azriel appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the light of the foyer emphasizing his hallowed eyes and drained skin. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Azriel muttered.

Rhys knew he sounded like a prick but it was true. “How about you go sun your wings in the garden?”

The energy of the room shifted as Azriel’s eyes rolled, caught between humor and bitterness as he reminded his brother for the fifth time that week of the current circumstances. “Despite your good intentions, you seem to forget that prolonged exposure to the sun is exactly what I do not need.”

“Shit! I am never going to get used to this.” Rhys placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Fine, sit. Amren brought a fresh blood supply this morning. She says it’s goat from Sevenda’s but she was in a mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the blood of whatever poor souls had the nerve to cross her path on the way here.”

Azriel wanted to grin at the attempted humor but didn’t have it in him. What a strange turn of the tables, Amren no longer the bloodthirsty one.

The males sat in silence, Azriel nursing the goblet of blood Nuala had kindly brought in to him. Soft footsteps padded into the space, a familiar floral scent wafting through the room, as Elain entered.

“Oh.” the middle Archeron sister gasped. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave a wary smile, sad eyes falling on Azriel before flicking back to Rhys.

“Not interrupting, Elain. What do you have there?” Rhys glanced to a piece of paper in her clutched in her grasp. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she spoke too quickly, her pulse fluttering. “Writing secret love letters, Elain?”

She shook her head, glancing to Azriel once again. It grated Rhys to know the recent history, or whatever it was, that transpired between Azriel and Elain. With his sister being thrown into the mix now, he was battling that instinct to protect her at all costs.

Elain blushed a soft shade of pink, nearly matching that of her pastel dress. One hand grasping the delicate wrist of the opposite. “I’ve been writing to Lucien.”

“Ah, and how is dear Little Lucien?” Rhys raised an eyebrow, lip quirking upward.

“He’s fine.” Her words were clipped. “I have to go now. Cerridwen is waiting for me in the gardens. We’re planting a new variant of night-blooming jasmine.” She gave a nod and scurried from the room.

Azriel’s lips remained in a firm line as Rhys nursed the whiskey he’d poured himself.

Months ago, her words would have hurt, sliced like a dagger at Azriel’s own lack of a bond. Now, well, he still felt jaded toward Rhys for the solstice that he essentially banned him from pursuing a relationship with Elain. But- it worked for the best. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than his own mate, his Y/N, his Felina - as she insisted she be called.

Guilt tugged at him, he should be up with her, not downstairs. What if she needed him? What if she woke with a night terror and he wasn’t there?

“She’s fine, brother.” Rhys broke him from his thoughts. “Your shadows will alert you the moment she wakes, and I have darkness soothing her.”

Shaking his head, Azriel rested his face in his own palms as if he’d rub his face hard enough and all concerns would fade away.

Finally, he looked up. “How do you do it, Rhys? How do you stay away when there are so many questions that need answered?”

Sitting his glass down onto a coaster, Rhys leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I know she is in good hands. You brought her back to me. And I know, a mate can help her right now far more than an older brother.”

The thought warmed the icy chill that had settled into Azriel’s bones, he reveled in the moment before replying. “There’s so much we don’t know- So much we need to know.”

“You’re the spymaster, Az, and she’s your mate. I know you need answers. And gods, don’t think for a moment that I don’t want answers too. It takes every ounce of will not to just dive in to see what I can find, but…. It’s her story to tell. And, when I send my darkness to soother her, her shields, there’s something about them that my own darkness recoils from.”

Digesting the words, Azriel took another swig from his goblet. “I need to go back upstairs.”

Rhys only gave a knowing nod.

—————————

Love’s never lost when perspective is earned

Dreams shifted from young love and light to pain and darkness plague my sleep state with visions of bloodshed on pristine snow. Brutal hands of power-hungry males. Sharpened blades. A mother’s scream. Shredded wings falling to the earth.

Lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life

And then, warm hands and a familiar face. Love and terror in emerald eyes. Strong arms carrying a broken body. Cries of “Please just hold on for me.”

A promise of “Stay right here. I’m getting help.” The back of a lupine creature running toward the distance.

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold on.

The effort of holding on is growing too hard. My head slumps as blood trickles from my wingless back. An unheard plea of “Peter!” falls from frozen lips.

Then there is darkness. Void. Impending death.

A cold, pale hand chills my skin. A cruel, beautiful face promises eternity. Unfamiliar arms drag me away and I do not fight.

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light.

———————————

Azriel

Azriel had finally settled in beside a sleeping Felina, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and never let go.

His shadows alerted him to the breach in the wards first, shock running through him at the intrusion. Apparating to the entryway, he found Rhys at the front door, baring his teeth at the intruder, waves of night rolling off of him in a way that would send most running.

Icy rage shot through Azriel’s veins at the audacity of the male to show up at their door. The urge first, ask questions later pulling him toward the intruder. His lunged was interrupted by a sharp inhale behind him behind, diverting him from his war path.

His mate had walked down the stairs, her first time out of bed since arriving to the River House. Her slim form trembled, those otherworldly eyes swirling with emotions he couldn’t comprehend.

“Peter.” She whispered through rapid breaths. Azriel ran to her, bracing an arm around her back to steady her uneven footing as she climbed down the grand staircase.

The blonde male fell to his knees, his tears falling ricocheting off the marble floors.

Azriel has no time to ponder the incorrect name she’d used, focusing on her steps, observing the sight before him. He’d only ever seen the male solemn or filled with rage. Never this.

And Felina, there was no fear or hate in her eyes, no wariness, as she took in the male. No, the only emotion he could now read was one his heart wasn’t prepared to face.

So, Azriel watched as his mate’s eyes lined with tears, her slow steps increasing and filling with purpose as she reached the entryway, stepping out of his brace and flinging herself into the arms of the High Lord of the Spring Court.

—————————

Tamlin

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer?

He didn’t believe it when Lucien wrote to him sending word that Elain mentioned that Y/N was in Velaris. That she was alive. There was no way and getting his hopes up would kill him.

How many nights had he spent plagued by the memories of the day it all came crashing down? The ruination of a beautiful friendship, of a love forged from two kindred souls damned by fate, and the role he played in it.

They were both so jaded at an early age, he and Y/N. And for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom, the princess of night found the youngest heir of spring to be worthy of her presence. She was everything and he was just, a lost male. Everyone wanted her time but she wanted his, and so began the affair of sneaking off at parties, stolen kisses under starry nights, long rolls in soft grasses, love notes written with pen names.

He was Peter, the lost boy forced to grow up too soon - who wanted nothing more than a life of music and poetry but doomed to strengthen ties to Hybern, to be married off like seed stock to a mate that he hated, Hybern’s wicked general.

And Felina, feline, curious and sleek as a cat. She’d been heartbroken by a one-sided mating bond, by a mate who only saw her as the child she once was, a mate too busy pining over her cousin to notice the gem he had right in front of him.

They’d found comfort and peace with eachother, two young adults who could be whomever they wished in their stolen moments.

They were careful to avoid being caught. So careful, until the day he snuck off to watch as she traveled through the Illyrian forests with her mother, that instinct to protect those he cared for surfacing at such an early age. He thought he’d lost her forever. He’d tried so desperately to save her. By the time he returned with a healer, she had disappeared. To this day, Felina had been his greatest loss.

And moments ago when her cry called into his mind, “Peter!”. There was nothing that could hold him back from her, no wards too strong, no distance too far to winnow. There was only he and his need to see her for himself.

And now, here she was in his arms. Repeating over and over how sorry she was for not holding on, for not having faith that he’d return.

All he could choke out was, “Felina.”

We both did the best we could do, underneath the same moon in different galaxies.

—————————————

Tags:

General ACOTAR: @lilah-asteria

Series tag list: @saltedcoffeescotch @julesofvolterra @glittervame @nocasdatsgay

SPOILER FOR THIS STORY (in case you need to know who is end game) : click here

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #vampyr #vamp!azriel #vamp!reader #Tamlin #soft Tamlin #azriel x rhysand’s sister #tamlin x rhysand’s sister #Rhysand #acotar angst #Azriel angst #peter taylor swift #ttpd #inspired by taylor swift #Spotify

[madhatterbri]

Savior | E.M.

Summary: Elijah may prove useful to you in more ways than one.

"Come on, Gertrude. Don't fail me now," you frantically begged while looking at the speedometer of your old car. The old girl was over twenty years old and on her last legs. The car shook at the speed you were going but you had to get away. If they caught you, you would be dead.

A werewolf, you, was spotted in New Orleans. Marcel, the vampire ruler of New Orleans, hated werewolves. He wasn't shy of letting that be known. In fact, he would often leave the bodies of past werewolves scattered around as a reminder. His men constantly patrolled for any wandering werewolves and they spotted you.

You knew it was stupid to go but you had no choice. One of your friends is sick. They needed a potion that one of the quarter's witches could cook up. Despite wearing a hoodie and baggy clothing they easily spotted you. Marcel had your picture engraved in all his followers' minds. You so happened to be one of his biggest protestors.

In the rear view mirror, you could no longer see the two vampires chasing you. Maybe they had given up trying to catch you. The bayou wasn't much farther ahead. Once you turned your attention back to the road you saw how mistaken you were.

The two vampires stood in the middle of the road. You were gaining speed on them fast. They wanted to play a game of chicken. You looked at the brown paper bag in the seat next to you. The potion had to make it to your friend before tomorrow. Maybe you could somehow turn the car to avoid hitting them and run in the woods to the bayou. At the last second you turned the wheel towards the side.

The tires screeched loudly while turning. The momentum caused the car to flip over with you inside. You slipped out of your open window and onto the ground. Your body screamed in pain. Blood covered your face, ribs, and legs. Slowly, you rolled over to crawl away.

The two vampires appeared before you. Their faces stern as they accepted your defeat. Tears sprung to your eyes. Your friend was going to die because you failed. Your pack needed all the members they could hold if they ever wanted to take down Marcel.

A brunette man in a suit appeared behind them. You stared at the stranger unsure if this was a friend or foe. He had a serious look on his face that was hard to read. One of your chasers turned to look at him.

The attack happened in an instant. The mysterious man pulled two stakes and stabbed the vampires. The vampires fell to the ground dead. You laid your head down trying to catch your breath. You never noticed you had been holding it.

"Are you going to kill me instead? I must have a nice bounty on my head from Marcel. Maybe you will get one of those rings," you gasped trying to hide that you were in pain. Your head pounded.

The man said nothing. He adjusted his sweater and approached you. He stood above you. His brown eyes narrowed as he assessed your body.

"You are hurt," he pointed out.

"No shit," you spoke sarcastically.

"Despite the fact that you grew up in the backwaters of some swamp," he started while crouching down. "Do show a little respect. I am an Original after all,"

"You are one of the ones Marcel is worried about," you spoke softly. A gleam of hope twinkled in your eye. Maybe you could ally with this man and his family to have more freedom.

"I am and I believe you and I have some business to discuss," Elijah smiled.

#fanfiction #imagine #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah tvd #elijah x reader #elijah x you #elijah mikaelson x you #tvd

[jessicas-pi]

📓📓📓

So originally I was gonna do 3, but this one got REALLY long, sooo....

May I present the Jedi Get Hitched AU?

I posted about it once before here (and it got FANART!!!!) but other than that I haven't said much of anything else, soooo... here's more! and it's ENORMOUSLY self-indulgent.

The basic premise of the AU is that the clone wars end happily except the clones don't have rights but the Jedi find a loophole that will make them recognized as sentient citizens if one of them marries a Jedi, cue Aayla kicking open the door to the jedi council with bly in tow like I VOLUNTEER

ANYWAY. bly and aayla get married (they both freak out about it and Fox and Quinlan respectively have to give them pep talks before the wedding.) All seems well... and then Anakin saunters into the Jedi Council room one day and brings up that now that they're getting married (it was a one time thing, skywalker--) NOW THAT THEY'RE GETTING MARRIED, maybe they should consider that perhaps it would lower political tensions if a Jedi married, like, a senator or a planetary ruler or something. and the council is all like 🙄 skywalker we know this is just about you and senator amidala and he's like what??? haha no, i was talking about obi-wan and duchess satine. but while we're on the topic, i could definitely marry senator amidala too. she just adopted those twins and i could help raise them. they're force-sensitive, what a crazy coincidence amiright?? and plo and shaak are just lowkey planning their wedding and subsequent adoption of All Their Sons and mace. mace wants a break. please.

fast forward in time. Several more jedi have gotten married. Mace has retired from the council, citing "an excess of tomfoolery and nuptials" as his reason. Anakin married Padme, Obi-Wan married Satine and they officially adopted Korkie as their son, and Quinlan Vos and Asajj Ventress got married. Vostress is also currently running a jedi-nightsister exchange student program...

...which is how Merrin, 16 and slightly awkward but eager to learn more, ends up in the Jedi Temple, with a few other Nightsisters, though they're all a few years younger than her. Cal is assigned to give them the tour.

"Welcome to the Jedi Temple!" he says, holding one hand out to her and the other hand waving around them, indicating basically the whole jedi temple. it's supposed to be just a gesture, but then Merrin puts her hand in his. Completely seriously. Cal is like "...okay" and they hold hands for the rest of the tour.

Five years later, there is a second jedi-nightsister wedding.

Jocasta is delighted at the number of records being set within her lifetime.

(Jocasta is also officiating all the weddings, btw.)

A couple years after Mace resigns from the council, he decides to plan a shatterpoint lineage family vacation. So Mace, Depa, Grey (who is an unofficial part of their family), Caleb, and Caleb's brand-new Padawan, 11-year-old Ezra (who is pretty young to be a padawan, but he was following caleb around all the time anyway so caleb figured he might as well just make the apprenticeship official), all pack up... and go to Ryloth.

Caleb, who twenty-five at this point, promptly gets his first crush.

Mace Regrets This Vacation. He's actually started seeing marriage Shatterpoints. Depa and Grey, meanwhile, think it's really really funny that Caleb gets flustered around Hera, and Ezra has made more than a few insinuations about political alliances via marriage. Depa warns him that Caleb will get his revenge, but Ezra dismisses it. (Said revenge does come about, several years later, in the form of Caleb asking if Madame Nu needs to prepare to officiate the second Jedi-Mandalorian marriage in recorded history. Ezra kicks him in the shin. smh padawans these days just have NO respect for their masters.)

Ezra highly encourages Caleb to marry Hera.

It does not take much convincing.

#Thank you for the ask!! #Jedi Get Hitched AU #blyla #anidala #obitine #vostress #merrical #kanera #and kinda minor lowkey #sabezra #jessica's writing nonsense

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [4.5/...]

- OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: In which Buggy discovers that he’s in over his head while making a deal with Arlong the Saw.

Warnings: LA! One Piece, Canon typical violence, slight canon divergence, Arlong is his own warning

A/N: Unfortunately, part 6 of "DMTMYHB" is a little delayed and won't be out until at least next week. However, I began working on this initially out of boredom, so at least you can read about Buggy's POV after the events of chapter 4 and before the events of chapter 5.

Life sure is a shitshow sometimes, Buggy thinks to himself while spitting out a few grains of sand. For fish people, there’s a certain irony with pulling over a bag propped with sand over his head.

Then again, it could’ve been considerably worse.

They could have decided to water board him, or maybe take a decent chunk off his nose. It’s not too outlandish to assume that these kinds of people prefer the taste of human flesh, and although he considers himself fairly experimental man on occasion, that one is not on his kink list.

He might be big-headed sometimes, he’s man enough to admit as much, but even Buggy knows better than to underestimate the fish people. He’s had his fair share of encounters with them before, and needless to say, mixing a Devil Fruit eater with people who primarily live and breathe in the sea is a bad combination.

A very, very bad combination, especially if you throw Arlong the Saw into the mixture. Buggy’s not a recluse; he’s heard of his reputation as the self-proclaimed ruler of the East Blue. Ask just about anyone who he is, and they’ll whisper his name while pissing their pants like school children.

A misanthrope with a less than discreet disdain for all things human, and a face only a mother could hope to love, the guy does not fuck around with what he considers his, which approximately covers all of the East Blue. And the people in it are merely collateral.

If anything’s a testament, it’s his bounty. Twenty million berries for his head, doesn’t matter if it’s attached to his body or not. The highest bounty on this piece of the ocean.

Well, second highest. The top spot belongs to you, but that’s a thought Buggy has tried desperately to bury in the sand for the past few days. He doesn’t need to think about you, least of all now.

He has bigger fish to deal with, and it blows.

It’s his fucking luck that this is happening specifically to him.

No, it wasn’t enough that he got his ass handed to him by a bunch of scrawny nobodies.

It didn’t suffice that he had to watch you turn your back to him twice in a lifetime.

He’s managed to evade the saw-nosed fucker’s eye up until this point, and so, of course Fate would deal him this final one.

Just as the cherry on top of the shitty sundae that is his life.

So, to conceal or own terrified state when faced with the darkened stage room, Buggy decides to do what Buggy does best:

Fake it ‘til he makes it.

And he sure as fuck hope he does.

“Is this the best way to ask for an autograph?” His echo bounces like a ball through the darkened room. “I mean sheesh! Fans have gotten so toxic!”

The eerie silence is his only companion now, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Not even the two fishy folks standing guard at his side offers him more than rolled eyes. Rude.

This place — his stage — which once served as his sanctuary, might soon become his tomb. If Arlong lives up to his rep, he’ll ask the clown to dig his own hole before chomping on his jugular.

Curtains for him and all fucking that.

“Alright, what do you want?! Tickets to the show? I can get you house seats, they’re pricey!”

A loud thud emerges from the shadows behind him, and a cold breeze brushes against the the exposed skin on his face.

“Oh, I am no fan of yours.”

He knows a beast when he hears one, even better when he sees them. He spent the good portion of his youth alongside one, and witnessed first-hand just how they could be. Beasts are strong, and brutal, and precise. They can tear you apart if they deem it necessary because it’s in their nature, but that’s all it is. Nature.

However, Buggy’s also come to discover that beasts have also the capacity for kindness and love. A beast is someone he can fall in love with.

This thing that emerges from the dark at his side, on the other hand, is no mere beast.

Hell, he can’t even qualify it as such. This creature at his side, one he doesn’t dare to face at first until he notices it’s gradual approach, is a monster.

Ain’t no way in the blue hell he’ll ever consider tapping that the way he would with a beast.

“I run things here in the East Blue,” the fish-man speaks, voice grating Buggy ears as he circles the clown. “I’m here to remind of you of your place in the food chain. You pull a job in my seas, you gotta pay tribute.”

Despite the fact that he’s nervous as shit, there’s a certain taunt crystallising in Buggy’s brain that he’s subconsciously urged to free against his better judgement.

Arlong’s place is second in this so-called food chain. Yours is the first, and if it wasn’t for the fact that voicing this would guarantee his premature death, Buggy would’ve reminded the fishy shithead of this.

Despite whatever grievances you two share, Buggy knows that he won’t mind not being at the top as long as it means it’s not under Shark-boy’s hierarchy.

The East Blue is, per Arlong’s definition, yours, whether you know it or not, and he’d much rather comply with that.

But Buggy keeps his act going. “But Arlong, baby, you don’t gotta worry about me. I’m small potatoes. Pirating’s more of a side gig.”

As much as he tries, and he does try, Buggy knows his words can’t keep the shark’s teeth at bay for much longer. Arlong is not a patient type, and it just about snaps when he reaches for his throat and prepares to chomp.

Buggy doesn’t intend to die now. He can’t. He’s got unfinished business to attend to.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!”

Maybe fate is actually on his side for fucking once, because the fish man actually does wait.

He has a shot.

“You know who’s out there really disrespecting you? It’s that little Rubber-Prick in the straw hat, goes by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn’t work, because it seems Arlong is more of a recluse than him. Has never heard the boys name. So, he tries a different approach before the teeth settle in again.

“He— He’s not alone.” Fuck, he’s losing air, and he kinda needs that to get the primary point into Arlong's thick, scaly head. A point that he’ll be sure to catch the asshole’s attention. “Cross-Hairs is with him!”

Arlong halts, and his lips don a sneer.

Another thing Buggy has discovered in all of this is that Arlong is an inherently proud guy, and believes himself superior to others not only because of his fishy nature, but due to the fact that he has among the largest bounties on this piece of the map.

Yours is the only obstacle keeping him from completely claiming that title.

“The Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates has been absent for the past decade.” Arlong lets up on the pressure around his neck, enough to let Buggy grasp a few fistfuls of air, but his feet still dangle above the ground.

“Y-Yeah—,” Buggy heaves. “But her— b-bounty hasn’t changed, has it? And the kid, he just knocked over a marine’s base in Shells Town, then he stole a map of the Grand Line and now he’s talking shit about finding the One Piece.”

This seems to be enough reason for Arlong to finally drop him, and Buggy struggles to retrieve all the air he’s lost.

“The One Piece, an excuse for humans to spread their filth across the seas.” Arlong is less than impressed, but what he says next opens a door. “Why should I concern myself with the ambitions of a mere human boy?”

“Because that map is useful,” Buggy regains some semblance of balance on his knees. “The kid is not, but I have unfinished business with him. What’s more, if Cross-Hairs is with him, then that’s your chance to get the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. Think about it! You’ll be at the top of the list if she’s out of the way.”

Arlong doesn’t like the implication laced in Buggy’s words, the possibility that he’s in any way lesser than a human. “I am already at the top of the list, clown. The Cross-Haired Pirates are disbanded, and humans tend to age so quickly compared to fish men. I’m sure she’s grown old and weary in the last couple of years, hardly worth my time.”

Buggy wants to smile. Smile as he thinks about just how fucking wrong this guy can be. The years have not drained you, nor weakened you, nor made you any less hot if he does say so himself.

Oh, if anyone can wipe the floor with Arlong, it’s you. That’s why he’s not afraid of revealing your current whereabouts, because he already knows fishy over there will get his ass whopped big time.

“How about this: you let me live, and I’ll help you find Luffy and Cross-Hairs. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

Two birds, one stone, and one fish filet, to be more specific.

Arlong grabs him by the neck. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I've got eyes and ears everywhere.”

The fish takes the bait, and Buggy can't help but laugh.

Laugh, not because Arlong agrees to his plan, but because the guy is going to be struck by lightning so fucking hard that in the end, there'll be nothing left of him save for that ugly-ass tool he calls a nose.

The moron has deliberately put himself up for slaughter, and personally, Buggy can’t wait to watch the show unfold.

The stage is yours.

He’ll watch from the front rows and give you an upstanding applause once the curtains falls.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k, @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x you #one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #arlong

[undermounts]

and other forgotten things

Summary: One year into his imprisonment, Aerin receives his first visitor.

Or alternatively, my version of the ch. 2 prison scene because I wanted more angst and anger <3

Read it here on AO3

-

Aerin is no stranger to envy.

He has spent his life wanting. Knowledge, affection, attention, power. Things he coveted but could never have from a family that did not want him, a kingdom that would not have him. Such was his lot in life, from the very beginning. He is Aerin Valleros, second son of the Gentle King, brother to the Crown Prince.

Or at least he was.

Now, Aerin is… well, he no longer knows what he is. A nobody, perhaps. Or worse than that, he is forgotten. He is a dark stain on a long and questionable legacy, the corrupt end to a line of corrupt rulers. He is an afterthought, a bad memory, an unwanted trinket that had long since lost its novelty, just another object to be tossed away with all of the other lost and broken things.

Aerin Valleros, brother to no one, heir to nothing.

And still, he wants. 

The thirst for knowledge—a most noble pursuit, his tutors had always said—has never waned. But affection, attention, power!—his ambition, his hunger, has been dampened. He has lived without each before, and he shall live without each again. He will do so gladly if it means he can have the one thing he now desires above all else: freedom.

A small window, set in cold, grey stone—his only connection to the outside world. The mingled chatter of people crossing the streets far below drifts up through the bars, too distant to be distinguishable. People, his people, living. 

In the hallway outside his cell, Aerin hears the scuffle of boots against ancient stone, the clink of armor, the whisper of fabric; his guards moving in another rotation. So soon? Aerin cannot help but wonder, questioning his own perception of time. How reliant he has become on the routines of his keepers, the punctual rotation of their shifts serving as his only means of marking the passage of time since he was left–discarded–in this cell a year ago.

Softly, distantly, he mourns, A year…

His name day–twenty one years now, he has lasted–came and went, alone in his cell. His father never even sent word, no acknowledgment that his second son–his only son, now–still existed. 

A metallic, shimmery noise, a dozen keys rattling together and then–click!

Aerin blinks as the door to his cell swings open. Too early for mealtime, his mind races, a tasteless bowl of sludge. 

All thoughts trickle out of his head as a figure enters his cell, clad in black leather armor, the scent of ash heavy in the air. For a moment, Aerin recalls volcanic fields and the constant presence of fear and agony all around him, but then his impossible reality reforms around him and he stares, slack-jawed .

“Iliana.”

Aerin does not mean to say her name, had vowed to never speak of her, never think of her again. But she is here, miraculously, cursedly, before him, in his blasted cell, a sight he never thought he would see beyond his dreams, his nightmares.

But it is in his nature to be wary, and life in court has taught him that deception is a means for survival. He stands, establishing equal ground, and lets his mask fall over him like a shroud.

“I wondered if you’d ever come and visit me,” he says evenly, each word pleasant but caustic. “It certainly took you long enough.”

How often, in the early days of his imprisonment, had he thought of this moment? At first, he dreamed that she would come to him, beg for forgiveness–how she had wronged him!– to proclaim her dedication to right this wrong, to free him, to undo the damage she had done. Then, as the days dragged on into months, and despair, desperation, and regret–the hurt!–set in, his visions of her shifted. She was vengeance: her blades, her bow, her fists–the arbiters of a swift and terrible justice, acting on behalf of herself, her brother, her friends, and Morella. Some nights, he even begged–let it be quick. 

It is hatred, it must be, he thinks, that threatens the stability of his bones now. And fear of her, the woman who had been his undoing. Everything that has come for him after is well-deserved; this he cannot deny, no matter how much it stings. His betrayal and hers, they are wounds he will never heal from.

And yet, Aerin is not prepared for the way Iliana winces. She had deceived him so thoroughly in the Dreadlord’s throne room, he sometimes forgets that she was not trained as he was to hide her emotions. They flit across her face now, pain and grief. Then, anger.

“Apologies, prince,” she snaps, her black leather gloves groaning in protest as she clenches her hands into tight fists. “I’ve been a little busy this past year.”

Aerin scoffs. “I’m sure you were. Celebrations and banquets in your honor must be exhausting.” He rolls his eyes, flinging the words at her like knives. “That’s the price you must pay for leading the life of a hero, I suppose. A heavy burden, you poor thing.”

“That’s not what I–” Iliana cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. She tilts her head and, oh, Aerin does not like that one bit, the way she studies him, as if she is looking right through him. Then, shockingly, pity clouds her face. “No one told you.”

Unease, slick and oily rolls through him. If the words come out a little harsher than he intended—well. Word from the outside world has not breached these walls in months. He is tired of being kept in the dark. “Told me what?”

Iliana takes a deep breath and turns away, her attention straying to the small window of his cell as she folds her arms across her chest. The silence drags on long enough and Aerin feels tempted to shatter it, to demand that whatever information she withholds be released. But then her eyes slide to him and she breathes heavily again, fingers curling against her arms. It occurs to Aerin that her posture looks less guarded and meek almost, like she is embracing herself, comforting herself.

And, damn him, his voice goes soft and careful. “Tell me what? What happened?”

To you. What happened to you? 

Iliana drops her arms to her side, then lifts one hand to her hip, searching. But whatever she is looking for, she does not find it, and her hand hangs limply in the air. “I was gone. In the Shadow Realm.”

Fear, shock, intrigue–it is a heady blend that races through him. Aerin takes a shuffling step forward, then halts. He does not know what he intends to do. Go to her? Comfort her? She certainly does not want that, not from him, and he does not know if he can bear it either.

“Why?” he demands instead, drawing a line down the center of his cell, a boundary he will not cross while she remains. “How?”

“Valax,” she answers, and the name clangs around Aerin’s skull with no small amount of dread. He knows it and knows to be wary of it. “She captured me. Experimented on me.”

“To what end?” he breathes out, blinking rapidly as spots cloud the edge of his vision. The Empire of Ash, playing their hand already. “Why you?”

Iliana’s gaze sharpens. “You know her.”

“Know of her,” Aerin corrects, shaking his head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Iliana says shortly and turns away again. She drifts to the window, keeping her back to him as she says, “Before you ask again—I do not know why. I don’t remember much.”

Her falsehood rings clear in the air, Aerin can see it in her rigid posture, defensive and bracing. How? How had she ever deceived him, this orphaned elf from Riverbend, when she cannot even look him in the eye to lie?

He knows the answer: because he wanted to believe her.

Remember that night together in the forest glade? Our kiss? That was real, Aerin. And it’s still real.

He banishes the thought, grinds it under his boot, but something in him still aches, still yearns. She looks so unsettled that he decides to let her lie hold, something he will circle back to later. 

“Are you…” It is difficult, still, to force the words out. To ask this, it feels too much like an admission, an exposure of weakness. He swallows. “Are you well?”

Iliana whirls, and her eyes, glittering ores of emerald, cut through him. Whittling him down to the bone. “What do you care?”

Indignation flares up in him and he glares. “Do you think me incapable of compassion?”

She laughs, a cold and jagged thing, and slashes her hand through the air. She paces back to the entrance of his cell, her steps harsh. “Incapable? Perhaps. But I know better by now than to believe anything you do or say after you lied to us all.”

“Do not forget that you lied to me as well,” Aerin snaps, distantly aware of the guards shifting just beyond his cell. They are listening, he realizes. To report back to the king? To intervene and rescue Iliana if they deem him too dangerous, too volatile? They are listening, and political training be damned, he does not care. “That you would still have me. That we—it was real. You lied.”

He expects Iliana to shout at him, wants her to—her anger, he can bear—but she only sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, her face at once stricken and furious. When she speaks, it is to the ground, the dusty slab of stone that spans the space between them. “It wasn’t a lie, Aerin.”

He barks out a laugh, full of anger and bitterness, because that is all he has, all he is, all that he can give. Anger, bitterness.

And regret. So much regret, he could drown in it.

“You don’t believe me, I don’t believe you,” he says coolly, forcing his voice to even out, despite how wildly his heart races. “Let us leave it at that.”

Iliana opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, looking for all the world like she might protest. But in the end, she only shakes her head, resigned, and leans back against the metal door of his cell. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes and they lapse into an uneasy silence. It is the closest thing, perhaps, they will ever have to an accord.

Aerin takes their momentary cease-fire to truly study Iliana as she stands before him, glaring at her feet and refusing to meet his gaze. He still cannot believe that she is here, after all this time. Her black leather armor, he notes with grim consideration, is standard issue for Ashen warriors. Her blue skin is pale, but otherwise unmarred, save for the scars she already bore. No signs of physical abuse, or just the work of a really good healer.

An entire year in captivity. Gods… Despite it all, he is grateful that she does not remember much. There is no way to tell how she might have changed, how her spirit might have dimmed. No matter what he feels about her—hate, anger, sorrow—Aerin finds that he does not wish to see her harmed.

“When did you return?” he asks, breaking the silence between them with an easy question, a tentative olive branch.

Iliana eyes him warily. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Aerin starts at that, forgetting himself. For a stupid, pathetic moment, something flutters eagerly against his ribcage, although he squashes the feeling down. “I must be one of your first appointments, then,” he remarks dryly, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Iliana’s gaze hardens and her expression shifts into something like grim triumph. Aerin does not know where he misstepped but he gets the impression that they have entered a game and she already has the winning move.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ash Empire,” she demands, hands framing her hips. “And don’t pretend you don’t know anything. You already admitted to knowing about Valax.”

“Why should I?” Aerin waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “What would you offer me in return? You are clever enough, I’m sure you could find answers on your own.”

“Or I could get answers from you and stop wasting time,” Iliana bites out, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration. Then, she drops her hand and fixes him with a look that speaks only to her exhaustion—with him, with the Shadow Realm, with everything. “You owe me. You owe me this much.”

He… supposes he does.

Aerin sighs heavily. Sharing knowledge is a task Aerin has always taken a shine to. Few things are more important than learning more, and helping others to learn. This attitude, he thinks, may be the best thing his tutors ever taught him. But the Ash Empire… The dark kingdom is a topic he does not relish remembering. 

Still, Aerin shares what he knows, some of it, at least. Foundational knowledge. The Ashen Empress is the true ruler of the Realm and the Shadow Court had been but a fledgling resistance to her reign, one whose hopes of success had been bashed repeatedly by failed attempts to take over the Realm of Light. He speaks briefly of his own role in the Dreadlord’s bid for power against the Empire, doing his best to tamper down any rancid feelings he still nurses about the entire ordeal.

Anything more, he must keep for himself. Future bargaining chips. Perhaps, if he can remain useful, well… Maybe not all is lost for him.

“With the Dreadlord dead, I imagine the Ash Empire is already hunting down any remaining members of the Shadow Court,” Aerin hedges as he wanders over to the window, drumming his fingers against the ledge.

He feels Iliana at his back, her attention heavy on him. “Sounds like the Empire will be coming for you next.”

She is right, he knows. It is a reality he has long since come to terms with, but still, the reminder sends a bolt of fear into his spine. His fingers go still against the stone.

“If the Ash Empire makes it to the Light Realm, they’ll probably take special care in how they eliminate you.”

What do you care? he wants to snap, spitting Iliana’s words back at her. Instead, he only shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the city outside the window. Something like yearning tugs in his chest.

“So,” Iliana continues, her irritation with his disinterest bleeding into her voice. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything.”

Aerin arches his brow, glancing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Knowing you for more than five seconds.”

A dry laugh slips out of him and he turns around, leaning against the wall with his hands laced before him. “Planning to protect me, are you?”

“I’m planning to protect everyone,” Iliana corrects, rolling her eyes. “If I am to stand a chance protecting the Light Realm against the Empire, then I need to know everything.”

She is so… She is everything he read about, everything he dreamed of being as a child. A hero. 

He pities her. For her naïveté, for believing that she can fix every problem that comes her way. Almost as much as he envies it. She has never known true failure, not yet. When she does—and it is inevitable—then, she will understand. What she has now, her determination, her purpose—it cannot last.

Aerin looks away, running his hand through his hair. One more bit of information, he supposes, he can grant her. In his best interest, as she said. 

“There’s only one other thing, and to be honest, I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself,” he admits slowly, gauging her reaction. “The Empress has a terrible creature under her power. I caught a glimpse of it in the distance when I was bringing Nia to the Dreadlord.”

At the very mention of Nia’s name, Iliana’s expression looks almost murderous, like she might strike him down just for mentioning the priestess, but miraculously, she refrains. “What was it?”

Despite himself, Aerin shudders, recalling the undead creature, crafted of the seven hells itself. “Massive. Skeletal. A beast from nightmares.”

“How vague,” Iliana remarks, but Aerin knows the information has taken hold. She looks unsettled, certainly. Maybe even afraid. 

His answering smile is wry and almost apologetic. “I know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Iliana nods, seemingly satisfied with this information. “Thank you for telling me what you know.”

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear that they both know it is not everything, although for now it is enough. Maybe—Aerin curses himself for even entertaining the thought—she will come back for more. The idea lights something within him, although he does not want to think about what it means, what it says about his feelings toward her, everchanging and impossible to curb. It isn’t freedom, but it is something. How nice it would be, to have just a piece of the outside world come to him.

Desperation claws its way into Aerin’s chest and he hates himself for the way he caves, for how small his voice sounds as he throws out a lifeline, begging her to take it. “I don’t suppose… you might visit me again?”

Iliana’s expression is guarded, her response measured. “Maybe. I doubt I will even have a moment to breathe since the world needs saving. Again.”

That is… something.

Aerin tilts his head. Always playing the hero. “And must it always be you who saves it?”

He is not prepared for the way her shoulders slacken and she glances away. Gone are any traces of the bravery and determination she had brandished at him moments ago. What faces him now is only solemn acceptance, weary resignation to service. “Apparently.”

Aerin wants to tell her to stop, that it isn’t her problem to fix. But he would be a hypocrite. After all, didn’t he behave the same once, long ago? Believing that the realm’s problems were his to fix, if only he had the power.

And look where that thinking got him. Trapped in an old cell.

“Look, I can’t make any promises,” Iliana begins, her eyes flicking around the room as if she can’t quite look at him, but cannot settle her attention anywhere else. “Things between us are… I don’t know what they are. But I’ll try to visit again. I may need more information. So.” Her tone hardens, all business once more. “If you conveniently remember anything else?” She gestures to the guards outside. “Send word. Maybe I’ll come.” 

Aerin suppresses a smile, amused. “Sure. I hope you do.”

Iliana shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher, then turns away. As if expecting her, the guards unlock the door, revealing the torchlit corridor beyond. Aerin takes a steadying breath and is about to retreat to his cot when Iliana pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. Aerin watches her hesitate, mouth opening and closing, and then—

“Do you regret what you have done?” she asks softly. “Wish that you hadn’t…”

Wish that you hadn’t betrayed me? Betrayed all of us?

Betrayed your brother?

Aerin’s breath is hard in his chest, something solid he cannot get out. Yes, he wants to scream. Yes to all of it.

“Would you even believe me?” Aerin asks earnestly, but he knows it is a fruitless endeavor.  “Whatever my answer.”

Iliana is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. But then she answers, “No. I suppose not.”

Aerin nods, closing his eyes as she slips out of the cell and the metal door slams shut behind her. He knew better than to hope for anything else. They did not trust each other. He did not think they ever would again.

The lock slides into place with a finality that quakes through his bones, sealing him back into this forgotten place, made for forgotten things.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #prince aerin #my writing #blades of light and shadow #bolas #choices #bolas 2 #choices blades #blades 2 #i am very excited to see what happens next in blades2 #i just needed to be as messy and complicated as possible <3

[dominadespina]

LAZAREVIC SISTERS III

Princess Jelena Lazarevic 

Early Life

Often referred to as “Jela” or “Lady Lena,” Jelena Lazarevic is renowned as a determined, beautiful, and courageous woman. She was born as the third in line of the royal daughters of Prince Lazar. It is noted that she was about 39 years old in 1403, this determines that she was born around 1364-1365. 

Jelena was most than likely born in Prilepac and raised there for some time before moving to Krusevac where she continued her strict education under the guide of her mother; Milica and aunt; Jefimija.

As for the rest of her early life, nothing is known other than plausible education and living situation. The first information we have of her is in her early twenties when she married Durad II Balsic.

First Marriage

Around 1386 or 1387, Durad; Lord of Zeta, recognized Lazar’s as his ruler and lord and so to officialize his authority over the state of Zeta Lazar married his eldest unmarried daughter to him.

The couple had a single child together, Durad’s father namesaker and future successor; Balsa Balsic also known as ‘Balsa III’. 

The purpose of this marriage remain political and sole purpose was to create an alliance as well as heirs. There are no mention of a possible love marriage between the two of them. Though it is noted that Durad often entrusted his wife to manage state affairs.

In early 1392, in fear of the uprising Turks, Durad sent word for his wife arrival in Dubrovnik in order to protect her and his heir, and though the government of Dubrovnik were aquiring the necessities for Jelena, she never arrived. 

In September of that same year there was talk about her upcoming arrival, but she never came, yet again. 

It was not until November of 1396 that Jelena would reach out to the Dubrovnik authorities for a ship to escort her to a meeting with Sandalj Hranić (who will later on become her second husband) as he had been fighting against the Balsic family for some time at that point. 

This meeting might be one of tasks given to her by her husband. Jelena was noted to have a significant influence on the man. 

As Regent of Zeta

In 1403, her late husband; Durad, passed away, and of course; the wise Jelena wasted no time and made her appearance as a subtitute ruler in full light. Due to her son’s inexperience and age, Jelena acted as his regent.

Many of the territories that belonged to Zeta were under Venitian rule and Jelena decided to reclaim said territories. 

For five years she fought the Venitians to defend Zeta and her son’s inheritance despite facing harsh-trials. Through the uprising threats and council of disagreements, she followed as suited the interest of Zeta and her son. 

In the reports of Jelka Redep in her book: КЋЕРИ КНЕЗА ЛАЗАРА ИСТОРИЈСКА СТУДИЈА ПОГОВОР…

“Jelena’s idea of rebellion was not just an empty desire. In the first days of 1405, a rebellion was planned in Zeta. Skadar revolted against Venitian rule, and the Prince barely escaped with his life. Durazzo also rose up in arms and recognized Jelena’s son as their ruler.” 

In the early birth of this rebellion Jelena reached out to her younger brother; Despot Stefan Lazarevic, for aid, but due to his close-knit relationship with the Venitians he was unable to help her. Yet, she continued in her conquest with a temporary help from the Turks. 

[Her own brother, the despot Stefan, was friends with both the Venetians and the Hungarians. Only the Turks agreed to help her, but even they only for a short time. Jela did not agree to her brother's proposals to reconcile with Venice, but persistently continued to fight, until 1406, when she had to agree to negotiations that lasted more than three years.

Miodrag Purković spares no words when he talks about how energetically and uncompromisingly Jela, as a widow, fought for the freedom of her country and her son's inheritance. She always took all the "blame" on herself instead of her son. In order to protect him, at the end of 1409, she went alone to negotiations in Venice, where she was kept for three months. 

Purković points out how brave Jela was during those negotiations, and especially points to the fact that she was "neither confused nor afraid", unlike her mother, who once found herself in a similar situation before Bayazit in 1398. } - Dve srpske sultanije : Olivera Lazarevic (1373-1444) : Mara Brankovic (1418-1487) by Nikola Giljen, pg 169

Yet, despite this “Peace” Balsa continued his fight against the Venitians, but this only cost him great loss in territory.

Second Marriage 

Prior to this marriage Duke of Bosnia; Sandalj Hranić (remember him?), who used to be married to a kin of Hrovoje Vukcic separated from his wife after this one's family lost influence in their political position. 

Wishing to be associated with someone of more influence, Sandalj would later step a foot further and annulled his marriage to his wife; Katerina, since they shared no children, and instead offered for Princess Jelena Lazarevic or as she was known at the time Jelena Balsic; who at the time was the sister of a great ally of Sigismund. 

This marriage, which was Sandalj's third marriage, benefited all parties involved, as Sandalj regained his position, Jelena now had one less enemy to worry about, and lastly Stefan was able to tie his new brother-in-law to him politically. 

Strangely enough, this marriage could be considered a content union between the two. Sandalj is said to have been enchanted by his new bride/former enemy and to hold his step-son to high status and protect him at times.

Jelena is credited for this as she was known to have a powerful influence on this husband of hers who some would describe as an ‘arrogant man’. 

Later Life 

In April of 1421, the exhausted Balsa met with his uncle in Belgrade and transfered the remaining of his lands under this one’s protection. He soon passed away that same year. It is unkown how Jelena reacted to the news. 

In 1423, she was visited by her youngest sister; Olivera, though this one might have been there more for diplomatic reasons to get news on her brother-in-law than for the sake of meeting her sister after 30 plus years apart. 

Not much information has been recorded about Jelena’s where abouts until 1425. That year, the threat of the upcoming Turks were increasing and so as a result of this situation, Sandalj moved his family, including his wife, to Dubrovnik for protection. 

After her husband death in 1435, she retired from state affairs as the state passed down to her late husband’s nephew, and she obviously could not have any influence on him. 

She must have retired to her husband’s court in Novi, where it is assumed she lived an aristocratic lifestyle up and until her death. 

Jelena passed away in 1443, living a good amount of her properties to her granddaughter and namesaker; Jelena. She left 200 ducats and a gilded icon to her only living sibling; Olivera, to be spent on a memorial for her as well as distribution to the poor. 

Issue

Balsa III Balsic

( Sources: “КЋЕРИ КНЕЗА ЛАЗАРА ИСТОРИЈСКА СТУДИЈА ПОГОВОР” by Jelka Redep, Dve srpske sultanije : Olivera Lazarevic (1373-1444) : Mara Brankovic (1418-1487) by Nikola Giljen)

#Lazarevic Dynasty #Lazarevic #14th century #15th century #arranged marriage #Serbia #Moravian Serbia #History #geology #Lazar of Serbia #Lazar #Milica of Serbia #Đurađ II Balšić #serbian history #histoire #Jelena Lazarevic #Jelena Balsic #Stefan Lazarevic #jelenalazarevic #lazarevicsisters

[marice23top]

CHAPTER 2 -Prowler Miles X Deadpool ( fem) Reader

Taglist: @bath1lda @niktwazny303​ @sorryi-mtrash

Jackerman Parker

 A man I haven't seen in years, the man who had done the worst thing to me and to my Lover life. Our lives were ruined because of this man.

The man who gave me my dumb powers, and the man who…

 The helped framed  the Murderer of…

Captain Jefferson Davis

                                                     THE EVENT 

“Welcome all and welcome to the new society. I Jackerman, am here to tell you how we plan to overrun Fisk tower and destroy the company to become the biggest and strongest group in Brooklyn '' Jackerman states to the crowd of old Fisk workers. “ I understand what Fisk has ruined our lives and it's time to take all that power away from him  starting today we will be the new rulers!!” he yells as the crowd of villains yell with excitement, not ready to know they will all be either hospitalized or dead by the end of this Event.

In the crowd only two people were not cheering; they looked as if they wanted to rip the man on stage, head off his body and throw it to the moon.

“You ready “ “ready as i'll ever be” As she states this she cocks her gun and starts to lift it up as he places his gauntlet on his arm charging it up. “Let's get this party started” she says smirking at the boy before shooting the two man in front of her dead in their heads.

“ Two done many to go” she says, but at the sound of a gunshot all the men in the crowd turn to only see the girl with two machine guns instead of the smaller guns she had.

“WHO”S READY TO PARTY '' as she yells she starts the guns and starts to laugh at the dying group's misfortune.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” but within twenty seconds most of the men were dead and the machine guns were out of bullets. With that the men who lived under the master gun get up and grab their  weapons ready to attack. She sees this and starts to move back into a darker part of the event  Yelling “PROOWWWLEEERRR, IT'S YOUR TURN TO HAVE SOME FUN!!!” before getting shot in the head and falling to the ground.

But once the men turned to see who shot her, the man's head who shot her was grabbed and skull was crushed. All that is left is a dark purple figure standing there. “Time to meet yalls end” said a dark voice from the person, before sprinting to the group and  killing  each and every one of them. 

While this was happening Mr. Parker was trying to find some way to escape the building after seeing that girl get shot and another killer coming, he knew they were both after him. As he makes it to the door he finally thinks he has freedom only to hear.

“Mr.Jackermmaaannn, where are you going you can’t leave yet me and my friend upstairs have some questions for you” that voice of a young girl, the same voice as the girl who was shot not just a while ago in the head early. 

‘How, how can this be when I saw her get killed… no it can’t be her’ he thinks to himself, terror filling his eyes as he sees the girl with a bullet wound in her head that seemed to be healing, but also to the face of the girl, a face he couldn’t forget.

“Come on, Jackerman, don't fight me. Me and  that guy upstairs really need to talk to you, mostly him though” she tells him smiling up at him with death in her eyes. But when he makes no way to move she knows what she has to do. She looks at him before looking up and then whistling up to the person above.

 And that's when he blacked out.

                  THE BASEMENT OF A OLD LABORATORY

“Wakey,wakkeey Jackerman we have some questions” says the girl looking down at the man tied to the structure of the building.

He opens his eyes to see not only the girl with magically no bullet wound in her head anymore, but a new member whose purple glowing eyes seemed to be glaring into his soul looking for purpose to kill him off right now.

“WHERE AM I, LET ME GO!” he yells at them but counties, “WHO ARE YOU TWO!!”

“You don't remember me mister Jackermen? I mean you the reason I'm here right now and him oh, he wants to kill you, but we need something about a certain man” The girl says still smiling at him like they were friends but in her eyes you can see the true emotion in them.

“Do you know Jefferson Davis the man you legally helped kill and to be honest my buddie up there really needs to know” she says to him pointing up to the parched being with glowing eyes.

“I do but I only tell you if you both tell me your names, '' Jackerman asked with fear as he wanted to know who they were, but not thinking that if they told him he was going to have to die now.

“OK!” The girl says liking to make him remember and to tell them later about why they had to ask them the question in the first place.

“Im Y/n Fisk you might remember me, you tortured me when I was younger and then experimented on me turning me into an unkillable being. And that guy up there is Miles, SAY HI MILES'' Y/n explains who they are with a wide grin seeing the terror on his face grow even more because he remembered and  Miles drooping down to get right in the mans face, that's when Y/n knew that this was now Miles turn to ask more about the killer of his father. So she looked at him and moved to the side of the room, watching Miles torture people was kinda hot.

                                  AFTER THE TORTURING

“Y/n” “ hmm yes' ' he didn't kill him but he gave me a lead on who” “oh that's great ... He's dead ""yep mission over, cmon  Princesa Hermosa, Vamos a casa juntas ""YEAAAAHHHH!!!”

Princesa Hermosa —-> Beautiful princess

Vamos a casa juntas —---> Let's go home together 

(Changed the main story a bit that miles dad wasn’t killed by trying to save some and getting crushed, but to trying to save someone and getting murder like uncle ben>):

#into the spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles morales x reader #deadpool!reader

[ruthflemwad]

parts of the npmd soundtrack that scratch my brain perfectly (act one)

this soundtrack is so good. this is a long post so its all under the cut Part two coming soon. also i alternate between chara names and actor names idk why i do that. i hope this is even slightly comprehensible

HIGH SCHOOL IS KILLING ME

the little grace note in the piano bit in the last line of the piano melody before richie starts singing in (i hope this makes Sense)

jon's voice for real . just through this whole show

"a thread" and "i'm scared" happening at the same time

the violins(??) coming in when ruth starts singing

richie and ruth's harmonies during "the weight has got me sweating" bit

the "and i can survive it for only so long" harmonies

steph's "shit"

the way steph says "couldn't fuckin' study"

FOR THE CLASS OF TWENTY TWENTY WURN

agh Agh AGH!

the whispered "i'm so fuckin' dead"s underneath steph and pete's dialogue

steph and pete's repeated "my melody"s

the howling

the second delayed vocal line underneath the last bit of the last chorus

LITERAL MONSTER

the "HUH" at the start

the guitar riff motif

the little guitar squeal right before pete starts singing

the way pete says locker

richie's little riff on "seduce her"

the chorus harmonies

everyone knows how he BANGS!

the "and we pray and we pray harmonies"

you better you better!

kims voice in the he roars part <3

the harmonies in this song in general

will branners voice in this song SO GOOD

the "HUH HUH"s behind max's i roar bit

max's "don't need no one to tell me" verse UGH so good

NO ONE'S GONNA STOP ME!

max's harmonies on kind, size and rise

I WILL CLAIM WHAT IS MINE!

COOL AS I THINK I AM

the piano motif Can you tell i love motifs

i bet this song'll suck!

oo woah oo woah oh Oh

when the violins come in especially their little BA DA DUMS after "princess leia told me"

what if i were King of the hill!

the drums kicking in after the one oowoahoowoahoh oh

ensemble coming in

the little growl on the second "i'm as cool as she thinks i am"

THEN AGAIN I'M DERANGED

she's the brawn i'm the brains!

the electric guitar kicking in

IF I CAN FINALLY BE COOL I WILL KNOW THAT I'M NOT A LOSER

I'M THE RULER!!!!!!

DIRTY GIRL

the synth and drums

the way max says behave and be-betray me

baaaabe I'mma love ya all night lOOOooooong

THE LIKE MORE SYNTH KICKING IN HALFWAY THROUGH THE FIRST CHORUS UGH SO GOOD

the way grace says classroom

you want me cant be skipping skewl!

grace's "be-behayveee" UGH <3

THE GROWL ON "on your knees pray along"

the chorus harmonies <3

I DONT CARE ABOUT YOU!

the bridge harmonies

AA AAAGH!!

i'm a i'm a i'm a good girl!

WHO ON OCCASION GETS DIRTY!!!!

I WONT CAAARE ABOUT YOU!

BULLY THE BULLY

the snaps coming in

we'll make him shit his pants!

the riff on that line ^^

the jager-man??????

what's our budget?

the growl on "he's just a nerd in disguise"

stephie gonna lure him in with her charm

yeah?

JAGER GONNA JAGER OUT!

chorus harmonies!

standing for the nerdy the prudy!

WE'RE GONNA CUT OFF HIS NIPS!

AAAAHAaaAaaahh

the guitar bits in the back

we're gonna keep the beans cool! that whole sequence

BEAN SCHOOL? EXCELLENT!

THESE CHORUS HARMONIES ESP STEPHS

pete's and our problem's solved

richie's and the school can evolve

AND THE SCHOOL CAAAAN EVOLVE!!!

ugh jon and joey sound so good on the "we're gonna get the jock pleading"

the last guitar note

BURY THE BULLY

oh god she's snapping again...

this is a lot!!!

the whole hack all his limbs off bit

YOU WANT ME TO FILM THIS?

tape him up after dousing with bleach!

the chorus harmonies. every bit of these choruses i cant even isolate its everything

steph's little "bury bully line up stories NEVER HAUNT ME!"

i just cut off his nips

GRACE TELLING RUTH TO GIVE HER MAX'S NIPS

GO GO NIGHTHAWKS

the way ruth says shiny

IT'S LIKE THE START OF A NEW YEAR!

jon's higher range <3

jon's harmony on "and now i don't eat all by myself"

the trumpets behind the chorus

all the squawks

the HUH after who knew footballs a team game

corey's voice sounds so good on the "or hit u with a saturated towel"

the no more bully ball harmonies

the HUH! after no more bully ball

We're all givin the butt slaps YEAH HEAH!

the way jason sings cause we care <3

AND NOW I CAN PEE ALL BY MYSELF!!!!

the overlapping vocals coming together for "in hatchetfield high school"

N! I! G! H! T! AWK AWK! KSSSS!

NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY!

FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE GO GET FUCKED YOURE FUCKIN LOSERS AND WE'LL KILL YOU (KILL YOUR ASS)

fuuuuck you cliiivesdale gooo get fuuucked

the watch us fly harmonies

NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY! AWK AWK!

NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE (my fave song in the soundtrack be warned)

the "watch these nerds run for their lives" guitar riff before max sings

will branners voice augh

the little synthy ba duh duh duhs in the back

the BAMS! after every line in verses

the way max says "hallway safe" and "break you"

ugh the guitar kicking in and the double BUM BUM for the second verse

YA BITCH!

WOAH UH OAHHH

SHOULDA JOINED THE SMOKE CLUB YA NERDY PRUDE

the whole chorus

the watch those nerds run for their lives melody Ugh loved it in axe man loved it here

YOU PUSHED ME OFF THE EEEDGE

the way he says crusade

and youre too weak to be enSLAAAAVED

the drums AUAUDUAAUAU

CLEANSING OF YOUR KIND!!!!

the way he says anti socialites

the entire repeat after me bit. its actually incredible i cant just isolate one part of it its so good

the ensemble kicking in

IIIIM NOT A LOOOSERRRR

But you have lost. Everything.

THE HATCHET TOWN MOTIF

UGH I LOVE THIS SONG. THE NMT MOTIF

#hatchetfield #npmd #npmd spoilers #rambles #nerdy prudes must die #starkid #music

[stesierra]

WIP INTRO: THE BONE QUEEN

Title: the Bone Queen

Genre: NA fantasy

Setting: The kingdom of Sweelough

Tropes: forced marriage, undead ruler, undead fiancé, ghosts and skeletons, pattern magic, unwise affairs, pregnancy (no, it's not Aubrey's), poisonings, depression, anorexia, damn all nobles, big hair and big dresses, and illiterate peasant MC

Story:

Two years ago, Elise accidentally freed an army of the undead. She paid for it. The Bone Queen snatched Elise from her family and locked her away in Bandrum Palace. Elise hates everything about it: the dead maids who wait on her, the queen who tortures her when she forgets to play the perfect noblewoman, and her undead fiancé, Aubrey, who expects Elise to carry his heirs. Elise's magic, which lets her see the dead as if they're still alive, makes being a brood mare to a skeleton all too possible. She has to escape, but the Bone Queen has bound her to the palace with a spell that lights her nerves on fire when she tries to leave. Worse, if Elise refuses to marry Aubrey, the queen will lock her family up for life.

If Elise knew how to use her magic, maybe she'd have a chance, but the queen has made studying magic illegal. When Elise discovers a visiting ambassador is a spy and a secret magician, she blackmails him into giving her magic lessons. Maybe she should feel bad about that, especially when the ambassador falls in love with her. An affair with him risks everything, but Elise is desperate for comfort in the land of the dead. But his love and his help aren't what they seem. He never meant to free her. If Elise is going to escape and save her family, she'll have to do it alone. And she'll destroy Aubrey and the Bone Queen on her way out, or die trying.

The Characters:

Elise Cropper- our main character and POV. 18 years old. She was born a serf, bound to the land of Lord Moorthleigh, near the shores of Lake Langlyn.

Aubrey Sommer, Duke of Winworth- undead fiancé and true asshole. He tricked Elise into loving and freeing him. He deserved neither thing.

Mausart Tola, Earl of Ardaris- the ambassador from Ahheleisa. Late twenties. Hot as far as my ace ass can tell. But he has his secrets.

Queen Idony Allard of Scarlett- the bone queen, the new ruler of Sweelough. This is her second time ruling, but death took the crown from her last time. Never again.

Lord Moorthleigh- Elise's former landlord, who still owns her parents and little brothers.

Lady Moorthleigh- a friend? An enemy? Elise doesn't know.

Worst Comment from a Beta: Why doesn't Elise want to marry Aubrey? He's rich and she should be thrilled with her luxurious prison. Also, she's too mean to the undead maids who are spying on her. What a bitch. (Paraphrased)

Status Check: In rewrites, after about five drafts and a paid developmental editor. 109k words before revisions. I will try to query it when the rewrite is done. Not currently available for beta reading.

It has two complete standalone sequels (The Spellbound King (106k) and The Matriarch's Daughter (96k)) I must also rewrite. This series is going to kill me but I love it. My mom, who loves everything I write, complained that it was weird. I'm very proud.

First chapter here.

Fic snippet here.

Map here.

Please ask if you want to be added to my taglist and specify if it's just for this book or all books.

Credit for (modified) WIP intro format @sleepyowlwrites

Art commissioned from KozzDraws.

Taglist

@janec23

@gracewritesbooks

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

#The Bone Queen #wip intro #writeblr #writing #writing community #creative writing #fantasy

[leiawritesstories]

A Visit to Orynth

Rowaelin Month, Day 24: How Rowan Knew "Fireheart"

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: canon has been edited because i said so, Maeve, royal politics, references to the blood oath and other canon fun

Enjoy!!

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prince first visited Orynth when he was a young male, barely twenty-four years old. His parents frequently traveled for diplomatic reasons, and they’d invited him to accompany them for the first time that year. We won’t ask you to do anything, they promised. Just come along and get a sense for what the world of politics is like. 

Prince Rowan Whitethorn had never been a fan of politics. He preferred steel to statecraft–give him a broadsword or a pair of hatchets any day. 

But he went to Orynth that spring, and for some reason that he couldn’t name, he felt oddly at home in the sprawling city with its unusual but somehow perfect blend of stone buildings and patches of greenspace like little meadows dotting the cobbled streets. 

He left most of the diplomacy and politicking to his parents, who spent most of their days holed up in council chambers with Queen Elena and King Brannon and their court. The first couple of days, he had to attend the sessions, and he paid as much attention as he could before resorting to drawing little battle diagrams on his note sheets. His father noticed, but said nothing, only muffled his knowing smile and quietly directed Rowan towards the training yard. So Rowan spent the rest of that visit with the palace guards, sparring and training and exchanging technique and tactical notes with the highly skilled military. 

That was the last time he visited Orynth for nearly three centuries. 

Upon his return to Doranelle, Rowan entered the legions, and he barely saw his home or his family for the next three hundred years. He rose swiftly through the ranks, ascending rapidly to the rank of captain before he was seventy-five years old. His queen took notice of his prowess, and he was inducted into the bloodsworn legions, an honor granted to precious few warriors. The decades he spent serving closely under the queen’s command honed him into a warrior of near-impossible capacity, and honed his heart into a block of ice, as impassive as the glaciers of the far north. 

~

Prince Rowan Whitethorn was three hundred and thirty years old the second time he visited Orynth. 

Erilea had been casually discussing their relations with Doranelle for the last century, and it had finally reached a point where the rulers of the Erilean kingdoms decided to host a summit and invite representatives from Wendlyn and Doranelle. Wendlyn, of course, sent a delegation of Ashryvers, who were relations of the royal family of Terrasen. Maeve called together her bloodsworn and chose two of them to accompany the five selected Fae delegates. 

“I trust you will keep your Queen aware of the discussions,” she purred, a deceptively soft smile gracing her lips as she handed Rowan and Vaughan their notes for the talks. 

Rowan dipped his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Majesty.” 

Three weeks later, as he stepped off the ship and set foot into Terrasen for the second time in his life, he drew in a lungful of the crisp, clear mountain air, and found that its scent comforted a part of him that had been empty and aching since his parents passed away. 

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind, occupying himself instead with the concerns of the discussions. Maeve had sent him–her legendary warrior-prince–for a reason, despite his lack of diplomatic skill, and he intended to prove that he could hold his own at a meeting full of human royalty. And if things went poorly, then he could fall back onto Vaugahn’s quiet, diplomatic tact. 

King Orlon Galathynius greeted the Doranelle contingent as they entered the council room on the first day of the summit. The human king was aging, but the lines around his eyes and the gray of his hair only strengthened his image as a capable, compassionate leader. According to what Rowan knew, Orlon had ruled Terrasen for nearly twenty years and showed no signs of abdicating soon, although his younger brother, Crown Prince Rhoe Galathynius, worked closely with the king. 

“Welcome to Terrasen,” King Orlon said warmly, clasping Rowan’s hand in a firm handshake that proved he retained his physical strength. “It’s an honor to welcome Doranelle back to our land.” 

“The honor is ours.” Rowan dipped his head in a bow to the king. He bowed lower for his own Queen, but the courtesy was still due. 

Inside the meeting chamber, a dark-haired, younger version of Orlon approached Rowan and Vaughan and exchanged greetings. “Rhoe Galathynius. Pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Prince Whitethorn, Lord Recorre.” 

“Please, leave off the title, Highness.” Rowan shook Rhoe’s hand, noting the insignias the human prince wore on his jacket–military rankings. “We’re all just delegates for peaceful relations, aren’t we?” 

“Indeed.” Rhoe smiled. “Let me show you to your seats; this room is rarely used, so it’s always a nightmare to navigate. I keep telling Orlon we need to use the throne room, but he–ah, Evalin!” A stately, golden-haired woman with the distinctive turquoise eyes of the Ashryver family and a slender silver circlet around her brow had walked up and laid her hand fondly on Rhoe’s arm. He tucked her arm into his with a soft, tender smile. “Vaughan, Rowan, allow me to introduce Princess Evalin Ashryver, my lovely and far more talented wife.” 

“Welcome back to Orynth,” Evalin smiled. “It’s been far too long since we hosted Queen Maeve’s people.” 

In that moment, Rowan knew two things with absolute certainty. First, Princess Evalin Ashryver knew that he and Vaugahn were bloodsworn–he didn’t know how she knew, but she did. And second, if her lineage (and her scent) were correct, she was a direct descendant of the Fae Queen Mab, Maeve’s sister, and therefore was most likely the Fae Queen of the West. 

Suddenly, he wondered if he’d been sent to Orynth to view Evalin with his own senses and bring knowledge of the Ashryver princess back to Maeve. 

The sonorous peal of the great brass gong tore Rowan away from his thoughts. 

“Ah, we’re about to start.” Rhoe dipped his head at Rowan and Vaughan. “It truly is an honor to host you in Orynth. Please, attend dinner with Evalin and I.” He flicked a half-grin at his wife. “We’d better get to our seats, Fireheart.” 

Fireheart. 

“You and your misleading nicknames,” Evalin teased as she and Rhoe walked off. Rowan’s Fae hearing picked up their conversation. “I don’t have the fire gift, my love, only the water. Fire is Brannon’s line’s gift.” 

“You have the fire in your heart, my love,” Rhoe returned. “And who knows? Perhaps someday the gift will manifest in one of our children, if we’re so blessed.” 

“It’s a slim chance.” Evalin’s whisper contained an ocean of sadness. 

“It’s still a chance, Fireheart.” Rhoe kissed his wife’s forehead. 

Rowan stopped listening then, overcome by what he’d just learned. The fire gift. It wasn’t a myth after all–the gift of fire magic laid dormant in the royal bloodline of Terrasen, and the intersection of the Ashryver and Galathynius lines with Rhoe and Evalin’s marriage just might be enough for the near-mythical gift of Brannon Galathynius’s fire to manifest again. 

Fireheart. So the prince’s affectionate name for his wife was more than just an endearment–it was a wish for their future. For their kingdom’s future. 

Fireheart. 

~

Rowan went to Orynth again ten years later, but this time, he went uninvited. He shifted into his hawk form when his small ship had docked in the harbor, and he remained in that form for the entirety of the next few days. He went to Orynth not to negotiate or pay a formal visit, but to linger on the parapets of the castle and pick up conversation. 

He went as a spy. 

On his last night in Orynth–a blustery, rainy night–Rowan perched on a window ledge and pressed his hawk body as close to the window glass as possible without making a terribly loud noise. He stretched his Fae senses down and out, into the dining room below his perch, and strained to hear the conversation taking place in the room. The royal family of Terrasen was hosting the royal family of Adarlan, and rumor had it that relations between Adarlan and every other Erilean kingdom were tense, if not outright hostile. 

Rowan couldn’t make out much of the conversation, but he heard enough. Bits and pieces of politely veiled threats, the sneer behind the king of Adarlan’s tone, the uncomfortable shifting of the staff and guards who stood at the edge of the room–it pointed towards looming conflict. He hopped off his perch and flew up to a window he knew was in Rhoe and Evalin’s chambers. Perhaps he’d hear something worthwhile from them. 

It wasn’t long before the prince and princess came wearily into their rooms, speaking in hushed tones about the poor signals from Adarlan. 

“I’m worried, Rhoe,” Evalin admitted. There was a soft clink as she laid her jewelry on top of the dressing table. “There’s something bigger than just Adarlan at play here.” 

“Something magical?” Rhoe asked. 

“It’s possible. I…I don’t think it’s purely magical, though. That ring of Adarlan’s…I can’t describe it, but I felt like it was looking at me, almost like it wanted to claim me.” 

Rowan gripped his perch with all the strength of his taloned feet, determined not to slip despite his shock. 

“Fireheart,” Rhoe breathed, coming over to embrace his wife, “are you certain? I trust your judgment–I have no way of detecting magic–but…” He took a deep, measured breath. “A wrong move from Adarlan could constitute war, and if there’s magic at play…” 

“It could end us all,” Evalin whispered. 

Rowan had heard enough. Quietly, he hopped off the window ledge and launched himself up into the wind and rain, his thoughts churning as rapidly as the storm. Adarlan. Magic. War. He hadn’t known what his Queen had wanted him to discover when she sent him to Orynth, but he’d bet his broadsword that it wasn’t rumors of magical war. 

Three weeks later, when his ship docked back in Doranelle, Lorcan delivered the news, and the information he’d heard while spying suddenly clicked into place. 

Adarlan had performed some kind of ritual that banished magic. The King of Adarlan had armies marching across Erilea to root out magic-users, and everywhere his army went, he claimed dominion. Melisande and Fenharrow had capitulated. Eyllwe seemed on the brink of collapsing. The Western Wastes and the Witchlands had separated. 

And the entire royal family of Terrasen was dead. 

~

Orynth was so different from the first time Rowan had set foot in the city, but the mountain breezes still smelled the same. The ancient and modern buildings and the winding cobblestone streets bore scars from the war, but new green life had begun to creep across the slashes and scuffs and scorch marks, blanketing the damage of war. The grand stone castle still crowned the city hill, but its doors were no longer barred. Instead, commoners and nobles and Fae–both full and partial–filtered in and out of the castle grounds, uniting the crown and the city. 

The continent was healing, and his wife had made it all possible. 

Speaking of…Aelin’s voice sounded in his mind. Is the castle really that bad, buzzard?

He grinned. I find my skills better suited to the physical act of rebuilding.

I know a physical act or two that could use your skills. 

I’m sure you do, Fireheart.

A surge of her love filled his mind. Where are you?

Near the western wall.

Solitary buzzard. He felt her bright laughter ripple through his blood, warming him through. I’ll be there in a moment.

And a few minutes later, she was there, her crown tipped sideways atop her messy hair. “Rowan.” 

“Fireheart.” He set the one last stone into place in the section of wall he was working on, turned, and pulled her against his chest, reveling in the trace of embers that always followed her. 

“You keep avoiding court when I need you,” Aelin teased. “Who else is going to scowl at the lords when they say something idiotic?” 

“I’m sure you can handle that,” he drawled. “You are the queen, Fireheart.” 

She chuckled and went quiet for a moment, gazing over the tumbled wall out into the evergreen hills. “I’ve been wondering, buzzard. Why ‘Fireheart?’ You can’t have known that’s what my parents called me when I was a child, even with all your centuries of knowledge.” Humor laced her last words. 

“Are you calling me old, love?” 

“Always.” She smirked. “Tell me, buzzard.” 

Rowan was silent for a long moment, working over the story, wondering how much he could say before someone inevitably interrupted the queen’s private time with her husband. “I met Rhoe and Evalin, once, many years ago. I remember Rhoe calling Evalin Fireheart.” 

Aelin stroked her thumb over the ruby of Rowan’s wedding band. “I never knew you met them.” I miss them, she murmured into his mind, muted grief shadowing her mind. 

“Just once.” Cupping his free hand under her chin, he tilted her face up and kissed her, soft and tender, a gesture of both love and comfort. “You are everything they dreamed Terrasen would be.” I’m entirely sure they’re smiling down on you from the afterlife, he added. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

He touched his forehead to hers. “I love you too, Fireheart.”

~~~

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[ystrike1]

A Sip of Poison - By Chyomchyom (7.5/10)

The quality drops hard in the second half, but the beginning is entertaining and tense. A beautiful slave and a prince, sixth in line, far away from the throne. How are they connected? Why does he choose her?

Baek-ha is gorgeous. A gorgeous slave. She lives in a snowy, gloomy village. She's already twenty one, but her master refuses to sell her. Master Woo also doesn't want her as a mistress. He looks at her like...well not in a sexual way that's for sure.

One day Master Woo presents her to a man. Nan-woo. She doesn't know anything yet, but he is a prince. Baek-ha is actually related to the current, corrupt Empress. Master Woo is her uncle. The power-mad Empress is her aunt. That power-mad aunt burned her mother alive. She was supposed to die that day. Woo saved her, but its all up to the Prince. The true heir. The one with new blood, who can take down the Empress and her family.

Woo is ready to let the prince kill him, and his secret niece. He feels guilty, because the sister he supported became a demon that is ruining the country.

The story is told from Baek-ha's perspective. We don't know that. He treats her like a mere slave for a bit. He seems to like her. He's fascinated by her looks, and he's scary.

He seems half-mad.

He is struggling.

He was supposed to kill Woo, and her, and the Empress.

Woo offers up his loyalty, and his niece as a bride. He chose wrong when he supported his sister. Nan-woo is superior.

Nan-woo accepts that secret bride offer.

Baek-ha still believes she is a slave. None of the other characters know about her royal blood either.

He shows her affection.

The tension is great.

Baek-ha does not trust him. She behaves like a slave until he completely proves his love for her. Their relationship feels very realistic at first.

That's all ruined by the secret royalty thing though.

Nan-woo is injured.

The Empress thinks he died.

He hides, and he flirts with Baek-ha, until the snow melts.

He also kills the doctor that attempts to make her his mistress.

He also tells her to NOT save her drowning friend. He won't risk her safety. He sends his men to save her friend, and then he scolds her because she dirtied her skirt.

He buys her new silk dresses to wear, and this is a big deal.

The other characters start to believe Nan-woo wants a mistress.

Something happens, and Nan-woo burns most of the household to the ground.

The steward sends in his daughter, instead of Baek-ha. That woman is a well-educated, flirty beauty.

Nan-woo stands up. He takes out his sword, and he tells the girl he wants her father's name. She gives it to him. Nan-woo strings the House Steward from a tree by his feet. He is tortured and left bleeding profusely from the head, while his daughter watches. Then he burns down the house.

Woo returns Baek-ha to him.

This tantrum is good news.

Woo gets the chance to serve a true ruler, and redeem himself.

Nan-woo gets a bride he is obsessed with.

It's the perfect plan.

Nan-woo brings her to the palace. We meet the "rival" character. He has two scenes before he dies. The Empress is weak. Her son is weak. Nan-woo is strong, and he has taken a bride.

A quick, brutal bloodbath rushes through the finale of the story.

Nan-woo becomes Emperor. He keeps smart people by his side, like his servant Yoo n....and Woo, who adopted the current Empress.

Baek-ha.

She could have had a personality. Character development, but the royal plot twist ruined it. It became very predictable.

Also Baek-ha helped him when he was a child, so he's been obsessed for a long time. That's nice for a yandere story, but not for a historical drama. By the end there's no tension.

#A Sip of Poison #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon