#also i liked the set up of him telling the prince that speech. saying it doesnt matter if we live or die. because piracy will live forever

[marsixm]

big spoiler cw for the finale- i understand why a lot of people didnt feel like it made sense for how ed was acting during izzy’s death scene, like it didn’t feel earned or whatever bc they’d been at odds w each other since last season, but for me, and understand i’m not saying my personal experience making it make sense for me is trying to give undue writing cred or whatever, but i had a very difficult relationship with my very transphobic/bigoted mother. she made my life a nightmare a lot of the time. but i had to care for her in death. i had to watch her die for months. it was a waking nightmare, and it had a profound effect on me. it was complicated. it made my relationship to my memory of her very complicated. (and even if it hadnt been a months long ordeal i was caught in the middle of i’d probably still feel similarly) and that’s how ed dealing with izzy’s death feels to me. just like him having to kill his father, it was the right thing to do, but it still left him with difficult emotions. when ed says “you’re the only family i’ve got left” to izzy, after all the bullshit they put each other through, i get it.

#death cw #ofmd spoilers #also so i dont make multiple spoilery posts #i do also get why it feels weird to have him die after all that growth #but everyone grew and changed all season #and someone going away doesnt change that- ie look at buttons. he’s gone but it’s not negative #and like izzy didn’t necessarily *want* to die #but him dying a pirate’s death. on the ship. with the crew. injured in a scheme against the english. it was a better way for him to go #than being killed by ed while he was at his lowest #bc he’s right blackbeard was ed AND him. so blackbeard cant kill izzy. and izzy cant kill ed. bc ultimately neither of them would kill #*themselves. #also i liked the set up of him telling the prince that speech. saying it doesnt matter if we live or die. because piracy will live forever #it means when the prince shoots him it doesnt feel like a victory for the prince. he doesnt get to win that easily #also the prince character is fascinating as a foil for stede bc stede was also betrayed and injured by pirates #and even went home #but when he went back to normal life he told stories about how great pirates are. not try to kill them all #anyway thats my little thought for right now #and like i say im not giving undue writing cred but also id be surprised if this wasnt an experience ppl making the show- at least someone- #wasnt considering when they wrote this. like they have an established complex history that a couple months of fighting isnt gonna erase

[eternityracha]

MOONLIGHT ⋆˙ hwang hyunjin.

— fem reader insert.

“you could hold moonlight in your hands. ‘til the night i held you. you are my moonlight.”

— enemies to lovers. secret identity. fake dating.

— historical romance

—

many people wanted to be him, while others wanted him.

hyunjin, first son and the prince of the hwang family, has always disliked his popularity. attending balls was pointless. he didn’t want to become king.

y/n’s family focused on their royal duties, working for different families around their town.

she wanted to be independent and follow her own dreams. her family believes that her dreams are unrealistic, but she wants to prove them wrong.

they both had one thing in common.

wanting to truly be themselves.

— ꨄ —

CHAPTER ONE

“do i have to go?”

your mother admired the long pink-satin dress you wore in front of the mirror. as much as you loved the dress, you weren’t excited for tonight’s ball.

“yes, dear. your aunt spent a lot of time making this dress for you.”

the ends of your hair was curled and your makeup was done, as you applied an extra amount of blush.

as you looked at the time, the ball was starting soon. your mother took you to these events every month. you hated them.

at these balls, several attendees had the opportunity to potentially meet their future spouse.

you currently weren’t interested in being in a relationship.

i wish this day was over with already.

—

walking into the familiar setting, the ballroom was filled with new and previous attendees. the room had a scent of citrus and was covered in beautiful decor.

immediately, you found your bestfriend sitting at the nearest table. after saying hi to him, you sat down, watching the attendees dance to the jazz music playing.

you noticed that most of the girls in the room wore sky blue dresses and had their hair pinned up in a bun or ponytail.

“was the dress code today blue and no one told me?” you joked, turning to face your bestfriend, felix.

“prince hyunjin is here. there’s a lot of attendees who want to marry him, so they’re wearing his favorite color.. to impress him, i guess.” felix shrugged.

you knew about the hwang family, but didn’t have interest in them. the family only attends the balls three times a year, which isn’t much considering the fact that the balls are monthly.

prince hyunjin was tall, handsome, and good at everything. families wanted their sons to be like him. girls wanted to marry him and become queen.

however, even with hundreds of girls wanting to marry him, he still hasn’t found a wife.

“really?! that’s ridiculous.”

the dancing in the room stopped as the crowd formed groups. the families stood on the right and left side while all of the first daughters stood in the middle.

you knew your parents were looking for you, as they wanted you to also marry prince hyunjin. you weren’t interested.

you were able to avoid this for the past two balls, making this one the third.

“you’re sneaking out from the ball again?” felix asked, as he finished his appetizer.

you nodded, “yeah, don’t tell anyone you saw me.” showing you a thumbs up, felix kept his word.

luckily, the crowd was focused on the hwang family, as the king, made a speech and thanked the attendees for attending the ball.

8:00PM

outside, there was a balcony that had a perfect view of the stars. usually, you stayed there until the ball was over.

felix used to come on the balcony with you, until both of your families noticed that you and him weren’t at the ball.

your families were upset about it and talked about it non-stop for days. since then, you and felix stopped going to the balcony together.

a few minutes later, someone comes on the balcony and stands next to you. looking over, the guy had long blonde hair with a masquerade mask covering his face.

you’ve never seen him before, odd. there was awkward tension in the air, so you decided to start a conversation.

“so.. what’s your name?”

he ignored you.

okay fine, maybe he doesn’t want to talk.

“aren’t you supposed to be inside, preparing for proposals?”

you turned to him, glaring at him in disbelief. you couldn’t believe he just asked that! you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at him.

“why do you even care?”

and why is he hiding his face?

“why else would you be at this ball?”

i had no choice.

“look, i don’t know who you are but i’m not here to become queen, get married, or whatever. i’m just here with my family.”

before he could turn away, one of the assistants from the hwang family appears on the balcony. the woman had a low bun and an all black uniform. there was worry on her face.

“excuse me, my apologies for interrupting your conversation. the hwang family doesn’t know where prince hyunjin is and has pushed back the proposals for tomorrow. if you’ve seen him, please contact us.” she shows a warm smile, not even waiting for our responses, and walks away.

prince hyunjin wasn’t at the ball?

all of a sudden, the guy is standing much closer to you. “can i trust you?”

“how could i? i’ve only known you for five minutes.”

“okay, so i know you won’t care then and tell people about this.”

what’s he talking about?

the guy lifts up his mask, revealing his entire face. you gasped, surprised at who you see. you weren’t expecting this at all.

he’s prince hyunjin!

— ꨄ —

author’s note

~ hi, i decided to make this a chapter au, so there’s a storyline to follow.

~ this au is inspired by bridgerton, which is one of my favorite shows!

~ romance will happen soon. this story starts with the enemies to lovers trope.

chapter 2

#stray kids fic #stray kids #skz au #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids x y/n #skz fic #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids x female reader #skz x female reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #bang chan #seo changbin #lee know #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz smut

[ikarasu]

🕊️Euphonious🕊️

Romeo x reader

Warnings: NSFW

Minors Scram

👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~

Disclaimer: Romeo and Carlo never get the petrification disease.

Euphonious - adj. - (of sound, especially speech) pleasing to the ear.

A solo is played out beautifully, only meant for my ears alone. The instrument I play is none like any other, but it is perfect in every way despite being made of flesh. My hand presses softly against their neck, earning me a soft gasp. A whimper follows after my lips press to their chest. The sounds of our hips meeting and the bed creaking sets a feverous tempo. Yet, their moans sing out for me and my love is the most addicting part. Each moan is different from the other as I play with their body, and I plan on memorizing each of them by heart. I never need to hear another orchestra or singer when I have my precious ‘cantante’.

*smack!*

“Ow! What the hell, Carlo?!” I say defensively

“Welcome back to reality, Prince Charming,” Carlo responds sarcastically.

I can practically feel him roll his eyes at me under his cat mask. Rolling my shoulders, I readjust my lion mask before elbowing him.

“Cut it out, you two.” A voice cuts in before they wrap their arms around our necks and pull us close.

“(Name).” we both respond before smiling and removing our masks.

The soft scent of petrichor can be barely masked by the smell of blood and grease. Yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. How I wish to pull them closer and mark their neck while rubbing their thigh. Moving my hand a little higher before-

“Romeo!” (Name) shouts this time while looking at me unamused.

“He’s been like this all day” Carlo responds also unamused.

“I’m fine, you two.”

They both look unconvinced but don’t push further.

“I’m going to scout ahead. (Stalker Name), get The King out of here until he gets his head together. I’ll regroup with you two later”

We watch Carlo slip on his cat mask back on. While me and (Name) slip our masks back on as well.

“Stay safe, Stray Cat. We’ll meet at the house on Elysion Boulevard.” (Name) says before hugging him and turning to me.

Carlo takes off quietly and I look back at (Name).

“Penny for your thoughts?” They ask with concern

“I’ll tell you if you beat me at a race to the rendezvous,” I say before taking off.

“No fair! You cheater! You got a head start!”

I can’t help the smirk forming under my mask as we run along the rooftops of Krat. Looking at them right behind me with a smile of their own. The adrenaline rushed through us and we began to reach our destination fast. I notice the lack of a second pair of footsteps and I look back. (Name) was nowhere to be seen and I halted for a second. Suddenly, (Name) jumps over me and runs ahead while laughing.

“You snooze, you lose, King!”

I immediately ran after them while shaking my head in false disappointment. Oh, when I get my hands on them… My long legs began to close the distance between us and they sped up their pace. The chase was thrilling and I was the lion about to pounce their reward. (Name) jumps down into the alleyway and finally leans against the door of our destination. With sharp eyes, I watch their chest heave as they pant.

“I- *pant*…. Won- *pant*… you cheater…”

I continue to walk towards them before suddenly pinning them to the door.

“O-oh!…”

I lean close and stare them down. Their stutter makes the smirk on my face grow.

“I saw your dirty little move back there. So since we both cheated I say it’s a draw.”

“W-wha- that’s not fair- ah!”

I open the door behind them suddenly, almost letting them fall. Before holding them by the waist and pulling them close.

“How about we both share the reward?” I whisper against their neck before nipping it teasingly.

“First, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in that head of yours, Romeo,” they say as they slowly take off my mask.

Their hands tangle in my hair and can’t help but melt. I pull them to the old sofa and set them on my lap. With hazy eyes, I pull them into a kiss as my hands work to undress them.

“Romeo, talk to me, love.” They mumble against my lips.

I grind against them before tracing their bare chest. Taking a nipple into my mouth and sucking eagerly. A gasp escapes their throat and I smile. The song has begun.

“R-Romeo… don’t- ngh… ignore my question” they struggle to voice out as I continue to play with their chest.

I feel their hands tangle in my hair and I can't help but groan. Suddenly, they tug at my hair. Pulling me away from their chest like an unwanted leech.

“Romeo! Stop avoiding my question!” They huff out.

I sigh before suddenly pinning them down on the sofa.

“You want to know?” I growl into their ear while using one of my hands to pin their hands down.

“How I crave- no- need to hear your sweet sounds?”

I press my hip against theirs to make sure they feel my need. My other hand is working away on getting rid of their pants.

“Sing for me~ I want to hear every. Single. Noise.”

My lips find their way back to their chest and I continue to suck and nibble. Earning me a string of whimpers and moans. I pull away to take off my own clothes before going back to ravishing them. Every noise is nothing but pure euphonious to my ergo.

“R-Romeo… what if Carlo comes back?” They moan out.

“It’ll be fine. You know he likes taking his time”

I pull down their undergarments and lean down. Pressing soft kisses and bites along their inner thigh. Never going where they wanted it most.

“P-please… Romeo…. Don’t t-tease…” they whimper out deliciously.

“Beg.”

I watch them look at me before swallowing thickly.

“Please, Romeo,” they say quietly

I bite their inner thigh a little harder.

“You know how I want it. So beg.”

“Romeo! Please! Please use your mouth! I need it so badly! Please!” They finally cry out and I instantly use my mouth on them.

My tongue licks long slow strips along their most sensitive parts. Ripping out more noises from their throat as I continue to lick and suck at them. I feel their hand tangle in my hair and their back start to arch. Their toes curl and I pull away with a loud pop.

“No! Romeo! Please don’t stop!” They cry out as I deny them of their orgasm.

“Don’t be selfish, cantante~”

I press the tip of my cock to their tight entrance. Smearing my precum around it and taking my time to enjoy them squirming. Slowly I slide in and we both moan at the feeling. They claw at my back and I grip their hip tighter. Eventually, I bottomed out and our foreheads pressed together. We’re both panting and our hearts are racing. Slowly I begin to move and I feel them clench around me.

“Say my name, cantante~ I want to hear you sing for all of Krat”

I thrust a little faster before letting my mouth wander back to their chest.

“Romeo~! Oh god~! Romeo~! Don’t stop~!”

Their voice can’t even be compared to Adeline's. The way every noise slips past their throat like a siren call. Ensnaring my mind and causing my body to move more desperately. I grab their leg and push it against their body to reach deeper. Making them sing out louder for me. Our bodies are a beautiful sweaty tangled masterpiece. (Name)’s voice reached a crescendo and I knew our song was nearing an end. I leaned in and kissed them before burying myself as deep as I could. They cried out before we both collapsed on the sofa together. I laid my head on their torso while their hands mindlessly played with my hair. The sounds of their heartbeat thumping steadily help me calm down. I look up at their face adoringly before tracing them with my thumb.

“So… round two?” I ask mischievously

“Carlo is going to come back soon, we should clean up”

“A little too late for that, you two.” A voice came from the doorway.

We both immediately perk up and see Carlo taking off his mask. He closes the door before fiddling with his belt.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~🐈‍⬛~👑~

Stay tuned for a part two 😊

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the second part. Carlo gets to join in on the fun ;)

Part 2: 🕊️Songbird🕊️

#lies of p #lies of p pinocchio #pinocchio #p #lies of p romeo #lies of p pinocchio x reader #pinocchio x reader #lies of p carlo #lies of p romeo x reader #romeo x reader #ns to the fw #gn reader #lies of p headcanons #lies of p fanfic

[delicrieux]

𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧  | autumn features (november edition)      

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader   summary—an accurate and detailed account of what had truly happened to lady tyrell at court, ages to ten and six to ten and nine. word count—9.6k warnings for this chapter—besides the typical hotd nonsense, there are spoilers for further events in hotd at the very end of this chapter! also tw sa (not at reader) and death tagging @thesadvampire​ @curlszx88  masterlist. ☕.  autumn features.  part 1. part 2.  extra. ♥

Aegon is well into his cups, despite the hour. There are great lines under his eyes and a flush on his cheeks, messy, bed ridden hair and sloppily thrown on vestments that make him, alone in the hall doused in morning sunlight, seem more as a drunken patron of a local bar rather than a prince. The line of soldiers clears after your entrance and the doors shut with a loud, groaning sound. It echoes, rushes past you and into the carved ceiling. His attention is stolen from the cup in hand and redirected to you.

The change in his expression is instant – from a frowning, stony face to a delirious smile, “…Morning, sister.” His eyes roam your body, down the exposed slope of your shoulders all the way to the tidy hems of your new dress, “Looking…dashing this fine hour.”

“What an hour indeed, brother.” You squeeze between your teeth. He hums, takes a generous gulp; a red drop runs down his chin, as if he was feasting on blood. The sight repulses you, “Hope I’m not intruding.” Your voice does not hold the gentle timbre you present to the rest, but rather a sharp edge that will cut cleaner than dragonsteel if prompted. Your eyes burn into him. He merely snorts.

His chair slides backwards with a creak, “Intrude all you please,” He raises his glass to your honour, “you know I’d never mind, my wife-that-never-was.”

“What privilege do I have for you to call me so.” He doesn’t take your sarcasm to heart—he never does. Mostly he’s too drunk out of his mind to care about your thorny words, “And here I was—“

“Save your speeches for someone who cares to hear them.” He interrupts you, though not unkindly. He’s smiling into his drink before tasting it again, “What do you want, sister?”

You raise a brow, “Would it be so strange for me to seek out your company?”

That gets his attention. Even his posture straightens. There’s a beat of silence before his laughter disrupts it, “Well, then,” He shrugs, drowns his cup, sets it harshly on the table, “you’re engaged to my brother, I’m married, but—“ He smacks his thighs in invitation, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“A conversation will do.” You state.

“And you will find that my lap is the only place I’ll care to listen.”

“Charmed, Aegon.” You bite, “Your eloquence truly has no limits.”

“I hope you to find that my actions are much more engaging than my vocabulary.” He tuts, and a slow, pleased smirk pulls on the corner of his lips, “It would be like nothing you’d felt before, I’m certain. Seven be my witness.”

“What did you do?” The severity in your voice catching him off guard. Stumped, for a moment, he can only stare at you, at your rigid, angry features, tightly clasped hands. But he falls into his role easily, so unperturbed and easy-going, smiling to himself without a care in the world.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“I know it was you.” You say, approaching, and he wilts in his chair a little under the scrutiny of your gaze, “So tell me. Enough of these games, just spit it out so I could fix the mess you have made.” He can’t quite look you in the eye. After a pause, he mumbles something incomprehensible, “Speak up.”

“I didn’t do anything, alright.” He snaps, “Could I at least hear my crime before being prosecuted?”

You huff, “Hear your crime? Don’t be daft, Aegon, your jokes are unbecoming—“

The heavy wooden doors suddenly cry at the hinges and part—in comes a shivering servant girl, her head bent down, holding a pitcher of wine in her trembling hands. She briefly lifts her glassy eyes, the same colour as your own, and quickly looks downward once more, “I-I brought more wine for the Prince.” She announces, but her voice is quiet, rasp, near choked.

You note her untidy dress, dishevelled, (colour) hair, bruised skin around her arms, neck, and shoulders. It’s only too easy to imagine yourself being the recipient of Prince Aegon’s unwanted affection—that was a life you had been saved from. Your gaze slides back to Aegon, and his cheeks are burning red, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The servant girl scrambles to pour him wine, and all it takes is a twitch of his fingers for her to startle and spill most of it on the floor, “I-I am so sorry, your grace—“

“Come.” You tell her. Setting the pitcher down, she obeys and stumbles over, bottom lip bitten from fright. She tries to adjust her skirt and wipe the remnants of the drink from her hand somewhere where you wouldn’t notice. Tears steadily stream down her cheeks, more and more with each step she takes, and you can barely look at her without flinching, “Have you told anyone?”

She sniffles, “N…No, my lady. I, I only—only went to fetch the wine—“

“Go to my room. Use the servant corridors, and make sure no one sees you. Wait there till I return.”

“My lady—“

“Go. Now.”

She bows and scrambles out the backdoor. Silence reigns broken by your angry breaths. You’re boiling from the inside, and all of that frustration trickles down to your hands where you fiddle with your rings. You think this is what it would feel to burn.

Grinding your jaw you turn to Aegon, “You disgust me.”

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised, merely dips his head, like a child scolded. He scowls, “You forget yourself, Lady Tyrell. You’re speaking to a Prince—”

“Fuck you.” You spit, “Fuck you and your court and your vile antics.”

“Well, if you’re offering—“ He growls, “my lap’s up for the taking.”

“I’d rather hang.”

“And you soon will if you keep speaking like that. Fuck.” He pours himself a drink, downs it, and then pours another, “This the crime I’m punished for? Feeling awfully altruistic, aren’t we, sister? Didn’t give a shit about any of the others, but since this one looks like you—“

“We look nothing alike.”

“You do.” He states, “And you should find my opinion no different from my brother’s—Gods, if you only knew—“

You raise a hand, “The only thing I wish to know is what you told Aemond.”

He leans back in his seat, watching, oddly sober, “Told him what?” He inquires, his voice ringing with a genuine note of curiosity, “That your whole bloodline is full of leeches? Or that you don’t give a shit about the people or the servants in this castle?” He snorts, “Doubt that would be a surprise for him, now, my darling wife on the other hand—“

Your fist thunders down on the table. The cutlery shakes and his cup nearly tumbles over, “Damn it, Aegon!” You hiss, “Tell me what lie you’ve spread so I could salvage this before a greater conflict arises.”

Stunned, he simply stares, “…Had…had something happened? Between you and my brother?”

You gape at him, “…You imbecile.”

“I’ll have you know I had no part in this—“ He quickly states, “—whatever this is. I’m innocent, and quite frankly, you blaming me so baselessly—“

“Seven give me strength…”

“What did you do, anyway?” He asks, “I saw Aemond was in a mood but I just figured—“ He shrugs, “—well, he’s always in a mood. So I didn’t figure anything, really.”

You watch him for a moment, straightening up, “…So you mean to tell me that you truly had no part in this?”

“In what? Trying to break you up? No, learned—“ He quiets quickly, taking his glass.

“Learned what?”

He shrugs again, eyes roaming around the area, “That it’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, a bad idea, I recon?”

“Your intellect almost rivals your beauty, sister.”

“And it shall surely surpass it once you tell me what had happened.”

He holds up a finger, lips turned downward, “…Just to preface, I meant no harm—“

“Speak and I shall decide on the fact.”

“—it was, just, simply, a long…lonely night.” He continues, “And I just, well I figured,” He smiles, though it’s uncomfortable, “not my brightest moment, surely—“

“I’ll grow old before you finish if you keep dallying so.”

“I went to your room.”

“What?”

“And so happened to meet my brother half way and really, now, he was not pleased in the slightest, I almost—where are you going?” Noting your retreat, he stands, “I wouldn’t have done anything!” He calls after you, “Just a chat, (Name)! A fucking chat with an old friend! Gods, you’re prissy just like my brother. You two are perfect for each other! Fucking perfect, you hear?”

The last of his voice gets cut off by the closing door.

You move through the labyrinth of the castle in quick, light steps, hands folded, and though your thoughts blaze with an unfurling scheme, your face betrays none of that inner turmoil. Your ears are hot, and the dress is much too tight to rush in, but you prevail and even manage to beam at the idling lords and ladies on your way to Queen Alicent’s quarters.

Ser Criston must have informed her of your nightly ventures by now – he had caught you in one, but she would be right to assume it had not been the first time you broke a sacred codex of courtly manners. What she thinks of you now may be no better than what Aemond assumes, yet—his name spurts a different image, one that brings this strange tightness to your chest and makes you slow your pace, if barely.

You imagine him there, in the shadowy corridors, lost and conflicted, a wraith that had risen from the grave to seek out something precious. Would his face look even lovelier in moonlight? Would his hair be un-brushed, un-braided, tousled, as if he had ran his fingers through it sleepless before finding you? Would he have remembered to done his leather eye patch, or would he had knocked on your door barefaced, with the emerald gleaming in the dark? Would he had smiled once you invited him inside, or would he had fled before reaching you?

You think that you may have been waiting for him on the eve of his name day, alone in your silks, alert for a gentle knock or a push on the door that informed of a visitor you had been anticipating. Your heart was beating in your throat, and you were restless, pacing back and forth, and while you had assumed you were simply anxious to report to mother, perhaps there had been a different cause entirely.

As if summoned, he appears from behind the corner and you nearly run into his chest, stopping just in time. Momentarily stunned, he says nothing; you note his hands clench into firsts before loosening, promptly hidden behind his back.

“Lady Tyrell.” He greets with leer, and you have, by now, realised that the brothers only refer to you as that when they are deeply displeased or wish to wound you—to remind you that you are not family, despite growing up with them, despite loving them, despite being promised to one of them. And from Aemond, your name sounds particularly dull, as if you were nothing but a passing acquaintance.

You would like to think that it does not hurt, to think you had felt worse, and surely will feel worse in the future – this court and it’s secrets and it’s deceit will wear you down, eventually, as it does to most. But it does hurt. It’s a small poke to a wound that’s barely scabbed and prone to bleeding.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry.” He comments when you don’t respond, “Pray tell where is it that you’re running. Or is someone chasing you, perhaps?”

You keep your smile cordial, “I have important news for your mother the Queen I wish to deliver. Excuse me.”

You brush past him, but his firm hand on your forearms halts you, “I’m curious about this news. Indulge me?”

Even through layers of linen and leather his touch burns you. You would shrug him off, if only it did not feel so pleasant, “It is best kept between your mother the Queen and I, my prince.” His face does not change at the nickname. You recall when he was young, when his cheeks would blaze bright by your call.

He had been gentle once, pliant in your hands. You could have moulded him into anything you wished to.

Vhagar never gave you the chance.

He chuckles—it’s a deep, hoarse sound somewhere in the back of his throat, “Something even I can’t know? My, must be of the gravest importance.”

“It is.”

His hold slackens and you break free. Two steps are all you manage to take before, “Pretty dress.” He says, and it’s an indolent remark. You turn back, “Is there an occasion for it?”

“I’m a Tyrell.” You remind, “I have many pretty dresses, as you should know.”

“I was only curious if there was someone you wished to impress by wearing it.”

“If that were the case, that would only be my future husband, who, as it seems, does not care much for my efforts. I must away, now.”

“Husband, you say?” He wonders aloud, mirthless, “If memory recalls you have been promised to a few.”

“Yet I’m set to marry only one.”

He hums, “Yes, though, you were quite adamant in breaking off that engagement as well—or am I wrong, Lady Tyrell?”

He’s so smug with his observations, so effortlessly poised despite pointing a dagger to your throat. You swallow, and your composure cracks—that smile you had practiced so many times in the mirror falls, “I should think a prince would have better things to do than insult his lady wife,” You speak, “but once again, you Targaryens prove to be unpredictable. If you have nothing else to say—“

“Did you see my brother?” He questions, and his eye is fixed on you, watching carefully for any unplanned movement, any twitch and pull of a lie.

“I have,” You admit, “and if you must know, he is why I must see the Queen in the first place.”

“And it is so important that you can’t even tell me.”

You take a step closer, frowning, hissing, “There’s a serving girl in my quarters, one of many to which he shows his affections, and unless you wish the line for the throne to be even more complicated than it already is, I suggest you leave this be.”

“In your quarters?” He raises a brow, “Pray tell, does she look like you as well?” His hand comes to touch your hair, but you swat it away with a slap. There’s faint amusement in his voice, though his features are as if set in stone, “Perhaps she even bares your name and title—“

You turn away. It’s a quick spin and retreat and you feel your throat closing, lashes trembling, molars grinding. But your back is straight, and your head is held high, and you think of Highgarden and the flowers, carefree days of tea ceremonies and rehearsals, as he continues talking, his voice growing further and further away. Once out of sight, you bitterly wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

He had been gentle once, how had he become so cruel?

Queen Alicent had always been most kind to you, and you had always supposed that she regarded you more as a daughter than her own—more as a child born out of her womb than any of the Targaryens she must call her children. Her sombre features were always quick to break into a smile in your presence, and she loved to hold your hands, trace the lines of your palms, and talk about anything, be it the weather. And when your presence is announced, by Ser Criston of all, she swiftly brakes away from her papers and stands to greet you.

Your exchange is quiet; voice soft, ruptured by a devotion you feel somewhere deep—it’s heavy, ivory, without it you’d feel like missing a bone. You report dutifully, as any good-mannered lady should, of the vile actions of the Prince. She is not astounded by the news, and meets it with a tilted head and a small grimace.

Arrangements are made to brew a tea for the poor girl waiting in your bedchamber. Before you leave Alicent calls after you gently, “I know that you are innocent.”

That dark, red room full of incense flashes in your mind, and you glance at her. She smiles, “Ser Criston had…told me he had found you wandering on the hour of the owl.”

“I was only out to clear my head.”

“I know, my—“ She pauses, clears her throat, “I know, (Name). I know. But where I believe you, others may not, so I only ask of you this: no more. I know, I know you may feel…trapped, at times.” She says that word with such heaviness and hurt you feel she is no longer referring to you, “But,” She composes herself hastily, “but it’s the way it is. Such is our duty, as women of the court.”

“I understand, your grace.” You bow, “It was foolish of me. I shall never do so again.”

You see your murky reflection on the polished floor, the cap of your satin shoes embroidered and jewelled peeping out under the hems of your dress—the same shoes your wear to visit the poorest of districts in King’s Landing. The soles are no longer spotless and the rubies had been coated in a thin layer of dust. They don’t sparkle anymore with every step you take down the crumbled stairs. The peasantry sticks to corners, crevices, small nooks where they can hide and feel safe with the walls of their shabby homes protecting them. They watch you with weakly masked awe and distrust. The crowd of soldiers slinks behind you, keeping their distance by your request.

A flock of servant girls trail alongside, arms-linked and cheery, carrying woven baskets of fruit and silk you intend to give out to those less fortunate. It’s a bi-yearly trek, all of the sake of reputation. Your heart does neither weep nor ache at the sight of a sick child or a whoring mother selling her body to feed her family—these streets, with their filth and sweat and doleful hope, do not inspire much to you at all.

It’s a hot afternoon. You are all purged under the rays of the sun.

Your hands grasp smaller ones with a twirl, and you smile and laugh with the children you pulled into a short dance, “My lady!” One of the servant girls squeak, “You’ll ruin your dress!”

“I have others.” You respond easily. The children hold you so tightly you think they do not want to let you go.

“My lady,” As evening slowly draws across the sky, one of your handmaidens springs to your side with a whisper, “I must inform you of what I’ve heard.” Your head barely tilts to the side, so her lips would speak into your ear only. The streets swim with patrons; your guards march in the back with their armour reflecting the setting sun, “Though, I fear to even speak it, for, my lady, sweet and gentle as you are, you may faint.”

Gracefully, your hand extends, and she produces a linen cloth on which you wipe away the grime from your fingers, “Things seldom surprise me anymore, Laenora.” You utter. The hike to the castle is long, and your legs have grown tired and smile stiff from all this theatre, “But if you feel as though it is something I may not care for, save it for yourself.”

“I think you should know, my lady, though it’s no subject for one pure as you.”

“Do not speak of purity here, Laenora. These people do not know of it.”

“Indeed, my lady, and thus you find my conflict. The news I bare comes from the mouths of the women themselves, and I trust their secrets, as they trust in your coin. It’s about the brothers, see—both of them have become frequent visitors of the Street of Silk.” She nearly mouths the name, repulsed to even voice it. A frown lines her lips and her eyes gleam with sadness—surely, you would find this news most unpleasant, especially since your husband-to-be is entangled in this hearsay.

The news of Aegon is hardly news at all, and Aemond, despite his mostly polite behaviour, is still a man. Perhaps he had taken your comments to heart, “…I see.” Is all you manage to say. It’s not disappointment you feel, though it’s not nothing, either.

“But that is not all, my lady,” Laenora resumes, “no, not at all, for what comes next is, I’m afraid, what may shock you still.”

“Well, speak it.” You state plainly, lifting your dress to trudge up the stairwell—the expanse of the castle looms ahead, towering under the gem-blue sky.

“The women had told me, yes, they’ve said, and I could find no lie, for they love coin,  their truth is bought, much like their bodies—see, my lady, they indeed confessed, that once the princes come to visit, they only request girls that bare your likeness.”

You inhale sharply and your heart tumbles to the pit of your stomach, as if you missed a step by accident. You glance at her, and she is as serious as she ever was, apologetic, almost, to have to relay such indecencies. You recall what Aegon had hinted at many moons ago, and now it all suddenly makes sense.

“…This is…” You begin, not certain how to weave all of your thoughts into a coherent sentence, “Well…”

“Troubling news, my lady, I know.” She murmurs, and her hands come to hold yours tenderly, as if you would bear the weight of this secret easier if it’s shared between two, “I’m sorry, but you must know, I fear, you must.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone else. Not a soul.”

“I will not, my lady, this I swear; it shall be kept between us only.”

The next you see Aemond is by the dinner table doused in candle-light. The old walls of the Keep echo with silent chatter and clanking cutlery, Aegon’s offbeat laugh or loud jousting of his cup. The King is much too ill to ever join for supper anymore—he you see little, only when invited by the Queen herself to pay a visit. The Lord Hand keeps the King’s seat warm whilst he’s resting. You had noticed this subtle shift in power veer and spill over into blatant occupation. The décor had changed, too: all gloomy and wooden and in reverence to the Seven.

Aemond does not look at you; he seems to skip you as his gaze roams around the table.  He is still at cross with you, and when you meet the next day in Helaena’s room, he hardly speaks a word.

The weeks shift into months and your name day looms over the horizon. The fog-laden morning in King’s Landing brims with sleep. The Dragon Pit reeks of flesh and blood and odour, and you have trouble keeping your grimace at bay. You shift in your armour: thousands of leather straps dyed in deep evergreen and fashioned to hold by pins of silver baring the Tyrell crest.

Sunfyre trails the clouds before stooping to the roof with a mighty roar. The sound nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. Aegon, beside you, laughs merrily, “Sister!” He calls you; the ground shakes as Sunfyre lands, a smelting hot breath of putrid air gushing past the lot of you, “Ride with me, why don’t you?”

“Aegon!” Helaena scolds, fixing her gloves, “Must you jest now?” Her own dragon, Dreamfyre, is being escorted from the Pit, mollified and gentle, much like her. The dragon-keepers speak in High Valerian – what they say is beyond you, and though the language is beautiful, it’s too sharp, like a whip, or a gleaming tooth of a dragon, “Sister,” Her loving smile calms you, if only for a moment, “you needn’t be nervous—“

But her words are drowned in a far-off roar that cracks the sky into two. Aegon is still laughing as he saddles Sunfyre, staring into the swirling clouds and at the vague shape of a massive body casting an even greater shadow. The Queen shakes her head and closes her eyes, as if to shield herself from an upcoming headache. Noting your gaze on her, her lips twitch into a painful smile, “We shall see you shortly. It will be a…” She glances up, “A…quick flight, I recon.”

And there, from the forming storm clouds emerges Vhagar with a splint of sunlight raining down with her. She circles the Pit, slowing, before, gradually, she descends and you note a mane of white hair twirling from behind her head. You hold onto Helaena as she clings to you from the fearsome quake: dust dances in the air a hot vapour slices past your cheeks. The keepers gather, sharp staffs in hand and faces healed in boils, ushering you closer with curt, displeased motions. You dare not move.

You had met Vhagar only twice and it was enough to dissuade you from ever meeting her again. It’s her eyes that frighten you most, ancient and intelligent—she has seen cities burn and be raised again from the ground up, and had, surely, been part of many of such conquests. She’s massive, a body that radiates heat and smoke, with glimmering scales and acute, angular bones. You must crank your neck to look at her, and you grind your jaw to keep your lips from trembling.

This, you think, is what all of it had been for: all of your lessons and ceremonies and late-night dance practices. Perhaps even your own conception. Born and raised to get the only thing the great families of the Seven Kingdoms do not have – dragons. It doesn’t matter which. Power is power, and one breath from either Dreamfyre or Vhagar would leave but a charred shape of you on the floor.

You taste dirt and blood on your tongue, but your features set into grim determination. The leather is uncomfortable and it scathes your skin, but you try your best to ignore it. I’m no warrior, your mind sounds discouraged, I’m not made for this. But your dread hardly matters, if at all. It’s their world and their rules, and the Targaryens have never been considerate.

The keepers help you up, and as you climb, Aemond extends his hand for you to take. Whether he feels the quiver of your body or not is hardly a concern—the beast rumbles beneath you, and one wrong move and you may fall and injure yourself, perhaps incurably. You keep your eyes strained downward anticipating any sudden shift or warning of Vhagar’s discontent. It never comes.

Plopped onto the saddle in front of Aemond, you feel his chest hit your back; silken hair frays in the sides of your vision, and his chin dips to touch your shoulder, “You best hold on tight.” You hear the smirk in his voice more than see it, and your fingers clench around the reigns so tightly they go numb. His arms cage around your waist, “Would you like to steer her?”

“Aemond.” You hiss.

“Surely you know the way to your own home better than I.”

Sunfyre takes off with a gust of wind and a howl; Vhagar stirs beneath you, “I trust your memory, my prince,” You state, “for if you can find my room in the shadows of the night, surely you’ll be able to navigate to Highgarden in broad daylight.”

He stiffens, and the last you hear before take-off is a shout in High Valerian that nearly deafens you.

You feel like something tore out of you and was left with Queen Alicent watching her children fly Reach-ward—your stomach drops and you feel sluggish and heavy, as if the ground was calling back to you. The wind tears at you and it’s so strong that it makes your eyes water and lips frost; in daze, you fall into Aemond’s embrace. He’s mercifully silent about holding your weight. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it.

The dragons dance and weave through the clouds. Dew collects on your armour and your nose and it’s so cold you barely catch your breath—but then the vistas open, great plain fields and far off mountains soaked in sunlight, the castles and halls of the Red Keep and the maze of the city all minuscule, toy-like, as if made from clay and wax. The world seems to fit in the palm of your hand. Momentarily, you lift it, as if to touch that great expanse, and you laugh, bell-like and wondrous.

“Told you!” Heleana shouts through the noise of flapping wings, “You needn’t be afraid, sister!”

You flash her a smile before Dreamfyre dips and rushes to catch up to Aegon. The journey continues for hours before the first stop. You ride along with the sun, and when night falls, you slumber in the grassy fields under the starry sky, and take flight once more when day breaks.

Its high noon and tears have dried in the creases of your eyes.  Your muscles are stiff and aching and your arms and thighs sting from the imprints of fine leather. Before you, the alabaster towers of Highgarden manifest and grow larger. You lean in as your skin prickles with anticipation – finally, after years of playing at court, you are home.

Yellow-violet wild-flowers swim in your vision. Rose-vines cling to sturdy, ivory stone and sling from windowsills—the air is tinted with pollen, and the ground underneath your feet has never been so unsteady. A flock of servants and soldiers greet you in the outskirts of the city, and the girls hold your arms and all you can see are their grinning faces and flushed cheeks as they dote on you.

“Oh, my lady, Gods be good, you poor, poor woman—“

“—your hands, oh, gracious be the Seven!” One aches once she pulls off you glove.

“—and your hair—“

“—everyone has already gathered awaiting your return—“

“—you must feel faint, my lady, please, away with us—“

“Someone fetch the honey-wine! What had the royal cooks been feeding you—“

“—and the rose-water! Oh, I dread to think—”

“---prepare the oils! This way, my lady—“

“—come, come please, mind your step—“

Aegon’s hearty laugh does little to distract them from their mission. They seat in you a plush, velvety chair in the shade of a white linen tent, and they are quick to fetch the brushes and silk cloths wet with warm rose water and dab fragrant oils under your jaw. Helaena is soon seated beside you, and she’s much more receptive to the loving touches of the maids. They wipe the sweat off of her forehead and rouge her cheeks, fix her braids and help her pick a dessert from the assortment of buns, tarts, pies, glossed, syrupy candy, and melted chocolate cups.

The princes watch the scene unfold with varying states of amusement—Aegon seems ready to burst from laugher and Aemond does not seem to be affected at all, save for the brow he had raised once one of the maids remarked about the stench. It pervades, the smell of dragon, of warm blood and sweat and torn flesh, and it seems to cling to your skin no matter how many oils the maids rub into it. They are dissatisfied with such and entrance, and regard the Targaryens and their large pets with cautious, bleary eyes and pouted lips.

It must seem so silly to the princes, this exuberant greeting. But they fail to understand where they are. Helaena giggles as she sips wine mixed with honey; the girls brush her hair, the pointy edges of golden pins shining when caught in light. One word from you and the maids would slip something into the drink or the powder that coats the princess’ cheeks; weave poison into her robes, or the guards, with a raise of your hand, would slit their throats now or when they slept.

They’re in the court of roses, now. They hold no power here. No one outside the Reach does.

Once the servant girls decide that you’re presentable, a carriage of refined wood and silver ornaments rolls around. They lead Helaena to it, holding her hands and smiling at her words, though you know they likely do not understand what she’s saying. You seldom do, as well. Prince Aegon takes a seat by his wife, already nursing his second cup and entertained without end, delighted by such attention.

A guard brings you a steed, white as snow and smooth as satin, the finest horse in our stables, he says. It’s a lovely mare, and you gently run your hand down its snout. You smile, and it’s just a tad happier than it usually is, “She’s beautiful. Thank you.”

You mount her easily, and this saddle is much more confortable. “Will you not join us in the carriage, my betrothed?” Aemond questions.

You glance at him, “In full armour? I think not. We shall speak more in the castle. After the ceremonies, that is.”

“I should like to ride a horse as well, then.”

“Why? Haven’t had enough of your dragon?”

He grins, though you’re entirely certain he’s mocking you, “I only think it wise that husband and wife should meet the kind people of Highgarden alongside one another. Or would you disagree?”

The guards and stable-hands turn away from Aemond’s prompting look and seek your guidance instead. Bored, you comment, “Get him a horse.”

“Right away, my lady.”

The gates part to the sound of trumpets. The carriage rolls in first, and then you follow along with Aemond, who, despite getting what he had wanted, seems personally slighted by the act of your servants. Petals dance in the air and coat the road underneath the wheels of the carriage. The noise is deafening—people are clapping, waving, celebrating and singing, with their flowers and cups held high over their heads. The royal family rejoices at such reverence, but you know, and it’s a prideful inkling in your chest that these crowds had gathered for you.

You, only daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, you, wonderful lady Tyrell, you, princess-to-be in the wake of your name day have returned home. To them it would seem no different than as if you had returned from war. The twin dragons, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, take to the sky. The crowd screams in delight at the display. As you weave through the roads leading up to the castle, you don’t stop smiling.

Past the blooming gardens and twinkling fountains, bakeries and shops of finest silks, smithies and jewellers and ripe orchids next to stained glass Septs. High ranking lords and ladies gather by the castle, and your path is paved by yellow roses. There’s music, fragments of sonnets lost to the rhythmical sound of drums, and the air is tinted with so many fragrances that it makes your head spin.

You dismount and dip your head in greeting before entering the castle you grew up in. The hall is lined with soldiers bearing the Tyrell crest and only marginally quieter than outside. The painted ceiling is just as you remember it – vivid and detailed, a depiction of the mythical reign of the first King of the Reach. It’s all gold and ivory and intricate carvings on polished wood. The Red Keep pales in the shadow of this opulence.

At the very end of the hall you spot your father sat in his seat, not unlike a throne. Beside him stands your mother, smothered in her silks and shawls and great luminescent pearls. She’s smiling to herself in the same way she has taught you how, and their position in the very back of the room on the chequered floor reminds you of chess.

This is nothing but a game, too.

You halt, and the Targaryen children stop behind you, silenced by the grandiosity of their surroundings.

“Lady Paramount of the Mander, daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South,” The announcer’s voice rings shrill in the silence, “Lady (Name) Tyrell.”

“It’s good to see you again, father.” You voice.

“Along with come the princes of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the children of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms: Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena Targaryen.”

Aegon leans over to you with a whisper, “…Not much of an introduction in comparison.”

Welcome to the court of roses, you wish to say. You only smile.

Your name day is but in three months, and if all the lords and ladies that matter wish to attend, the invitations need to be sent out immediately. Your day is spent signing letters and melting in hot steam baths. You return to your room late into the evening.

It is just how you have left it that many years ago, large and spotless, aired out well. You smell flowers, and when you move to your bedside window, from it you see the rose gardens and a fountain in which you would throw coins into with a wish. What was it that you had wished for? You can’t recall, but you know it had been something dear, something that made you hold the coin to your heart and shut your eyes real tight. But what could a girl that has everything even dream of? You suppose you’ll never know.

Despite the rough journey, sleep does not come. When the fires are blow out and the castle is silent, you leave your room. The guards standing watch merely dip their head in acknowledgement—you know that, even if the King himself demanded them to state where you had left, they wouldn’t say a word, not unless your father ordered them. Their loyalty to the crown only goes as far as you.

It would be a fib to admit that when you entered the library, you hadn’t expected to find Aemond there. Perhaps the only reason you only came here is for the fact that you knew he could not sleep, either. You felt it, in your heart of hearts, and you went into the room quietly, almost anxious to disturb the sacred peace that pervades it.

It’s a large space, lined by tall bookshelves full of heavy old tomes. The collection of scrolls and books is almost as impressive as in Old Town, if not more—most of them had been collected from the great ages past, gifts from Targaryen kings or bought from the best treasure hunters in Essos. There are relics fished out the Narrow Sea and sunken treasures; custom busts from the Westerlands and diadems from  the Vale; cases of old Dornish armour and even fragments of engraved stone from Sothoryos, or so the legends go. The air smells like dry parchment, ink, and sandalwood. If Aemond were to explore any place in Highgarden, it would be here.

He’s sat by a large table with a book in hand, and he has changed out of his coat and leather into pale linen robes. The flickering light paints strange shadows on his face, and you must admit that to you, standing there, between the arches, he looks lovelier than anything you had ever seen. His eye lifts to catch you and the book shuts harshly. His jaw moves, and he slowly sets his reading down.

“Out on one of your walks, I take it.” He mutters. You hum, pretend to be interested in a book pressed in leather in vellum. The printed title reads THE HISTORY OF HOUSE TYRELL, “Is this your first stop?”

“The night is young,” You say, not at all troubled by his tone, “and I am home after many years.” You glance at him, “I shall walk where I please.”

He opens the book again, though his eye does not move to skim the pages, “How did it end, by the way?” He says just a tad louder, “With that servant girl in your room.”

“With tea.”

“I heard the taste is quite bitter.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How curious.”

“Why is that I am prosecuted from a crime I did not commit?” You question, drawing closer, “I don’t understand, Aemond, what had I done to upset you. Should I swear in the Sept for you to believe me? Or take off my clothes so you could check for yourself?”

He pauses mid-turn of a page, and his eye grows wider in the dim light. He turns to you and you smile, satisfied with such a reaction.

“Awfully quick to suggest that, (Name).” He bites, leaving the book once more. He stands, and his anger is made clear by a scowl, “Must you always disrobe yourself to prove the truth?”

“Why, my proposal was most innocent in nature,” You say, “I figured that, seeing as my lips speak only lies, my actions would persuade you to drop this hearsay, since you would be able to see for yourself. Though,” You feign exhaustion with a shrug and a sigh, “I suppose there’s not much to expect when you have only one eye to see now, is there, husband?”

His fingers cage around your wrist and pull, harshly. “Release me at once.” You snarl, trying to break free. His touch burns under the raw imprints left by your armour. Pain shoots up your arm. He does not budge.

You hit his chest, and when he refuses to back down, you hit it again, “I shall have your hand for that.” He says, grasping the other.

“Then take it.” You hiss, “Take it and my tongue, as you had sworn to do on many occasions. Keep on your promise, my prince, for I shall come to think you dishonour your word.” You reel in, glare into his eye, “And what good is a man that does not keep his word?”

He breathes out, his lips quirking with a smile, “As you wish.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss that knocks the air out of your lungs, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you flush against him. Your hands plant on his shoulders, and in retaliation you bite his lip which only serves him to push you to the wall. Your head aches but neither of you let go, limbs tangled and breaths spent, nails clawing at his shirt and his fingers tearing at your dress.

You taste copper and when he pulls away his lips are swollen, the lower bleeding from your bite. You stare at it, transfixed, and when you meet his gaze you feel dizzy for no one had ever regarding you with such desire. He steps back, releases you, and you feel weak in the knees. He wipes the remains of the kiss from his lips with the back of his hand, “…Satisfied?” He asks. His voice is hoarse and your heart leaps faster just so you could hear more of it. Your jaw clenches, lips thinning into a line. He grins, “I take your silence as a resounding yes, then. Do have a good night, Lady Tyrell.”

The celebration of your tenth and eight name day begins well into the morning, with Tyrell banners fluttering in the wind. Heaps of flowers decorate every corner, and even the townies that are not invited to the feast done their best robes in case you would be wandering around. The main hall brews with life once the sun sets beneath the horizon—candles and incense, silk shawls, gold and glass roses, the finest delicacies coin can buy.

The pile of gifts grows larger—from Pentosian rugs made from the richest yarn, pearl encrusted porcelain eggs for jewellery, to amber pins and rings from the Summer Sea. The lords, with their sons and daughters, keep adding to the mass that crams the table. The King, sick as he is, does not manage to hide the awe from his features, “Those are some fine riches.” He tells the Queen.

She smiles, slightly, taking a sip of her drink, “Indeed. Perhaps rivalling the Lannister dowry, even.”

“Your daughter is most beloved.” Says the King to your mother.

“She is, truly,” She agrees, her eyes catching you dancing with a lord from Old Town, “and there had been many that fought for her hand. Many of which had been your cousins, your grace.” This she says to the Queen.

“We figured,” Your father continues, “that it would be best to marry her to someone we know and trust.” He glances at Lord Otto Hightower seated by the Queen.

“And thus, combining our strength and our armies,” Your mother smiles at the King, “and the rich history between our houses. A splendid union, I believe.”

“Aegon would have been a good husband.” The King notes. The said man himself is drowning cups by a table full of ladies from the Vale.

“That we do not doubt.” Your mother chirps, “Only we thought, and we acted in the interested of the crown and its people, that a Prince Targaryen should have a Targaryen wife.”

“My son’s not the king,” Viserys says, “why on earth should it matter?”

Your mother glances at Lord Hightower, “Yet he is the first-born son, and so, privy to tradition.”

“How well said.” The Queen mumbles.

“What is more, your grace,” Lord Otto speaks up, “we have noticed a…growing affection between Lady (Name) and Prince Aemond.”

“Truly, they had always gotten along beautifully.” Your mother remarks.

“And is it not better to wed from love?” Your father proposes.

The King looks to his wife, and he is old, and weary, and he regards her with something akin to sadness, “…I suppose you are right, Lord Tyrell. A marriage born from love,” He holds her hand weakly, and something within Alicent cracks cleanly into two, “is a fine, strong union. I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.”

As parents continue their idle chatter, you bow to the lord that had been keeping you on your feet for a while now. The dance is over and you’re spent, and as soon as you lift your head a glass of wine is placed in your hand, one you gulp down greedily. The visitors clap as the musicians tune their instruments. Aegon is whispering to a blushing maiden dressed in pale blue; Helaena is smitten with a Baratheon Lord that keeps suggesting her pastries; Aemond sits alone, watching, his drink grasped tightly in his hand.  

Before you catch a break, a Lannister lord saunters over, requesting a dance. You’re much too giddy to deny him. His advances are halted when the King takes a stand, and the hall falls into a hush. He smiles, though it seems more as a grimace, and holds up his cup in a toast, “I wish to say a few words, if the lady of the house permits me.” He begins, and his request is directed at you, one you graciously accept with a shy dip of your head, “Many years ago, I, too, was ten and eight, and not nearly as smart nor as charming as our deeply treasured flower of the court.” The crowd laughs, and your hands land on your beating heart, “It is a privilege, I do think,” He continues, “to call you family, and a great honour to have you wed my son.”

Your eyes flick in Aemond’s direction, only to find him already looking at you.

“Thus I toast to your health and beauty and eagerly look forward to saying yet another speech at your wedding.”

The crowd cheers. You can barely contain your joy. The Lannister lord tries his luck yet again, though this time Aemond replaces him. The former tries to protest but one look and he retreats, frightened. You can’t help but laugh. The musicians strum a tune.

“And here I figured,” You speak, palms aligned with his; you circle one another, at ease, despite in the peripherals of everyone in attendance, “you wouldn’t dance with me.”

“I’m only performing my duties as your husband.”

You snort and spin and your dress fluffs and the ornaments in your hair jingle, “Not yet.”

Somewhere deep down you know you should be angry with him and his coldness, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“But soon.” His hands fall on your waist and he lifts you, “Have you thought much of it? Our wedding.”

“Mother hardly lets me speak a word of anything else.” You state, passing him; you fall a step back, “She’s deeply concerned with the invitations. And seating arrangements.” You comment slyly, as if divulging a great conspiracy.

A smile pinches on the side of his lips, “It’s awfully long, I recon.”

“Every lord and lady worth a coin will be invited. If only to sit outside and watch from afar.”

Your arm slinks around his shoulders and he pulls you close, his nose brushing your cheek, “Do I have a say in this arrangement?” But his voice is missing its usual sarcastic drawl.

He’s light on his feet, refined. You would expect nothing else from a brilliant swordsman, “Only if you wish.” You murmur into his ear.

“Then I should like to wed you alone.” He says as you part, “With no audience.”

“Do you not fancy the Lannister lords?” You raise a brow, “I do think they’re quite funny.”

“I don’t fancy any lords.” He states, “Least of all, the Lannisters.”

You twirl with a laugh, “Then let us invite no one,” You sing, “and let our witness be the moon.”

“Considering how fond our families are of theatrics, I doubt such a thing would work.”

Reunited once again, you stand close as the floor floods with dancers, “I shall not tell if you won’t.” You say, glancing at his lips.

He exhales harshly and lets you go. So ends your dance. Your arm is locked with Helaena’s and you’re spun once more.

The festivities continue long into the night, even after you retire. Drowsy and drunk and barely able to stand, you unclasp the necklaces and lose the gloves, throw it all onto the vanity. Your earrings, then, and at last, the pins and ornaments in your hair, and you see your dazed reflection in the mirror, and you smile to yourself, buzzing. Usually, you would not allow yourself such indulgence, even alone. But there is no one around, and you are ten and eight, and you are young, and beautiful, and happy.

And absolutely wine-drunk. Aegon made sure of the fact.

Incense curls into white smoke. Your room drowns in candle light.

The door slowly creaks open and you startle, heart skipping a beat when a tall, slender figure enters and shuts it behind him. Aemond is still in his festive robes, though his shirt is unbuttoned, and his hair is frazzled from the wind. He briefly marvels at the pinks, greens, and lavenders of your room. Such soft colours.

“You should not be here.” You say, though it’s hardly a request to leave.

“Your dogs made my journey quite a hassle.” He says, voice rasp, thoughtful. He’s referring to your guards, “One was most adamant to not let me through.” There’s a note of warning in his tone.

You smile, tilt your head, “They have a sworn duty to protect me.”

“He swayed my hand.”

You quirk a brow, “Surely you didn’t hurt the pup?”

He hums, approaching, “As I said,” but when close enough, he doesn’t move to touch you, “He swayed my hand.”

“I shall need to have a talk with my father, then.” You remark, “For if only one tried to defend my honour, we have little use for the rest that did not.”

His hand lands on the side of your jaw—it’s rough from training, yet all the more pleasant. “I thought you stuck to your quarters on the hour of the owl.” You murmur.

His gaze jumps between your eyes, “You know very well that I do not.” He admits, “Where were you, that night?”

“Out to see my mother.”

“Why?”

You gulp, “I couldn’t sleep. I waited for you, but you never came.”

“I did.” He says, “But you were already gone by then. Why not tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t have.”

“You hurt me, you know.” You tell him.

“And I fear that if you marry me,” His thumb caresses your cheek, “I may hurt you yet.”

You smile, “That is a risk I am willing to take. Only if you promise to never be so harsh with me again.”

“I am unworthy of you.”

Your lips, once again, grace the ragged skin of his scar, “You’re a worthy prince, I know‘t.”

He kisses you again, though it’s soft this time, tender, and you can taste the wine in his mouth. His arms snake around your waist and your tangle into his hair, carding through it.

“I have craved your mouth,” He murmurs as he breaks away, peppering kisses down your neck, “for a long time. As a man in the desert craves cool water. And now that I have you,” Once you’re face to face again, your fingers gently pull at his eye-patch, “How could I ever think to let you go?”

“Then don’t.” You whisper, and finally, he’s unmasked; the leather falls to the floor, forgotten, and the prettiest emerald you had even seen glimmers in candlelight.

“Is that what you want?”

“It is what I had always wanted.”

He kisses you again, and it is as if you are back in the library, no longer fighting the passion that grew over the years. His hand sweeps over the vanity and all of its continents fall to the floor, though neither of you care enough to part. And as you’re seated, legs parted, and his warm hands working on the knots in your corset, the party continues with music and howls of joy. The visitors dance and wine is spilled and the moon shines through the clouds, illuminating a shooting star.

But they feast on foals at dawn.

The Red Keep quakes with a wail. In one wing, Helaena is crumbled to the floor, screaming, pressing her dead child to her chest as if her beating heart would wake him.

On the other side of the castle, you watch as first sunlight casts on the cradle drenched in blood. Maids buzz around you and cry, and all you can do is stare at the forming puddle on the polished tiles before you fall to your knees, your fingers gripping at your stomach. Your girl, your only one, long awaited and beloved, dead before her first name day.

The Gods are cruel and war is kind to no one. You don’t recognise the sound that leaves your lips. You hardly comprehend the pain. There are hands pulling at you but all you can see is the blood. How red it is, and how much it looks like fire in the light.

Fire and blood, have you not lost enough?

FIRE & BLOOD, EXCERPTS FROM THE CHAPTER “FLOWER OF THE COURT”

Princess (Name) Targaryen, nee Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden, was the only daughter of the Lord Tyrell and his lady wife. She came to court young in preparation to marry Prince Aegon II as a conspiracy to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as concocted by the shared interest to unite the forces between the Tyrell and Hightower families. The circumstances as to the switch between the princes is unknown, though it is said that Prince Aemond and, then Lady, (Name), were deeply in love and had requested to marry.  […] Their friendship was solid and love unwavering, and it said that they got along well as children and were even closer as adults.

[…] Princess (Name) was kind and deeply beloved by the court and peasantry alike, and she is said to have loved her people in return. Her selflessness is, to this, day, remembered, and a garden of the best flowers from the Reach has been tended to in the Keep in her honour ever since […].

[…] with the death of Prince Lucerys […] came the death of Prince Jaehaerys, the heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Visenya, daughter of Princess (Name) and Prince Aemond Targaryen. The deaths of the children took a terrible toll on the Greens and greatly weakened their resolve. […].

Soon after the dance began, Princess (Name), along with numerous servants and her mother, died in the siege led by Prince Daemon Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen did not find out of her passing till […].

And so ended the summer of Princess (Name)’s reign and came to the winter of her wake. Her father, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South, remarried shortly after, though it is said that he never recovered from the death of his daughter and lady wife.

notes: ty everyone for such a warm & loving response from everyone regarding this fic <3 i unexpected fell in love w it & i’m so glad to see that u have, too! this chapter was supposed to feature like 10 more things, but i couldn’t add all of that since then a) it would be too long, b) narrative wise, it would drag on & not make sense. i might write some one shots regarding these two, though ^_^ thanks again, everyone! can’t wait to see my babygirl in season 2

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #game of thrones #imagine #imagines #got x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #aemond one eye #angst #autumn features 2022

[cupofteainme]

I've been so happy with queer representation in Young Royals. I also have notes. Here are some musings about season three.

We didn't get to see many ripple effects of Wille coming out in the show, but trust me, the world changed the moment he held that speech at the end of season two.

Nils and Stedrica

Nils found the courage to come out to his best friends. We don't know how much he was directly affected by Wilhelm. The common struggle with restrictions and the the graduation seemed to tighten the bond between August, Vincent and Nils. Honesty was a strong thread of the season. Wille's confession inspired students to come forward about iniations, later even August yelled at people to stop arguing and to just be sad about Hillerska closing—to be honest about their feelings.

We can make a mental leap and say that Nils was affected by these events and found his courage to be more honest. He also complimented Wille on his bravery and asked the prince if he regretted coming out and Wille answered with a firm no.

I liked how Nils said that he 'sleeps with guys'. You could see how hard it was for him to tell him friends. In season two Nils uses the word 'gay' about himself to Wille. I like how YR shows how people can use different definitions of themselves in different situations or choose to be unlabeled. I got a feeling that this was a huge first step on Nils' journey to accept that part of himself.

Stella and Fredrika are minor characters so they didn't get much screentime regarding their romance. Them ending up together was motivated by something the show explored in season two with Simon, Marcus and Wilhelm—jealousy. While I enjoyed Rosh being frustrated with her gaydar, Stedrica's arc left me wanting. In season two, Stella told Sara that she hesitates to make a move on Fredrica in fear of losing her beast friend if they break up later and things get awkward.

In season three we weren't shown what made Stella feel like she and Fredrica have a good enough chance to succeed in their relationship to put their friendship on the line. It's a shame. I would have loved to see some character development.

The audience is introduced to the sexual side of Stedrica straight after the white party when emotions ran high, Rosh was there to hit more on Stella and the teens were drinking and partying their hearts out. At the time of Stedrica's hook-up Wilmon were broken up, demonstrating exactly what Stella was afraid of—losing the other person completely. We can say that Wilmon didn't set up an encouraging example for them.

Even though Frederica's face looks blissful with Stella, I'm left wondering, am I supposed to read their kissing as a passing fancy that they can play down as part of their friendship again. ("every girl makes out with her best friend while drunk")

I was hoping for some connection to the main story with their arc. It could have been something with honesty, one remark from Stella to Madison for example: "I can't keep lying to my best friend."

Choosing the foundation

Queer matters were lifted to the table and discussed in the scene where Wille needs to pick his charity. Good for Simon for encouraging Wille to use his platform. I especially loved hearing that Wille knows how his love for Simon is changing the world. Not bad for a sixteen year old who's been out of the closet for five seconds.

Let me say this clearly: Queer people don't have to represent a group they identify with, not even Crown Prince Wilhelm. A young person's identity is rarely so strong yet, that they have the strength to carry the public's negative reactions. We saw how much online hate hurt Simon. He and Wille both have the right to protect their identities and relationship. Simon deserved better help with his social media.

Wille told Simon in season one that he doesn't want to say anything (referring to the sex video). At the end of season two, Wille took it back in his speech, but his attitude didn't change. It was a part Wille wanted to keep as private as he could. Over time, Wille could talk about both his mental health and his queerness more openly and in a way that would affect change. He has time to do so when he grows up.

I thought that the pressure for Wille to use his queer identity for good press would have come from the monarchy. It was mentioned once when Farima talked about new royalists and then dropped altogether.

I don't know why YR wanted to differ from the real Swedish monarchy in this instant and rule out LGBTQIA topics as political, when in real life the Crown Princess has taken a stand for them. (Plot reasons, duh, but it's irritating. I was under the impression that for example the amount of LGBTQIA rights and the discrimination LGBTQIA people face are on the same level in real life Sweden and in the YR universe. When one detail doesn't match, it makes the whole foundation wobbly).

That said, LGBTQIA rights don't exist in a vacuum. Sport and health foundation is a brilliant and super topical place to advance non-discrimination and inclusion in sport. Wille could advance LGBTQIA rights without drawing attention to himself when he's underage, perhaps still figuring out his identity and in his first relationship with a boy.

I can't stress enough how impactful it would be to have a queer Crown Prince (or King!) patronage a sport foundation. We can see that the pictures in the launch event of the foundation are taken with diversity in mind. Even if this is a PR strategy on the Court's part, people far removed from the court are going to work in those charities every day. And what do people think about when they see Wille's name and title associated with the foundation? The answer is not a straight boy playing football.

I hoped that YR would have shown in more concrete way that Wille understood the positive impact his queerness brings to people. We got a moment like that with Simon on the First of May when he was asked to take a picture. He got to feel like a role model. Wille could have had a similar encounter at his birthday or even at Hillerska. I feel like the show very carefully avoided to give Wille any good experiences related to the monarchy.

Is there homophobia at Hillerska?

There is a disconnect in how much hate we see Simon get, how Wille is not allowed to support queer rights versus how casual and obvious being queer is to Hillerska students. We saw girls at Hillerska openly kissing next to August in season two. Nobody batted an eye. The students of Hillerska knew it was Wille in the video and there was gossip but no negative reactions.

Young Royals seemingly treats queerness as a neutral or positive thing—even the biggest bully Vincent is not a homophobe and supports Nils when he comes out. Simon's parents are cool with their son being gay. Wille gets personally no backlash after his speech (or at least we don't see him be affected by it as Simon is).

Season three paints a very gloomy picture in contrast. 1. Simon gets mostly negative comments online. These comments hit to where it hurts, into the intersection of Simon's identities (latino lover) and his aspirations with music (chacing clout). 2. Queen Kristina falls sick straight after her son comes out. 3. Erik took part in homophobic hazings that were a tradition at Hillerska.

We don't get to see instances of this homophobia in the school or in the interactions between students except in s2e4 in 'Wille to the table' scene when the Forest Ridge boys celebrate Wille kissing Felice (and conforming to the heteronormativity). It tells us that being straight is the preferred option.

Young Royals claims that homophobia is in the walls, it lives in traditions and institutions. I partly agree. Homophobia needs also people to survive and everyone at Hillerska was shocked and appalled by the hazings. That made it kinda feel like YR put homophobia on-call for plot reasons.

Where is my big scandal about homophobic monarchy?

The journalist in Sweden might have had a keen interest about the disappearance of their Queen from active duties especially when it coincided with Wilhelm's historical coming out speech. Any accusation about the Queen's homophobia would have been devastating for the Monarchy in a country where support for same sex marriages is over ninety percent. (Go Sweden!)

Media would also have a field day about the hazings and their connection to Erik. It's very recent history. The media would wonder if Erik was a victim and/or the perpetrator. No way there would be radio silence. The burning question would be if the freshly out-of-the-closet Crown Prince suffered from homophobic hazing as well.

In season one, Wilhelm had to give a statement about a video he denied being in. In season three Wille has just come out and it turns out that his school has messed up homophobic traditions, the Queen is unable to perform her duties and it's confirmed that somebody filmed the Crown Prince with another boy and uploaded the video. There is nothing 👀

Queer up!

Wille's character is not only queer for loving Simon but queer in the broader (queer theory) meaning of questioning the prevailing conditions by bringing in new ideas, like in season one: 'What if I just want to be with him and not say anything?'

Wille never had the tools to question his position morally or academicly. At the same time he always knew what he wanted at the emotional level. Simon helped Wille with these questions. They had talks about the monarchy and Wille said he was learning from Simon.

Simon was the catalyst for Wille to find his voice and to figure out what he wants his life to look like. More than that, Simon's character allowed the viewers to look into the life of the rich and powerful through queer theory's lens: questioning, revealing, challenging status quo.

Whatever direction their ways ago after the ending, Wille's and Simon's love will continue to make a difference.

#also gay sex is holy #long post #young royals analysis #young royals #young royals does queerness so well #stedrica #nils young royals

[saintsenara]

Hi! for the Snape asks game I propose you 1, 4, 45, 46, 48 and 49 . If that's too much you can cut it and keep only the ones you find interesting :))

thank you very much for the ask, @big-scary-bird! all of these were interesting :)

also tagging @bronzeagepizzeria here, since you asked the exact same sequence of questions.

[snape ask game here]

1. do you have a snOTP? what is it?

in an extremely cultured move… it’s severus snape/lord voldemort. i just think they belong together! once they move past the whole ‘using nagini to rip your throat out’ thing…

voldemort is obviously incredibly fond of snape - not only because he must recognise so much of himself in him (feral working-class children with muggle names and disappointing dads need to stick together, after all), but because they have a shared attitude towards magic, the defining force in both of their lives.

voldemort describes himself in goblet of fire as someone who dabbles in creating potions, we know he’s a great inventor of spells, and we - of course - know that he’s someone who’s experimented deeply with all sorts of magic, macabre or otherwise. in this, he understands snape’s attitude towards magic exactly - it’s clear in canon that one of the tensions between snape and dumbledore prior to half-blood prince is that dumbledore cannot countenance someone having even a theoretical interest in dark magic. but snape clearly does, even as his willingness to use that magic to harm and control disappears.

voldemort can appreciate that - it’s what he’s talking about when he tells harry that there is no good and evil, only power - and i can very easily picture the two of them ending up in bed together the first time when a discussion about potions theory got out of hand. you can decide for yourself if voldemort is still hot at this scenario…

it’s also clear from canon that voldemort is one of the few people in snape’s life who takes an active interest in improving it - snape must become a death eater because voldemort offers him a chance to transcend the restrictive class structure which rips opportunities away from poor half-bloods unless they have a slughorn-esque patron - which i think is an aspect of his personality which is too often overlooked.

plus - the adult snape clearly models how he speaks and comports himself on voldemort (seriously, they have near-identical speech patterns, they get a lot of the same movement and dialogue descriptors), which is cute. maybe the dark lord took him shopping for his first set of bat-like robes. (he did - he was getting sick of the brown corduroy bell-bottoms which snape was obsessed with in the seventies.)

and - of course - the reason that snape is the only death eater to whom voldemort teaches the principle of unaided flight is because they were going on lots of romantic midnight swoopings over the countryside. i love that for them.

4. do you think snape remained a virgin?

i don’t think it matters either way, but i think it is worth interrogating why saying no to this question often provokes the response that, if snape had slept around, then his love for lily would no longer be as profound or legitimate as it would have if he’d never had anyone else since he couldn’t have her.

the harry potter fandom has a real issue with conflating sex and love [just see any discussion of whether voldemort actually slept with bellatrix, even though it’s canon that he did] and with having slightly puritanical views on people having meaningless sex for no reason other than the fact that they enjoy it [it feels like every time i see a character written as promiscuous in something, it’s always because they have a reason™, usually a traumatic one, rather than because fucking is fun]. but indulging in sex for physical pleasure and pleasure alone does not make you any less capable of being stalwartly committed to the mission you took for yourself in honour of the dead love of your life. it’s just sex.

so no, i don’t think snape remained a virgin. all teachers need to blow off steam every once in a while, and i think he probably had a sequence of one night stands while on the piss in knockturn alley which meant nothing to him. i’m sure his capacity for self-loathing meant that he felt very bad for doing so, but that sounds like a him problem.

[as an aside, it also seems to me that the scepticism about whether snape had a casual sex life is also rooted in the fact that he’s canonically unattractive - whereas the fact that many people headcanon sirius, who i think was actually infinitely more likely not to have slept with anyone, since he spent his teen years pining for james and his sowing-wild-oats years in azkaban, as a womaniser is entirely because he’s described as hot - but ugly people get to bone too.]

45. what is your opinion on snape's sexuality?

snape’s a bi disaster.

i am convinced, for example, that his canonical vibe with sirius is caused by the fact that he fancies him - he loves acting up in an attempt to get sirius’ attention (him making excuses to pop into grimmauld place to neg sirius about how he’s spending all his time cleaning… immaculate), despite the fact that the way he behaves around lupin suggests that he ought to be avoidant of him, given their history.

plus, his obvious thing for powerful men is what gets him into trouble in the first place. lord voldemort only had to flutter his eyelashes a couple of times and snape was done for… and when it comes to dumbledore, well you know what they say about men with supremely powerful wands…

46. which of the marauders do you think snape could have gotten along with?

sirius, for the reason outlined above.

48. did you feel that snape was the "good guy" even before the reveal?

answered here - the tl;dr is that i did because i'm built different.

49. do you prefer tall!snape or short!snape?

snape is, canonically, a short king. he’s five-eight and feral and i love that for him.

#snape ask game #severus snape #asks answered

[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 30: Rebellion

Chapter 30 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, broken whumpee, defiant whumpee, royal whumper, reluctant whumper, multiple whumpers, whumper who is also a whumpee, really not sure how to describe the whumper and whumpee dynamics here tbh, whumper POV I guess, fantasy politics, threats of death

---

Kezul

It was time.

Here was where Kezul would say that the time of cooperation was over. That Danelor could never what it was, no matter what its people desired. That it belonged to Kyollen Naskor now, and to the exalted Unmaker, and that it was time for everyone here to stop pretending otherwise and acknowledge defeat.

Here was where the Wolves would hold the members of the noble houses in place, and bring out the ones imprisoned in the palace. Here was where the Wolves would lead them forward one by one. And instead of taking the head of Vorhullin the Unmaker, Kezul would take theirs, one by one.

Here was where the rebellion would begin, and where it would meet its bloody end.

If only he could make himself speak.

This was the only part of the speech he hadn’t asked for Mir’s help with. Not because Mir wouldn’t have helped, blank-voiced, blank-eyed. But because he couldn’t bring himself to voice his intentions aloud. Not to Mir.

After today, Kezul would return home to be made equal with his brothers. He would return home as an extension of his father’s will. And really, that was all he had ever been born to be. His failure to do so was the source of all his childhood shame. It wasn’t even his own will conflicting with his father’s—he wasn’t sure he had ever had a will of his own. All he had ever had was the knowledge of his father’s will and the inability to carry it out.

What might it have been like to have something he had wanted for himself? A desire beyond proving himself? A desire his father hadn’t planted in his head?

For a moment, in the courtyard listening to Gyoras, he had seen what that might be like. There had been a handful of other moments, too, in the throne room with Mir. It was strange—he had thought he had hated every moment of it, listening to the weak prisoner’s demeaning advice, knowing that taking their advice was nonetheless his best option. And yet, when he looked back, he could see only in retrospect that in some of those moments, he had been… content. Content in a way he had never been in his life, except for a few brief times riding alone on his horse, with no expectations beyond strength and speed.

He tried to look straight ahead at the crowd as he willed his words to return to him. He didn’t even know what it was he was avoiding until he glanced to the side and his eyes landed on Mir. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he had successfully avoided meeting Mir’s eyes ever since he had come out onto the steps.

From where he was standing, it was hard to tell whether Mir was looking back at him. Mir’s eyes seemed to look everywhere and nowhere at once. They were flat. Dead. Like the eyes of a statue, or of a corpse. Kezul couldn’t tell whether they were seeing anything at all.

Was it Kezul’s imagination, or was Mir standing closer than they had been a moment ago?

His imagination. His conscience, rather. Speaking in Mir’s voice, telling him not to do this. Maybe it was that imagined voice that had a grip on his throat, keeping him from speaking.

Maybe he should have had his Wolves kill Mir in the courtyard on that long ago day, before Kezul had ever said a word to them.

Then Mir glanced at him—only for an instant, but it was unmistakable. A brief flash of life came into those eyes. The sight made something unnamable rise up in Kezul’s chest. He hadn’t known how much he had missed that sight—but the feeling that rose in him at the side of it wasn’t a good one. It was slow and thick like despair. It was prickly like shame. It had the hot restlessness of pure fury.

And underneath it all was a quiet but profound disappointment, because in the next moment, Mir’s eyes were flat and dead again, even as they continued looking at him.

Kezul turned away.

It was time. No more stalling. To wait any longer was to refuse to do his father’s will, and that was an impossibility. Or that was what he told himself as he tried to force the words from his throat.

The Wolves were growing restless. They kept shooting furtive looks at him, no doubt wondering when it would be time to execute the plan, and whether they were supposed to have acted already. Another moment of this, and people would start noticing the warriors’ strange behavior.

And yet the crowd was still quiet, apart from a soft murmur of confusion. Everyone was looking at him, and everyone was waiting. He saw resentment in some of their eyes, but for the most part, they only looked at him the way everyone had been looking at his father all his life.

That was what he had craved all this time, wasn’t it? The only thing he had ever wanted more than that was to see that look in his father’s eyes—and now he had both.

Was it genuine respect in the eyes of the crowd, or was it simply fear? Once, he would have thought it was easy to tell the difference. Once, maybe, he would not have understood the difference. Now, as he looked out on the waiting crowd, he wondered what it had been when he had stood at his father’s side in his childhood, when he had stared out at the massed crowds gathered before the exalted Unmaker. Had it been respect then? Had it been only fear? Has there been buried resentment underneath, for the ruler who understood only war, only conquest and defeat?

And today, all the respect or fear or whatever it was… it was a lie, whether or not the crowd believed it. He was no ruler. He might have come up with this plan, but it had been his father’s doing. His father was the one had waited until the right answers came from his mouth, carefully prompted by his disappointments and his silences, his lessons and his accusations.

But that was what he had been born for. To be a conduit of his father’s will. A few more short words, and a few minutes that would feel even shorter, and he would finally succeed where he had failed all his life.

But as true as that might be, he was wrong about something else. He knew it, with a heaviness deep in his gut, as he looked out on the crowd and hated the lie of respect in their eyes. He had told himself he wanted nothing. But even if that had been true when he had first come to Danelor, it wasn’t true now.

He wanted what he had asked Mir for the other day—what he had begged Mir for.

He wanted to rule—to rule his way. To rule Mir’s way. He wanted it because he liked the feeling of finally succeeding at something. He wanted it because he wanted to see that respect in Gyoras’s eyes again. But more than either of those things, he wanted to feel the way he felt when he knew he was doing something well, and doing something right.

He had told himself he had no desires. He had told himself that all his illusions of desire had melted away when his father had come to Danelor. He had told himself that, because it was more tolerable than the truth: that he had swallowed down everything he desired and everything he knew was right, because he was every bit the coward Mir had named him.

He was a worse coward than the prisoner who had hidden in a closet when in battle had come. When battle had come for him, he had shoved Mir into the path of the blades in his place. He was the one who shouldn’t be in the room with anyone of any consequence, lest he pollute their air. He should have been the target of the Wolves’ games in the courtyard, not Mir.

He should have been dead in the courtyard right now, arrows pinning him to a tree trunk. Not standing in front of a crowd, giving a speech, pretending to rule.

He took a breath—and as he let it out, he felt his words return. His chest tightened in sudden fear—there was the fear he hadn’t felt before, coming for him all at once. But he welcomed it. At least the fear was honest.

“You have extended your hand to me when you would have been well within your rights to slap my own away,” said Kezul. The crowd went silent again at the first word from his mouth. “Your desire to do what is right for Danelor at all costs is humbling—and it is one I share. I wish to continue our cooperation… if you are willing.”

He lowered his eyes to the crowd, as if he were kneeling in front of them, presenting his weapon. It was a message most of them would not understand. That didn’t matter. He had said what he needed to say.

The waiting Wolves on the steps shifted restlessly. They shot him—and each other—looks of confusion.

Kezul didn’t look at Mir. He didn’t want to see that dead eyed look in Mir’s eyes again. Better for him to imagine, in these last moments before his father had him killed, that Mir was looking at him with pride.

His father stepped forward, radiating authority in his every movement. Now Kezul could see how he had been holding back his natural aura of leadership to make room for Kezul to do what he was here to do. That respect the crowd had shown him had never truly been his. It had always been given to him by his father. Now his father was showing him how quickly he could take it away, how easily he could eclipse him once again and take back the throne that had always truly been his. He could do it with a few quick strides.

“Hold him,” he shouted to the Wolves.

Confusion from the Wolves—first at Kezul’s departure from the plan, then at the Unmaker’s order. Confusion from the four heads of the noble houses standing on the steps, and from the members of the crowd who had been in the know, or thought they had been—they had thought Kezul would order the Unmaker seized, not the other way around.

They hadn’t understood, of course. They couldn’t, not when they didn’t know the Unmaker as anything more than a fearsome figure from a distant part of the world. They hadn’t understood that no one could have done what they had expected. It had been all Kezul could do simply to defy him.

And what would his defiance gain him, in the end? He knew what was coming next. The only question was which gruesome death his father had in store for him. And what good would his defiance do for Danelor? No more good than it had done for him. He knew better than to think his father would simply retreat and leave Danelor be now that Kezul had officially failed his test.

And what of Mir? Nothing he had said to Mir about how much better they were in his hands than his father’s had been an attempt at manipulation. It had all been nothing more and nothing less than the truth. What would happen to Mir, now that Kezul had made his choice?

He had proved himself to be more than the coward Mir had accused him of being. In the moment, it had seemed worth it. Now, though… now, he wondered why he had bothered.

For a single frozen moment, no one moved. Kezul thought, briefly, that perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would all stand here in this tableau as the world moved on without them. It was, he thought, the best ending he could possibly hope for.

But of course that didn’t happen. The Wolves recovered from their confusion first. A dozen of them started toward him at once.

He might have taken out his sword and gone down fighting. He was no fighter, but even he could see where dying in one last bloody battle would be better than waiting for his father to choose the manner of his death. But the Wolves that reached the first were, of course, the Wolves who were standing closest… his Fangs.

He remembered that day in the courtyard, and he hesitated.

By the time he recovered his power of movement, they had disarmed him, tossed away his sword and knife before he could have fought back. Even then, he wasn’t so sure he would have if he could have.

Their hands weren’t as rough as he had expected. It seemed almost as if they were trying to be gentle with him. He could have told him how dangerous that was. If he had tried, he could have pulled away from their weak grip.

But he didn’t. What would have been the point? All it would have gained him was the ability to run—like a coward. To run straight into the arms of several dozen more Wolves, and—if by some chance he made it past them—to the crowd below. And despite his words, he knew there were many among the crowd who were not and would never be his allies. To them, everything that had happened since the conquest was weighted much more heavily than a promise of cooperation from one of the conquerors.

And who could blame them?

He didn’t fight. He let his Wolves hold him in place. One of them squeezed his shoulder—maybe in warning, but it could just as easily have been a show of support. When he glanced to the side, he thought he recognized Gyoras’s furs.

The show of support was, of course, empty. The hands didn’t let him go. But what else could he have expected? His Wolves knew their role, just as he knew his. They were conduits of the Unmaker’s will, nothing more. He had chosen to throw that away and become powerless. Even that had taken all the strength he had. He could hardly expect them to do the same.

In his mind, he heard Mir’s voice. If he won’t leave, then get rid of him another way.

Had he really done all he could do?

He banished the voice. Of course he had. Acting against his father was impossible. Those stronger than him had tried and failed. He was weak. A coward. A failure.

Kezul the Defeated.

But even as he pushed Mir’s remembered words away, he his eyes sought out Mir against his will.

Mir was definitely standing closer than they had been—it wasn’t his imagination this time. And in Mir’s eyes—those dead, empty eyes—he caught a flicker of life. Barely more than that—a tiny spark of surprise, that was all.

But it was something.

It would have heartened him more if he hadn’t known what would happen to Mir once he was gone.

He opened his mouth to speak—although he wasn’t sure what he would say. Would he apologize to Mir for what was about to happen? For all his failures that had led them both to this point? Would he simply warn them to run, run now, while they had the chance? If it wasn’t too late. If they still had enough life left in them to do so.

But before he could speak, his father raised his hands to the crowd, in the same way Kezul had mere moments ago. And despite the crowd’s confusion, despite their rising panic, the shouts quieted and the restless bodies went still. Such was the power of the Unmaker’s aura.

His father spoke. “My son seeks cooperation,” he said. “But what my son wants no longer matters. As of now, he does not have the power to make pronouncements about the fate of Danelor. He is no longer a child of my blood, and he no longer sits on the throne of Danelor. There is no Danelor, and it had no throne. There is only Kyollen Naskor, and its only ruler is the one standing before you now.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd again. But even now—even when the rebels in the crowd should have been gathering their weapons—their voices were muted, and their movements were hesitant. Kezul, from where he was standing, saw no flash of metal. His father held a kind of sway over the crowd that Kezul could never have hoped to achieve. Even when they had listened to him, they had never listened quite like that.

Now he could see that the respect the crowd had given him had only ever been a pale imitation of what his father could command.

Once, he would have been jealous. Once, he would have studied his father hungrily, still under the impression that this was something he could learn if he only tried hard enough. Now he felt no hunger. Nor did he feel unworthy. All he felt was pity for his father, who only knew this, who mistook it for the skills of rule. And he felt fear, fear for the gathered crowd and everyone else in the Danelor who would suffer for it. And, of course, for Mir.

Not for himself. It wasn’t death he had feared all along. It was taking that final step, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. Losing all chance at his father’s approval for good.

Now that he had lost that chance, he couldn’t imagine why he had ever wanted it.

His father wasn’t done speaking. “These would-be usurpers,” he said, waving a hand toward the four heads of the noble houses on the steps, “will die for their presumption in trying to steal back the Danelor throne. Their schemes may have worked on my son, but they will not work on me. And as for my son…”

The hands holding Mir seemed to tense as his father’s voice paused.

“As for my son,” his father continued, “he has defied the will of Kyollen Naskor, and as such, he shares in their crime. He will be the first to die.”

---

Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @sunshiline-writes @annablogsposts @whither-wander-whump @seaweed-is-cool @bloodinkandashes @sonder35 @cakeinthevoid @looptheloup @paperprinxe

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#whump #whump writing #whump story #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Conquest #fantasy whump #royal whump #nonbinary whumpee

[the-badger-mole]

would you ever write an au where a member of the gaang besides aang is the avatar? if so, who would it be and what aspects of the story would you change or keep?

I don't know if I'll ever write this, but I had an idea for a fic where Yue was the Avatar. I think I already posted an outline for this, but I've put a little more thought into it.

Katara and Sokka head to the NWT looking to gather support for the SWT's war efforts (and to find someone to train Katara). I think they go directly there. They find the NWT closed off like in the show, but they get taken in because they are Chief Hakoda's children. It's essentially what happened in the show, except Yue is a waterbender, and Katara is sent off with her to have her learn to be a proper water tribe woman. They go off to the healing huts, and then Katara's face off with Pakku happens, but Yue pleads Katara's case saying that eventually she'll have to go home and wouldn't it be better if she could defend herself or something like that. Katara's connection with Kanna is discovered and Pakku agrees to train Katara (there will probably be more of an explanation of why Pakku's relationship with Kanna matters. I think Kanna was pregnant with Kya when she left and Pakku's world is rocked learning what happened to the daughter he never met).

The time line is more stretched out here, and Katara and Sokka are there for a few months. Katara learns more about her grandmother's time there from Pakku and Yugoda. Sokka and Yue have a romance, but she's still betrothed, so it's secret and angsty and all that good stuff. Six months in, Katara is a master, and Sokka and Yue are trying to figure out what to do. A pirate ship turns up, and Captain Lee and his first mate Mushi come to warn the NWT that the Fire Nation is preparing to attack. No one believes them until the ash starts falling. The fire nation attacks, and it's discovered that Yue is the Avatar. The FN soldiers are beaten- mostly killed, but a few get away. Katara is furious with Pakku and Arnook, and the NWT in general for hiding this. She makes a big speech about how the world needs the Avatar and eveyone is fighting and dying and trying to stop the FN from destroying the world, but they were keeping the one person who could change the tide hidden out of selfishness. She and Sokka are, of course, kicked out. Lee and Mushi offer them passage on their ship. Sokka goes to say goodbye to Yue and she asks him to stay, and that she thought she could convince her father to let her marry him instead. He tells her he needs to go help his people fight. They kiss and Sokka and Katara prepare to leaved. The next day, as they're waiting for Captain Lee to send a row boat for them, Yue appears, bag in hand and tells them that she was tired of hiding and she wants to do her duty as Avatar, starting with mastering more waterbending than healing. She tells them that her father agreed, and they all leave with Captain Lee.

There's friction with Katara and Lee immediately. She thinks he's hiding something. He thinks she's a busybody who doesn't know when to stop prying. But, they work well together, and a friendship develops over their travels. Katara helps Yue master waterbending, and then they set off in search of an earthbending master. That's when they find out that Yue lied. Her father is furious and sending people to bring her home, and to bring Katara and Sokka back to face kidnapping charges. The Fire Nation now also knows that Yue is the Avatar, and send Azula to find her. Everyone converges on the group at once, and that's how it's discovered that Captain Lee is the disgraced Prince Zuko.

That's it. That's as far as I got. I don't know if this fic will ever see the light of day, but if I were going to do a non-Aang Avatar, this would be it.

#atla #avatar yue #zutara #yukka #although spoilers they aren't endgame #sorry but sukka has my heart #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

[hiemaldesirae]

Swap AU:

Vox's Goetia does join the Hazbin hotel. He takes what was Husk's canon job, as Husk has a casino to run and his parents think it's a good thing for their son to work for the Princess. (Even if they don't believe in her redemption plan. And he is the spare's spare, so it's not like they have any idea what to do with him. Having his and his children's souls permanently bound to the media overlord might do him some good. (Vox stipulated that into his contract. So he'll eventually have numerous goetia souls bound to him.)

Since Alastor was up to his antics during the overlord meeting and sir Pentious has been on his best behavior (after Charlie asked Vox to talk to Pentious about things, and Vox talked to him about building stuff in the lab outside the hotel he never got the Eggbois taken away) the hotel crew doesn't know how to hurt angels/heavenborn. They know Carmilla killed the Angel--Husk caught her reaction to Him bringing out the head, after all. (He also caught Alastor's reaction to Zestial saying that they'd probably go after the Hotel first--not that he'd tell Vox. But he'd seen how furious and fearful the stag had looked at those words.) So they're debating on who to send over to the carmine/Zestial mansion. It's dangerous ground over there, after all.

Angel Dust steals more of Vox's clothes (and doesn't get caught) to make up for the set Charlie destroyed. He also gets away with one of Vox's shark plushies, which irritates Vox as it's the one with heating pad function in it that he uses for his cramps/neck pain/back pain. (Alastor rubs his scent all over the plush, before he returns it that night laying it beside Vox.)

Vox writes an entire speech for Charlie and Vaggie for their meeting up in Heaven. He's listened to Vaggie (and Lucifer's) descriptions of Adam and Lute and has given his best advice to the two for them. Unfortunately the meeting pretty much goes the same way, except that Charlie managed to get Adam pissed at Vox? So that's cool. Nothing like having the first man wanting you dead, right?

Vox drinks himself into a stupor that night. While, yes he's afraid of Alastor--the MAIN THING he is desperately, desperately trying to avoid is permanently dying. He doesn't want to die. At all. That's why he too the deal with Lucifer. Now he's gotta figure out more ways to help Charlie so he can gain more power so he can fight off Adam himself? Or at least beat him back enough so that Lucifer can arrive to kill him or Charlie can kill him or something. He doesn't know. Vox collapses into his bed that night, and passes out not noticing the radio demon stepping out of the shadows and joining him in the bed and curling around him.

swap nonny i may have to rename you to sadist nonny at this point. Why are you like this /affectionate

the stuff with the goetia is sooo silly. love that little bird thing even though ive no clue what the hell he would look like or even do at all honestly! hope he has fun trying to bartend (and hoo boy thatd probably be a big scandal, wouldnt it, having a goetian prince bartend at princess charlie's hotel...) for a bunch of idiot sinners lmao

al overhearing carmilla and zestial talking about the newly pushed forward extermination and immediately jumping to think about vox... he cant lose him AGAIN so soon after hes found him once more so after that his shadow sticks even closer to vox, and vox finds that sometimes when he passes out from working too much without taking a break that he wakes up in the morning with a fluffy blanket and food placed in front of him. he assumes its husk but when he asks, the other overlord denies it

LMFAOOO i can imagine angel sweating when vox storms downstairs in a frenzy going 'where the FUCK is my shark'. husk turns to look at him very slowly and just raises a singular eyebrow at him and angel shrugs very slowly. alastor returning the plush with his scent all over.... orugh. vox probably cant even smell it really, but for some reason his processors ingest the scent easily and he falls asleep better than ever for the first time in seven years.... </3 AUgh my heart...

and seriously. alastor you are SUCH a freak what the FUCK are you doing.... going to have to tag noncon cuddling at one point on madmans vice istg :sob:. i love them so much ugrh. swap radiostatic save me swap radiostatic

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #swap au

[missaddamsworld]

Evajacks Christmas Special

Hi Everyone!

This is my first fanfic so please take it easy on me.

Thank you @jackstheprinceofhearts for the prompt and your review!

If you have time, please visit her page, she's the best <3

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or OUABH or TBONA.

Warning: Possible spoiler if you haven't read both books! **********************************************************************

Christmas Special

“What would a fate want for Christmas? That thought was coming back for the hundredth time to Evangeline’s mind. Should she buy him a dozen apples? Or a scarf? His skin was always cold, he didn’t need that. And the apples he ate were not ordinary fruits.

She walked down the market as the snow fell lightly on her cape. She already bought presents for Lala and Chaos. So far, she could say she had friends. Lala was on her friend list for a long time, but she decided to add Chaos recently. She was also thinking about him as a friend since he helped her stay human on that fateful night. She thought about Luc as a friend, but giving him a present would have been awkward. 

There was one more person she could not add to her friend list, but rather to her love list. J-A-C-K-S. Yes, he was the love of her life. After they broke the Archer’s curse, they agreed to take things slow. Nobody knew that the curse was broken, and no one had seen them having their first kiss. There have been many secret kisses and touches since then. Jacks felt vulnerable and needed time to adjust to his new life. Despite the current situation, he was his old self.

“Argh, I hate Christmas.” He was grumbling when Lala and the Valors set up a meeting to discuss the holiday season tasks.

“What?” Asked Evangeline.

“He hates all the Holidays” Lala replied with a smirk. She knew it would bring trouble for Jacks.

“Why do you hate all holidays?” Evangeline furrowed her bows.

“Christmas is truly not about love and family. It is about decorations, stupid kisses under the mistletoe, false singing, and expensive presents. What are you even getting presents for? The season changing?!” He started his speech bored but became quite upset in the end.

“Jacks, you are being ridiculous.” Evangeline was so disappointed, yet she somehow knew he would react this way. That is just the way he was.

“Fine, put up your stupid decorations, get presents and give kisses under the stupid mistletoe. Just don’t involve me.” It seemed like the mistletoe was the main enemy. He was probably jealous since he could never kiss any girl without killing them.

That was the last time he attended the Christmas meetings.

It was very challenging to love him sometimes. Yet Evangeline wanted to give him something personal and enjoy the holidays with him. She tried to involve him in the preparations, but it was a big failure.

“At least please tell me you are attending the Christmas ball.” Evangeline was looking at him with big watery eyes.

“I do not want to attend. I told you this is all a waste of time.” He sighed and leaned back in his armchair.

“Very well. Then I will ask Chaos or maybe Luc to be my partner…” she provoked him with the other possibilities.

“You wouldn’t dare, Little Fox.” He narrowed his eyes, but he knew he had lost this round.

“Try me, Lord Jacks.” She kept her face straight, but inside she smiled wide. She knew he wouldn’t let her near Luc or Chaos.

“Okay, you won… Anyways, you owe me a dance since Lala’s engagement party.” He smirked.

Lost in thoughts, she found herself wandering at a jewelry stand on the opposite end of the market. She looked at the beautiful crafts and gems and suddenly found out what could be the perfect present for the Prince of Hearts.

Evangeline had a plan, but she needed help. She grabbed her skirt and ran to the castle’s highest tower, where Honora Valor opened the door with a bright smile.

Christmas day finally came. Evangeline put the last ornament on the Christmas tree and took a few steps back to adore the view. The lights on the tree were flickering, its shine mirrored by the decorations. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

It was time to get ready for the ball. She had her rose gold locks pinned on the top of her head. The dress on her was astonishing. It was glittering from top to bottom. It had a deep V-cut neckline and no sleeves. The corset had rose gold glitters and white flowers. The skirt started with white flowers and dark, almost brown shade glittering material underneath. The colors blended into rose gold again. Silky, white flowers were coming up from the bottom as if they wanted to reach the other flowers on the waist.

“Little Fox, I know I promised you to attend the ball, and I will. But first I have to take care of something. Meet you in the main hall.” She heard Jacks’s projected thoughts.

“Don’t keep me waiting for long…” she replied and placed a box on the table. Carefully took out Jacks’s dagger to take one last look. The blade was polished, almost glowing in her hands. How many times was she cut with it… 

Sweet memories of Jacks and apples rushed through her mind. She licked her lips. She almost felt the metallic taste of his blood.

When she visited Honora Valor she asked her help to fill the holes in the dagger where the gems were missing. In a couple of minutes, she was holding her breath as Honora gently opened an opal black box and offered to use the stones of the Valory Arch.  

One for luck. 

One for truth. 

One for mirth. 

One for youth. 

She put the dagger back into the box and approached the main hall, hoping Jacks was already there.

She was wrong.

The whole hall was vibrating. People along the long tables were chatting and laughing when she came to her seat. Mistletoe was hanging from the ceiling and even at the arches. The decoration was mesmerizing. On the sides of the hall, ice sculptures were on the tables. Spicy, sweet biscuits covered the shiny plates. The Christmas tree was the main attraction of course. Evangeline saw people laying their presents underneath the tree. She did not want to give him the gift here. She wanted to see his honest reaction. In front of everyone, he would probably hide all his emotions.

When the dinner started, she searched the room, yet no sign of Jacks. The seat next to her was untouched.

“I must say you look radiant tonight.” Luc appeared in front of her all of a sudden.

“Thank you, Luc. That’s very kind of you.” she said, but in her mind, she repeated: DON’T LOOK INTO HIS EYES. She knew how that would affect her. God, it was so hard to look at someone but don’t look into the eyes.

“Where is your apple gobbler shadow?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Uhm, I don’t know. He promised to be here shortly.” She put pressure on that word, hoping Jacks could hear it too.

“Well, you still owe me a dance” He winked and lifted his hand while bowing.

“Oh, oh… right.” She took his hand hesitantly, wishing it would be Jacks's hand. She heard almost the same sentence from Luc when they were at Lala’s engagement party. She looked around and caught Chaos’ grin from the corner.

The music started with a slow rhythm, and Luc took the lead. They moved around on the dance floor like she knew how to dance. It was easy while Luc’s hand was on her waist to guide her. He was the first love she had. Evangeline remembered how Luc comforted her after her father died. That sweet boy, who had always been there for her. But after Marisol’s curse, he became her fiancé, then a vampire.

What could have been if Marisol didn’t curse him? Would they still be together? Would they have stayed in Valenda? How would it have ended?

“You know, I wanted to apologize for everything. I was so lost when I came to the North. I saw the world through foggy eyes, not thinking about anything but her. Only one thought played on my mind: I had to find the cure and return to Marisol so we could be together again. When I’ve been bit, I sobered up. The vampire venom lifted the fog from my mind.” He smiled sadly. “When I saw you through the cage, I could not believe my eyes. I want you to know that it wasn’t me, it was the venom. I would never hurt you, Eva.” He looked at her, she could feel his eyes on her flushed cheeks.

Luc looked up and grinned. “Seems like we have an obligation now.”

Following him, she looked up and found herself underneath the mistletoe.

Oh no, no no no no no… This is not good. Do NOT look into his eyes!!! She looked down to avoid eye contact.

Luc was looking at her again but could not see her frightened eyes. Slowly he lifted her chin with his hand and leaned into a kiss. Evangeline tried to fight against it, but she accidentally looked into his eyes. His eyes were so familiar, promising the whole world, all the comfort and a happily ever after. Yet they were on fire, crashed and burned and tortured her soul. 

One minute he was there and in another the Prince of Hearts was standing in front of her. His eyes were burning with anger. One of his hands was on Luc’s throat; with the other one, he was holding a dagger to his face. He turned his head towards Evangeline. “Little Fox, look at me.”

She looked into his furious icy blue eyes. This is how she imagined him when she decided to visit his temple. He looked cruel, sublime, merciless. Then the ice melted when their eyes met. Nothing left but the swirling ocean, pulling her deep down. She blinked a few times and smiled at him. “You kept me waiting…” She said playfully.

“Sorry love. Had something to take care of.” He winked and turned back to Luc.

“And you… if I ever and I mean EVER see you near her, I will rip your heart out and chop off your ugly head. Understood vampire boy?” He ground through his teeth.

“Understood, Prince of Hearts” Luc grinned since he was sure about one thing: Jacks could never kiss Evangeline without killing her. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

She will come back to me. He thought and lifted his hands as a sign of surrender.

“Will you dance with me, Little Fox?” He smiled and waited for her to accept his hand.

“If you are asking so nicely, how could I refuse?” Evangeline flushed, but before she could hide her emotions, Jacks grabbed her waist and pulled her closer.

"Every time I leave you alone for a bit, someone tries to steal you from me, kill you or enchant you." He sighed hopelessly.

"But you always find me just in time." Evangeline leaned her head on his chest while they slowed their pace.

"That's your luck. Otherwise, you would have been suffering from Luc's smelly breath and sweaty hands by now." He grimaced to express his disgust.

"Thank you for saving me… again." She lifted her head to look into his darkened eyes. "I know you don't like this Holiday thing, but I have a present for you. It's in my room though. Please accept it." She squeezed his hand to give strength to her words.

"Well, I've got you a gift too." He said shyly. SHYLY! Jacks said something shyly.

The shock on her face made him chuckle. One more thing she was not used to.

"Don't look at me like that. This is all new to me. I've been alive for centuries, yet no one could make me feel the way you do, Little Fox." He stopped suddenly and looked up. Evangeline was so shocked that she did not realize where they were. When Jacks was so close, everything else disappeared. She could only see him, not the surroundings or the other people.

"Kiss me." He demanded after he tilted his head up. Another mistletoe. Doubt and fear filled her eyes.

"Are you ready for this? It's okay if you don't want to. I understand. What we have is enough." She said and she meant it. She loved all the stolen moments they spent together as a couple. Jacks handled the secret relationship so well, she didn’t want it to be over. She was afraid his behavior would change.

He leaned to her ear and softly whispered. “After this little accident, I want to show everyone: You’re mine.” A shiver tripped down her spine at the last word. 

He pulled back to look into her eyes. She swallowed and nodded slowly. “I’m yours.” Not just for tonight. She thought, and she had a feeling that Jacks heard it too.

Then everything went into slow motion. Jacks cupped her face and leaned into a kiss.

“Nooo!” She heard the screams, but she smiled at her love before pushing her mouth to his. 

This kiss was indeed worth dying for. Kissing him felt like falling again and again, just like when they jumped off that cliff before. His soft lips felt like clouds, lifting her higher and higher. His hand on her waist held her tight to stay on the ground. He was so close, that she could feel his racing heart against hers. She never thought she could love this hard. Shivers with fire ran through her again and again. This was his attack against her body and every time she happily surrendered.

He pulled out from the kiss with a smirk. She couldn’t help but smile too.

Evangeline was finally able to look around. All she saw were horrified looks. Everyone was looking at them.

“Now that I've declared my claim on you, we should go.” He said smugly and led her out from the main hall.

After they arrived at Evangeline’s room, she felt her hands shaking from the excitement. Will he be happy with the gift? What if he finds it stupid? There’s only one way to find out. Get yourself together and hand it over…

“I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is. It’s from you.” He said softly. She didn’t realize that her thoughts were so loud.

Evangeline picked up the box and placed it into his hands. “Merry Christmas, Jacks.” She tried to force a smile on her face.

Jacks pulled the ribbon to untie the bow. His long fingers moved quickly. He held his blade with an adored look. 

“I was looking for this for a while” He cracked a smile, his eyes glowed unnaturally.

“I stole it. And with Honora’s help, I repaired it.” She pointed to the gems on the hilt.

“One for luck. One for truth. One for mirth. One for youth.” For a second his eyes were wide open with surprise.

“You put THOSE stones on the hilt?” She heard his shocked voice.

“Yes. Just in case… you know. If you’d like to go back in time.” She said insecurely.

“Oh, Little Fox. I have no reason to go back in time anymore.” He stepped closer and looked deep into her eyes. “Right here and now I have everything I could wish for.” He lowered his head to meet her forehead. “Thank you for this beautiful present.” After a quick kiss, he pulled her towards his room.

“Now it is my turn.” He opened the door and stepped aside so Evangeline could see what was waiting for her. Hundreds of candles lit the room. Shadows were dancing on the walls as he closed the door behind them. She saw rose petals flowing across the floor like blood in the dim light.

“Jacks, what’s going on here?” She asked him curiously.

“I’m done hiding. I want to be with you. Not in secret, but for real. In the Hollow, I meant it,  when I asked you to let me pretend you are mine and pretend that you want to be mine. Now I’m asking you to stop pretending.” He held her hands in his and lightly squeezed them.

“Jacks… I stopped pretending right after that night.” She smiled lovingly.

“Then allow me…” He let go of her hands and took a step back. He got down on one knee and pulled out a little jewelry box from his pocket.

“Evangeline Fox, will you honor me by becoming the queen of my heart?” He whispered as these words were so intimate, no one else should hear them.

For a moment, she felt like falling again. She felt dizzy, her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. A proposal? So this was what he was planning to give her.

She managed to tear her eyes from his and as she looked down there was it. A ring! From the Prince of Hearts, asking her to be his queen.

The ring was gold with a big ruby heart-shaped gem in the middle surrounded by smaller diamonds. But the longer she looked at it the more she saw. Drops of gold-flecked blood were bouncing in the ruby. She knew what those were; she saw them before.

“Is that—?” She started, but he interrupted.

“My blood.” He smiled gently. “You’re not the only one who visited Honora. There was one thing I wanted to do since I used the stones to go back in time and save your life.” Jacks caught the surprise in her eyes but continued before she could speak a word.

“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But you are mortal and I’m a fate. I cannot lose you. Ever. So, I asked her to help me solve this problem. If you say yes, with this ring on your finger and a spell we can have our happily ever after forever.”

She gasped for air, but she knew that this was the greatest gift she could ever imagine.

“Yes. YES!” She cried in excitement and felt the magic swirling through her limbs as he pulled the ring on her finger. He stood up and leaned closer to her.

“I’m yours and you are mine until the end of time. Forever.” He whispered the words so low she could barely hear them.

“Forever.” She replied and felt the weight of the magic behind it.

Jacks sealed their promise with a tender kiss, but she could only think of the fireworks in her stomach and the magic running through her body.

He was finally hers. Forever.

#jacks prince of hearts #jacks of the hollow #jacks #jacks x evangeline #evangeline fox #evangeline #evajacks #the ballad of never after #tbona #prince of hearts #ouabh #stephanie garber

[skellinore]

Like Father, Like Son...

Lord Cabadath and his eldest son, Slender.

Slenderman has some pretty big shoes to fill.

Being a prince of a very successful and terrifying king is a lot to live up to.

My version of Slender is... very different from everyone else's Slender.

I would say.

Considering I give mine scars and gold accents, and also made Zalgo his husband, but that's beside the point.

I haven't gotten around to drawing Slender's "Mother"

I put mother in quotation marks because, again.

My version of Faceless Demons is that they have no concept of gender, and it's hard to tell Faceless Demons apart if you aren't one of them.

So none of the Faceless Demons have boobs or hair, because I find that incredibly lazy, I dunno, I just don't like it. But you do you, bestie.

(But for the sake of my own sanity, I will be using pronouns, considering I will be talking about three people in this post.)

But most Faceless Demons do look masculine, some of them may have a feminine waist or hips.

I like giving my Slender a snatched waist because he's a power botto-

Heading back on track.

Little story bits and facts:

Slenderman and his "Mother's" relationship has always been rocky, she's controlling and stubborn, with a bit of a temper.

Think... Stella from Helluva Boss, expect she loves her husband to death, she's possessive and self-absorbed, remember in my last Cabadath post, that Cabadath is aroace, and that he was forced into an arranged marriage with her.

She has a set curriculum and plans for each of her baby boys, especially for Slender, envisioning herself in each one of them, pushing her dreams onto them, pushing high standards on them.

By set plans, I mean she already picked out what they're allowed to wear, who to see, who they're going to marry, what they learn, what job they're going to have, etc.

One last quick fact about Slender's mother.

She used to be a guardian of the Earth, basically protecting the forests and wildlife, but she loves the city life in Hell more, so she lost her privilege of being a guardian, and so her blessing passed onto Slender.

So Slender can hear the trees whisper, understand what the wildlife is saying, hear the beautiful melodies that the wind and water provide, he's enthralled in all of it, he loves the wildness and untamed nature around him, and he'll do anything to protect it, which is why my Slender hates humanity.

Head-cannon time:

1.) Cabadath is actually the whole reason that Slender and Zalgo meet in the first place. Considering that Zalgo's father is the King of Hell, (and no not Lucifer or Satan, or whatever you want to call him, Zalgo's family slaughtered Lucifer, making Zalgo's family the new rulers of Hell.) Cabadath works for Zalgo's father, and he wanted his son to meet the King, but instead Zalgo snatched Slender's tiny waist and then they became friends from there.

2.) All Faceless Demons know proper etiquette and mannerisms, because it is forced upon them, most Faceless Demons get annoyed and upset by unproper etiquette and mannerisms including improper speech such as abbreviations. So Faceless Demons have classes for teaching them to get over this. Slender had to learn to get over this problem by Zalgo, to which he is grateful for.

3.) Both Cabadath and Slender like their coffee sweet and light, come on guys, I know how many of you like to make Slender drink straight up black coffee. So I'm doing something different. >:| (it's getting overrated...)

4.) My Slender knows how to control elements! Such as earth/rock/metal, fire/magma, water/ice/blood, and air. (He's the Avatar. Haha, kidding.)

5.) Cabadath and Zalgo's father are really good friends, Zalgo's father is pinning for Cabadath, what he wouldn't do to just hold hands with him. Cabadath realizes this, but he doesn't mind, he finds him much more pleasant to deal with rather than his own wife. Often staying nights or extra hours.

6.) Slenderman hates onions. Fuck onions.

>:|

#art #digital art #creepypasta #slenderman #Slender #Slender man #Cabadath #Lord Cabadath #chzo mythos #Hey Slender can I bang your dad? #No? #Okay...

[jaybleu25]

My Heart Hears You (Part 3)

Time: HS Years; Bros are in 9th, Bowser is in 10th. Setting: Peach's Castle. 7 A.M.

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

…

Getting prepared for school the next day was a difficult challenge for Luigi. This was mainly due to his anxiety being multiplied by 10 at the thought of him having to do a presentation in front of the entire class. It wouldn't leave his mind at all. Even more so, he had to present with Bowser of all people. Who knows if Bowser would follow the script or not? Meanwhile, Mario was in quite a good mood. For his presentation, he painted a picture of the globe. His group's presentation was going to be on how recycling was important for the planet. Putting the painting in his backpack, he was about to leave, but he realized Luigi still hadn't come out of the bedroom yet. Mario wasn't going to leave without Luigi. Going back up the stairs, Mario would knock on the bedroom door. "Luigi, you ready yet??" Mario called out. "O-Oh, uhm...y-yeah..!" Mario could tell something was wrong. Luigi's voice was shaky. Quickly, Mario would open the door, only to find Luigi struggling to stand. He was using the couch as support to stand up. With swiftness, Mario rushed to his brother's aid. "Are you okay??" Mario asked. "I'm fine, j-just...a bit nervous..." Luigi stuttered. It took a few moments for Mario to remember. Whenever Luigi got nervous, sometimes he would end up getting what he called 'jelly legs', which would make it hard for him to stand. It happened a few times when Luigi was in middle school, but once high school started, it became more and more frequent. "Is it about the project?" Mario asked. Luigi would nod, responding with a nervous hum. "Hey, I'm sure yours is gonna be great, bro!" Mario reassured. "You always write really cool speeches and stuff." "I just don't like it when people are looking at me," Luigi muttered. Mario would think for a moment. "Well...maybe try focusing on me," Mario suggested. "Pretend like you're just telling me about your topic. Don't look anywhere else." "Th-That might work...I'll try that," Luigi responded. "Thanks, bro." "Of course!" Mario exclaimed. "Are you feeling a bit better now?" Luigi would nod, now standing on his own. He'd grab his backpack containing his part of the essay, as well as the trifold board he kept nearby. He'd then follow Mario out of the room, waving goodbye to Toadsworth with a cheerful smile. But that smile wouldn't last long. Thankfully for Luigi (or unthankfully, if you had asked Luigi about it before Mario had comforted him), his science class was the first class of the day. That meant he would be able to get the project over with. He wouldn't have to worry about it the rest of the day. Additionally, he wouldn't have to deal with carrying the trifold anymore, so that was also a plus. Arriving to class with his brother, Luigi was a little hesitant. He had no idea how prepared Bowser would be. During the period of the group project, the teacher had made it so all of the pairs would be sat next to each other so it would be easier to work together. Once Luigi got to his seat, he noticed Bowser reading over the last page of what he had to say. Luigi was surprised and relieved. It looked like he didn't have to worry after all. Bowser did get his script. Without saying anything as to not suddenly startle/anger the Koopa Prince, Luigi would sit down. Once Bowser finished reading, the bell rang, and he noticed Luigi was sitting next to him. "Oh, finally, you're here," Bowser said, annoyed. "You took forever." Luigi didn't want to make mention of the fact he had already been there a couple minutes prior, so he simply apologized. He was definitely not here the whole time. And so, the presentations began.

-To be continued...-

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

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746341252448043008/my-heart-hears-you-part-1?source=share

Part 1.5: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746341378314944512/my-heart-hears-you-part-15

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746500897895514112/my-heart-hears-you-part-2

Part 3: You're already here!

Part 4: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746920665451495424/my-heart-hears-you-part-4

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746921486930034688/my-heart-hears-you-part-5

Part 6: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746923474412568576/my-heart-hears-you-part-6

Part 7: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/746924406863020032/my-heart-hears-you-part-7

Part 8: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/747120181983281152/my-heart-hears-you-part-8

Part 9: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/747121034850975744/my-heart-hears-you-part-9

Part 10: https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/747121820844556288/my-heart-hears-you-part-10

Part 11 (END): https://www.tumblr.com/jaybleu25/747122379621269504/my-heart-hears-you-part-11

#mario #luigi #super mario bros #hs bros au #hs mario #hs luigi #hs bowser #bowser #jay au

[merlinfic]

group ask for lost fics #43

Hi y’all! Below are a few lost fics that us mods just can’t seem to find. That being said, we’re hoping that you lovely followers are able to help! If anyone knows any of the fics below please reply below or send in an ask with which anon/user and group ask that the fic corresponds with when the ask is back open!

Note: previous group asks and all lost fics!

Anon 1 asked:

I read this fic a while back, and I’m like 90% sure it had background Merthur, but all I really recall is that it had Morgana/Gwen, there’s was a line about them fucking all night when Morgana took over Camelot the first time and how Gwen really was genuine about how she felt, and Gwen sided with Arthur instead because of the two siblings, Arthur wasn’t the one firing into the crowd of civilians (I can’t remember exactly how she worded that, but she does state that that’s why she chooses to side with Arthur)

Anon 2 asked:

hi!! i was wondering if y'all could help me find a fic? it was on ao3, and it was set in a camelot that hadn't banned magic, but had basically banned clothes instead. merlin was the only one to basically wear clothes, and at the end arthur said something about letting him only keep his neck scarf iirc. thanks!

Anon 3 asked:

Thanks for everything you do!

The fic I’m looking for is canon era. Arthur and Merlin are out with some Knights (not the round table nights like Gwaine or Leon). They find an old house to set up in. The knights treat Merlin like crap while Arthur’s away doing something and they make him sleep outside in the cold with The horses and Merlin gets sick.

I remember Merlin and Arthur having a conversation while he was recovering (they’re still in the house and haven’t made it back to Camelot). He tell Arthur about the knightsand says if Arthur didn’t do something about their behavior he was leaving. I think Arthur was only Prince and he knew about the magic (don’t hold me to that though). Any help you can provide in finding this lost fic is much appreciated!!

Anon 4 asked:

Hello there! I am using this feature for the first time so I apologize for any mistakes. I am looking for a merlin fiction that included dragons which I can't find. The dragons were living in a cave and Merlin would sneak to visit them. There were all kinds of dragon who were fascinated with Aithusa. The Knights are aware and help Merlin with taking care of Dragons (feeding, bathing etc). There was also a caretaker which everyone found 'strange'. Merlin was also able to understand dragon speech.

Anon 5 asked:

hi! there’s a fic i’ve been trying to find forever. it’s on ao3 and merlin is like a fairy. he’s small and arthur finds him in the woods and takes him back or merlin comes back on his own volition, and merlin lies and says that there’s like a deal or something to stay i think. it is smutty but i don’t think that it’s like plotless yk? i’ve been looking forever so if you could help that’d be amazing thanj you 

Anon 6 asked:

Hi! I thank you for your work. I've had so much fun with your masterlist. I was wondering if you knew of a fic modern AU where Arthur goes missing and Merlin ends with depression until when visiting his mother he runs into Arthur in a bookstore and finds out that the reason he never came back was because he got in an accident and lost his memory and it goes about how they reconnect and Merlin refusing to tell him about their previous relationship thinking he would leave until the end. Thanks! It was in AO3 if I remember.

Anon 7 asked:

Hello! I have lost fic I have been looking for awhile now. It is on AO3 and it is where Merlin and Arthur are soulmates but Arthur refuses to acknowledge it because he know’s Uther would kill Merlin. Any help is much appreciated!

@tamilhobbit asked:

Hi! I read a bit of this fic many years ago &have been trying to find it since. It was one of those Great Marriage fics. Somehow Merlin got turned into a girl (still looked like himself, new body easily hidden) & was put in the role of High Priestess and had to sleep with/symbolically marry the King of Camelot. Of course he assumes it's Uther and is horrified, esp as he now senses their auras; U feels horrible & dark and he's drawn to Arthur, who feels golden & right. Help? Thank you!

As always, this post will be updated if/when any fics are found!

#other: group asks for lost fics #other: lost fics #other: fic find #mod danielle

[theboost]

Can’t bring myself to watch the finale of due south, so for the two people who are interested, here are my thoughts from when I was watching through

Due South insanity moment where vecchio gives a long speech to his sister in which he tells her to stay away from fraser because she’ll only get hurt and guys like fraser won’t even notice and then she responds by telling him that he’s afraid to dream. How am I supposed to take this

Obsessed with Fraser having a sleepover with his childhood hockey bestie. I think they should practice kissing with each other. I’m such a gay fraser truther I’m sorry but id take him and random hockey guy over him and Victoria

I think paul gross just has a resting smirk which is something you don’t see too often but it’s really making this funeral scene unintentionally humorous. Buddy you couldn’t muster a frown. I hate you Paul Gross, you live action Disney prince. That is a term that gets thrown around a lot but it’s true for him

100 percent still a gay fraser truther. Why are they having romantical ten- SORRY LIEUTENANT THATCHER JUST HIT HIM WITH A DAMN BITCH YOU LIVE LIKE THIS- romantical tension between fraser and thatcher. I don’t like it. She’s so mean to him all the time. He needs to get with a real man like Ray. I don’t really think you can put a guy like fraser in a relationship with his superior officer the chain of command would fuck him up. But they just keep mashing them together like Barbie dolls. I don’t get it. Also I kind of don’t like Francesca I’m sorry women…

“Ray, get in the closet” “Benny, get out of the closet” real dialogue. I don’t even need to make the joke. “I was in the closet with detective vecchio” I could end it all

Are we really doing another season finale where they’re getting framed by someone who one of them put in prison who recently go out and now seeks revenge. I guess if it ain’t broke. Okay so it’s not a season finale arc but still. It’s weird that it happened twice

CAN WE STOP PUTTING POOR GAY BOY FRASER - henceforth referred to as gayser when he is into situations wherein I want to emphasize his homosexuality - IN FORCED STRAIGHT SITUATIONS LIKE I KNOW THAT HE DOESNT WANT TO PLAY DOMESTICITY WITH FRANNIE. And she really needs to get with a woman

Girl a clip show for the season 2 finale? Come now. Also this is why starsky and hutch will always be a show made to hatecrime the watcher while due south uplifts you, because starsky and hutch did the amnesia plot line but hutch faked it. Because he’s insane.

“Alone we’re incomplete” truly insane thing to say about your best friend. Season 2 has really solidified by theory that ray is an out gay man to himself and no one else and he performs heterosexuality as a cover and gayser is just really truly deeply closeted because there were no gay people in a 100 kilometer radius growing up in the yukon. Also “benny, I could kiss you” “I thought we were just friends, ray” “we are” hello??? Hello???

Okay what the hell is going on with Ray K. You weren’t lying. 2 episodes in and he’s asking if Fraser thinks he’s attractive.

“All women are our sisters” I LOVE YOU FRASER. FEMINIST LEGEND.

I still gayser truth of course but as far as love interests go I don’t mind this bounty hunter milf

I don’t love that ghost dad was made a main character I liked him more when he would randomly pop up and I think they use him too much but I do love his little office set. And I do love that ghost dad is a character that exists

I don’t really care for the fact that one of kowalski’s defining traits is his love of police brutality. Come on due south. You used to understand that police violence is bad

I’ll be honest this is one of the first American based shows I’ve seen that promotes the idea of Canadian exceptionalism. And like it wasn’t initially like this as, see my last point, due South used to know and show that both the Chicago police and the mounties were corrupt, with Fraser being the worlds most special guy, but later seasons are like “all Mounties are inherently virtuous supermen”

Detective Huey and Fraser narrative foils in that both of them lost their first gay partner and then proceeded to get even gayer with their second partner. I do love Huey. And Dewey’s strange ways bewitch me I think he should hook up with turnbull

Women love to ask Fraser if they can trust him and then kiss him. Non_threatening_boys.jpg

Whenever Scott Bakula sings on quantum leap I cheer and clap like a seal and whenever paul gross sings I shriek and cover my eyes and say kill yourself

Every subplot to Mountie Sings the Blues makes me so happy I love huey and deweys stupid ass country song and I actually think Francesca/Turnbull is cute I’ve actually been hoping they would do it

I’m so sad due south got canceled right after the Fraser sister reveal I want so many more episodes with them hanging out

One thing about Fraser is that his love interest will be a brunette woman. Frannie, Victoria, Thatcher, milf bounty hunter and- sorry I looked up the poker episode to remember if the poker chick was brunette and sure enough

[sheepalmighty]

It turns out I have a bunch of stuff to say on the whole Pixy being called Cinderella by Bristow (Wizard 1) thing. Even though it's been pointed out now and then, and I think its inclusion is something the player would intuitively get and understand in the context of the story and characters, I'd still like to put my reading on this line out there. I’m also hoping this post with help iron out the details for myself.

Firstly, I just want to say I think Wizard 1 respects Pixy and sees him as an important ally and does not need to manipulate him (like it seems his grandiose speech to his group has him otherwise portrayed) - this latter point I'll elaborate on later. I get this take from their conversation in the operation after Excalibur wherein he acknowledges that Pixy's prediction on how the conflict will pan out is accurate. He then prompts Pixy to ditch his 'dead end job' but Pixy declines. It's this conversation that Wizard 1 is calling back to when he calls Pixy Cinderella.

Here he's implying that the clock's struck midnight and the magic has faded. The magic in this case being the illusion that Pixy and his allies are essentially heroes. As such, the illusion is not only that Pixy is playing as someone he is not, which is obvious enough from him always having had ties to AWWNB, it also encompasses Cipher. The prince who had enchanted him is actually the same as everyone else - another soldier led into fighting a pointlessly bloody war. Or perhaps, in firing that missile, he also finally sees Cipher as the Demon Lord, the biggest threat in this conflict, in that moment (I'm also partial to him testing his own resolve). From all of this it can also be said that Wizard 1 is ultimately condemning all of the allies' actions throughout their involvement.

The illusion’s path can be traced back to its origins by looking at Pixy's disposition from around the liberation of Directus until the assault on Excalibur. During the liberation and after hearing the cheering from the civilians his overall tone changes from that of a pragmatic and jaded merc to a 'not bad for a bunch of misfits' positivity after Excalibur. This is the mindset Pixy is in when he tells Wizard 1 that he doesn't want to quit just yet.

During the "pulling" of Excalibur Pixy says to Cipher that Cipher's 'got everyone believing in miracles', but he may have also been swept up in this belief too. This is reminiscent of the previous couple entries that emphasised the lone fighter / squadron inspiring others to believe they can turn the tides of battle, maybe even inspiring the player in the same fashion as those entries (5 is more complicated but the heroism is almost always present). But, in this game, that notion is soon subverted in the double gut punch of The Inferno and The Stage of Apocalypse, and so are any of Pixy's hopes in any other solution and any belief (like Cipher possibly gave him) in being a positive force in this campaign. It hammers in what Pixy already knew but got carried away from.

And so, when Wizard 1 conversed with Pixy the first time he shows that he can't see any good in this conflict (a 'dead end job') but doesn't push back on Pixy declining. Perhaps retrospectively he puts himself in the role of fairy godmother by letting Pixy continue to believe in a positive outcome for this war, to wear the clothes of a hero for a while longer. He makes this decision apparent to us through the Cinderella-fairy godmother back and forth between them the next time they meet. It's coming from the place of a comrade reminding their ally of the ideology they banded together for though, just with some snark.

Finally, with the imagery of a clock striking midnight the concept of the eleventh hour, the time just before the point of no return, is evoked. After Hoffnung has been abandoned and the apocalypse happens it has hit midnight, the magic spell is lifted, and nothing can be changed. The path is set and Pixy has found his reason to fight. So, the way I see it, with a single line the Cinderella association pulls a lot of purposefully written theming, characterisation, and commentary together in an effective manner. It helps carry weighty implications in an already overwhelming and powerful moment of the game and, as has been hopefully shown above, provides some extra understanding of the commentary being made by this game through some introspection of prior events by the player.

A couple asides: Bristow's into literature so that provides a little more context to the whole Cinderella usage, though it's only in auxiliary text I think. If looking at it from a writer’s perspective maybe one reason Cinderella was chosen was for the imagery of Pixy running away after he sheds any pretense of being just another passive soldier. And, related to Pixy's Morgan le Fay parallel, Bristow's callsign may be Lucan (servant to King Arthur) but, after an admittedly short read on Arthurian legends, he can also be seen as Merlin who respected Morgan le Fay and taught her magic, and later conspired against Arthur with her.

#i dont have it in me to write like a normal person im sorry #its more than ive written in a long while and its a little messy #im really going off of memory with the quotes so hoping theyre accurate enough #this post doesnt even touch on why i like wiz1 as an antagonist so lemme just put that here #its that battle against him where youre on the knight path #youd think on the honourable path youd fight someone similar but everything in that fight is underhanded and disconcerting #kinda like hes taking advantage of that pride pixy tells cipher would get him killed #and with the way he talks he is like the opposite of pixy who does everything he can to survive while wiz1 #considers being able to get a double takedown against cipher a good way to go out #i really like the writing and gameplay narrative in this game guys #ace combat zero #anyway yeah my ultimate ultimate point is that wiz1 and pixy are queer and friends and snark about other people every chance they get

[gigantomachy1916]

🤡🎢❌💞🤩

I'm saving the first two for last because my answers are loooong.

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Pregnancy, it gives me the ick! Also I don't like writing about healthy, well-adjusted people in happy relationships. Booooring.

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Loki from Marvel tbh. Coral Fang was mostly just me playing with him like a little doll, trying to put him into absurd situations and show different facets of him. Also L and Misa, and Villanelle from Killing Eve, and lots of others.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

As far as writing from their perspectives, I find L and Misa the easiest and most fun to write. I like writing his deductions because the way we think is pretty similar. With Misa, writing her is just like I'm indulging the bratty, attention-seeking 19 year old girl that still lives in my heart.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Honestly there are so many parts of Coral Fang that were just me entertaining myself. I'm gonna be super self-indulgent and quote several, especially since most people who follow me on here just know my Death Note fics and might not have read it. (It's my longest fic and is about a broke punk dumbass accidentally putting Loki from Marvel in her debt and using that to make him be her friend. Then they bone a lot and get up to shenanigans.) This is gonna be a long response, sorry.

The opening line of Chapter 9:

Avery was not entirely sure if her biggest mistake had been taking Loki of Asgard to the aquarium, or if it had been smoking a metric fuckton of weed first, but either way, mistakes had been made.

From Chapter 17:

It was like a riddle. What do you get when you cross a magic alien god-prince with nearly a thousand micrograms of LSD? Hopefully the answer was not ‘Avery’s apartment being blown to pieces with Avery still inside it.’ But even if it was—fuck, what a way to go.

I had the time of my life writing Chapter 26 ("come back with a warrant"), when the Avengers track Loki to Avery's apartment, kick down her door, and attempt to "save" her from him. When Loki leaves, Avery accidentally reveals herself as his accomplice, and the Avengers decide to question her and search her apartment, leading to several incredible conversations:

Black Widow: [holding Avery's backpack, with $3600 in $20 bills inside of it] Care to explain how you got this? Avery: I'm a barista. People tip me. Black Widow: Lot of money for a barista. People tip you twenty dollar bills? Avery: [shrugging] Some of the money was a birthday present from my grandma. Black Widow: What about this? [sets a plastic baggie of weed on the table] Avery: ...That was also a birthday present from my grandma.

Then Captain America and Black Widow notice a bite mark on Avery's neck, pull off her hoodie, and find bruises all over her (from having rough sex with Loki while he was in his frost giant form).

Black Widow: [trying to be gentle and reassuring] Did Loki do this to you? It’s okay, you can tell us. Avery: No, I got the bruises at my fight club. Once a week, me and the ladies get together in a parking garage and beat the shit out of each other. Oh, fuck, I wasn't supposed to talk about that. Black Widow: [under her breath] God, she's worse than Tony. Captain America: You've clearly been bitten by something very recently, and whatever it was, it wasn't human. Avery: Oh, now that you mention it, that was Loki. Did you know that Loki’s actually a vampire? He’s been sucking my blood. He promised me that one day, if I’m a very good girl, he’ll make me a vampire, too.

But the scene that makes me absolutely crack up is in the following chapter, when, after they take Avery into SHIELD custody (where she says basically nothing to Director Fury other than "Lawyer" and "Go suck a bag of dicks"), Captain America tries to appeal to her conscience and get her to reveal Loki's plans.

Captain America: [finishing a very long, sincere speech] If you're afraid of Loki, we can take you into protective custody until he's caught and put behind bars. If you're protecting him for some reason, such as a, uh, personal relationship, all I can ask is that you think long and hard about what you are doing. You have a choice to make here, one that could potentially determine the fate of humanity, or at least the lives of a lot of human beings. I believe that, in your heart, you know the right thing to do. Avery: [voice shaking, looking at him trustingly] You promise you'll keep me safe? Captain America: Of course. You have nothing to be afraid of. Avery: Okay... I don't know what Loki is up to, exactly, but he did say something about his plan. Would that help? Captain America: Yes, anything you can tell us will help. Just tell us everything you know, no matter how little, and then you can go home. You have my word. Avery: From what I can remember… He told me the next thing he was going to do, after getting the scepter, would be to go get some Updog. Captain America: What’s Updog? Avery: Not much, dog. What’s up with you?

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Coral Fang lmao. Avery passes out drunk in a park, wakes up to find Loki of Asgard standing over her, invites him to Waffle House, lets him crash on her couch, is granted one favor by him, immediately gets drunk again and uses it to ask him to carry a bookcase up the stairs to her apartment, and it goes from there. During the story, Avery and Loki: [SPOILERS AHEAD]

have a birthday party

watch terrible porn

go to the aquarium

rob various establishments, including a bank, a convenience store (just for slushies), and SHIELD

beat the shit out of some construction equipment with bats and pipes

regrow a forest

turn a man's beard into centipedes for catcalling them

read a lot of Kurt Vonnegut

take an insane amount of LSD

hold each other at knifepoint on numerous occasions

kidnap an internationally renowned scientist and drop him off in a random town in Wales

destroy Mount Rushmore

put a Waffle House at the bottom of the Grand Canyon

make a deal with an infinity stone

telepathically mind-meld with each other

travel into Thanos' mind and quote Game of Thrones at him

get Avery's mugshot in Time magazine

#ask response #thank you for asking! #death note #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #my fics #loki #now i kinda want to read coral fang #i've never read it all at once #just the individual chapters as i published them