#even though her family’s all say ‘died’

[jacaerysgf]

Chapter one: The return to the keep

c.s: You have finally returned to the red keep after over a decade. You see some familiar faces and,,, have the affections of more than one prince? what was going on...

w.c: 6.1k

c.w: not proofread, arryn!reader, basically a lot of set up, the boys just kinda being obsessed, men bickering... i think thats it

fic masterlist!

You stare at the large metal doors of the keep. You had been traveling on carriage fora week now, your back hurts, your legs hurt but you are finally here. for the first time in a very very long time.

The red keep. You remember the last time you had stepped foot in here like it was yesterday. It had been over a decade. You had been ten years old when you left but had been living in the keep since you were a babe. You made many lovely memories, and you had especially made some lovely friends. The children of rhaenyra and the children of alicent. You thought about them often as you were rather lonely in the eyrie with not having any siblings or there not being many other children there,

You were not invited to driftmark as it was purely a family affair and you remember them giving you hugs and saying goodbye, little did they or even you know that was the last time you would see them. You had stayed in the keep, trying to entertain yourself until they returned back until you received word from your mother to return home as she had heard of what had happened on driftmark and no longer believed the keep to be well suited for you.

You cried for awhile and begged your mother to let you go back, even if it was just a day to speak to them once more but she had refused and kept firm to her decision. Until a week ago when she received a raven hand written from rhaenyra herself stating that not only herself but her children had missed you and wished you would stay at court for awhile, at least until you find a husband. Of course your mother cannot refuse the queen so you packed up your things and you are now standing in the keep.

Your new home at least for awhile. It looks different. The area was very busy though that is not surprising considering probably everyone who has a title was in the keep today. You can see them hanging the signature sigil of house Targaryen all over the walls of the keep.

You can barely believe you were back here again.

Your mother hums at your side, hugging the shawl she was wearing closer to her chest. “It smells here. You truly had lived like this for that long?” Jessamyn, your mothers,,, ‘companion’ as she asked you to call her despite knowing the true nature of their relationship, shoves jeyne lightly with her elbow, “You should not say such things. She must be happy to be back in the keep for the first time do not ruin it.”

You do not get an opportunity to reply not that you would have anything to say before you are swiftly lead through the halls of the keep that you remembered and asked to stand relatively close to the throne. The hall is very full and very loud, full of chatting ladies and lords. You keep close to your mother, who glares at anyone who even tries to speak to her, she's not a very talkative women, very content with the small circle around her but she knows they do not wish to speak to her to keep friendly relations.

You are of marrying age, some would even say you are over due on getting married as many girls your age would already be having their second kid. Your mother never rushed your marriage, saying you are free to do as you pleased, she was trapped in her marriage and was more then happy when he died. She did not wish for the same fate for you and allowed you to pick your own husband, which lead to you rejecting suitors left and right.

You know one day you will have to marry, to continue your line, you are to be the next ruler of the eyrie as your mother states constantly. You need a husband, but you do not wish to worry about that now.

You had not expected the keep to be so packed but it is to be expected. Rhaenyra has officially named her heir and everyone had come to bend the knee. The room completely silences as rhaenyra is announced by a guard and you stand tall as she enters the room and greets the crowd.

You don’t mean to zone out, it is not her fault this whole affair is quite boring. Getting lost in your thoughts. You keep your head down until your mother swiftly smacks you on the shoulder and your head gets pulled up.

You freeze at the sight before you.

“Oh gods.” You find yourself whispering under your breath.

Jacaerys Velaryon.

Dawned in a Targaryen red cloak with a crown on his head he looked like a true king. With his long black curls and sharp jaw he looks like he was a statue come to life. A statue should be made of him in the finest gold as you believe that is the only thing that could even come close to doing him justice. He keeps his head held up high as people begin to get called up and they bend the knee without complaint.

You gulp. He is very different from the young boy you had known before. He was a man. A very handsome man. You two had been close when you were younger, he trailed around with you and would beg you to join him and his family for dinner. He was always sweet to you though you knew of his more teasing habits. You had not thought much about him when you were younger, only truly seeing him as a friend but him now?

You and your mother get called up to bend the knee. You try to keep your balance steady as you cling to your mothers arm the closer and closer you get to him. You two lock eyes and you swear you see a new glow in his irises as he gazes upon you.

His eyes widen as he does not take his eyes off you even when you bend down on your knee and lower your head. You try to keep your shaky breath in control as you close your eyes. If he was handsome from far away he was so much better up close. You did not know if your heart could handle this, the way it pounds as you stand and lower your head in a light bow to him. You expect to be dismissed and the next person to be called up but he instead takes a couple steps towards you and extends his hand out to you. You stare at it with wide eyes and look up at him, his expression is the same as before, but this time he has a light smile on his face.

You place your hand in his and he brings the back up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your skin his eyes never leaving yours before he lets his hand linger against yours for a moment before he slips from your grasp and takes the steps back. Before you can even process what had just happened your mother laces her arm with yours and walks you away, You can feel his eyes trail on your retreating form. Once you're far enough away from him you let out a shaky breath and lean against your mother who hums.

“He is certainly not subtle at all is he.” “Jeyne!”

Your skin heats and you cannot bring yourself to look at him throughout the rest of the ceremony. praying the ceremony will end swiftly and you will be able to retreat to a far corner far away from him.

Your dreams are crushed when the ceremony is finally over and you are quickly stopped while trying to retreat to a different room by a guard who requests you follow him, the queen had requested you.

You cling to your mother’s arm as you are lead through the halls, Jessamyn trailing to your right and places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You were more so nervous about having to speak to them for the first time in a decade. You all have changed, you're worried you will not be able get along with them all as well as you used to.

You are now standing in what you remember to be one of the numerous lounge rooms in the keep. The guard tells you to wait here before he leaves the room. Your mom takes a seat on the couch and Jessamyn sits next to her. You however cannot stomach sitting down right now, you end up pacing back and forth, biting your nails lightly.

“Oh come on sit down. Do not worry so much.” Your mother pats the seat next to her and you shake your head, “What if i say something wrong?” “Im sure you could say nothing wrong to upset him i mean, we saw the way he was looking at you. You could murder his family and i'm sure he would forgive you.” “Oh definitely.”

“I was talking about the queen.” You grumble towards them and they simply look at one another and shake their heads.

Now you were nervous to see him even more. You would make a fool of yourself. But why do you care so much about making a fool of yourself in front of him? He was simply your childhood friend you were looking forward to seeing again, that was all.

Yet when rhaenyra walks in you all stand and bow you cant help the way as your head raises you look behind her to him.

“It is so wonderful to see you again y/n.” Rhaenyra walks over to you and gives you a hug which you are more than happy to reciprocate. “It is an honor to be in your presence once more my queen.” She smiles warmly at you as she pulls back, keeping her hands on your arms.

“How have you been fairing? Oh you have truly grown into a beautiful lady.” You bow your head to her and smile, “You are too kind my queen. I have been well. Though it does get rather lonely in the eyire. I am happy to be back.”

Her face changes at your answer. She seems very pleased with your answer. Maybe a bit too pleased, her face is laced with something akin to, mischievous? Like she is plotting something though you can’t put your finger on. But she pulls back away and eager turns to the side.

“Of course you remember my son.” “How could i forget.”

He smiles brightly at you and your answer as you bow your head to him. “My prince.” “Jace please, you are dear to me, you have no need to call me my prince.” You allow him to grab your hand lightly and watch as he brings it up to his lips once more. He puts down your hand but keeps it firmly in his grip. Not too tight but not loosely enough wear you could slip out of his grasp easily.

“I am so happy to see you Jace.” The grip he has one you tightens at your words, “Your words mean more to me than you know. I have missed you y/n.” When did he become such a sweet talker? He’s clearly been reading those books that he would always groan about getting assigned to by the maesters.

You notice that your mother and rhaenyra have entered conversation and you could see from the corner of your eye the way the three of them continue to eye the two of you. could they be any more obvious?

Well you will not allow them to stop you from conversing with Jacaerys. What was the harm? “Have you been well?” “Well enough. I find myself missing dragonstone sometimes. It is certainly odd being back in the keep after so long as im sure it is for you. But i am sure to be back on dragonstone in no time.” “Ah right, you are the prince of dragonstone of course.” He hums as he steps closer to you and you can feel his breath lightly breezing on your face. “You are not yet betrothed?”

His voice lowers into a whispers and deepens into a tone thats clearly only meant for you to hear. You take a deep breath attempting to calm yourself. If someone saw the two of you they would surely think he was about to kiss you. Maybe you did as well, but you should not think that.

“I an not.” “Is there any particular reason?” You hum, finally locking eyes with him to see his eyes already dead set on yours. “Maybe i have just not found the right man for me my prince.” You watch the look in his eyes darken at your words, the look on his face indescribably but almost more attractive than ever. “I am hopeful i shall find him during my stay at the keep.”

“I am rather certain you will, my lady.” He says with a certainty in his voice, like he is so sure he is willing to bet his life on it. You are not stupid you know he must be referring to himself. Yet the idea of the crowned prince, the heir to the iron throne, the future king of the six kingdoms, was willingly laying himself out in front of you like this. Many other men would simply be showering you in false affections to get you to spill affection for him but seems more than happy to show his hand to you early on.

“Maybe i will.” He continues to stare at you for a moment longer. The tension between you could be cut with a knife. You’re sure he wishes to say more but he looks over your shoulder before he pulls back, taking a step away from you.

You look back and notice the three women behind you seem to be finishing up their own conversation and turn to the two of you with pleased looks. “I am so sorry to cut this short but me and jace have a couple meetings to attend to.” You look back to him and brings your hand to his lips once more, allowing them to selfishly linger there as he speaks. “I shall see you.”

You grin. “I shall see you my prince.” He smiles once more and follows after his mother who left after a quick goodbye. You watch him leave, he gives you a final parting look before he leaves. You trying to quell the sound of your heart pounding in your chest.

The smile on your face does not drop until you look behind you and the two women are giving you amused looks. “What?”

They look at one another before they look back at you. “So when should i expect my first grandchild? Oh i bet it’ll have his hair,” “mother!” “Oh and my baby will be queen of the seven kingdoms, my heart hurts.” you groan as you watch her clutch her chest in mock agony and fall back into the couch. “You are being ridiculous.”

You do not wish to stay here and listen to them ramble about you and the prince so you swiftly begin to make your way towards the door. “I need some fresh air.” “Yes i would need some fresh air too if i was you. The tension between you two.” You let out another loud groan as you walk through the door and storm away, hearing their laughter as you walk down the hall.

You don’t know where you're headed. simply walking through the halls with no clear destination. You decide you will not think much about your interaction with him, or at least try to. You will just relax the rest of the day until you turn into bed. You have never thought much about suitors before what is so different about him? Maybe it is because you have known him for so long, you knew him at what was probably his weakest points of his life and he knew you at yours, maybe it is simply a mutual understanding of one another.

You are snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the loud commotion below you, finally looking around and noticing many people standing by the walls and leaning down to look. You grow curious and make your way closer, hearing the way the sounds of people in hushed chatter and the sound of metal clashing grows louder.

When you look over the edge and gain sight of the men a chill runs down your spine. You can simply only stare at the way his hair flows left and right while he dodges or the way he grips the sword he has in his hands so tightly you can see veins lining the back of his hands and surely up his forearm though its covered by the black outfit he dawns. You’re sure your mouth has been open so long you are catching flies. so completely mesmerized by the sigh below you.

The man he is against suddenly falls on his back and you see the smirk dawn his face as he points the sword to the fallen knights neck. The courtyard is filled with claps though you cannot even bring yourself to move, watching and waiting.

He helps the man up who removes his helm and you can see his face now. Criston Cole who smacks his shoulder and says a couple words to him. You watch the interaction with eager eyes. Criston suddenly looks up and his gaze locks with yours as a look of shock graces his face. You suddenly get pulled back from whatever trance you had been in and meekly attempt to smile at him. He has never been anything but kind to you but you know of his past strained relationship with jacaerys and lucerys so you have always worried he does not like you much.

He looks back to him and gets closer to him, whispering in his ear as he looks at you once more before his gaze drops again back to the younger man in front of him. He suddenly turns around and his eye locks with yours. Aemond. You can barely recognize him, what had happened to the crying boy who would get teased endlessly by his brother and nephews? He looked like a warrior, with that sword in his hand and the shield in the other. You bow your head, not sure what else you are meant to do.

He walks closer to you and you place your elbows on the half wall, leaning over it to look at him as he looks up at you. “It seems the maiden has blessed me this day for she has brought down an angel to greet me.” You flush, when did these men get so romantic? “You are far too kind to me my prince.” A small smile graces his face as he continues to stare at you, you can hear the ladies around you whispering but you put on a smile and attempt to ignore it.

“I am merely stating the truth my lady, you have only grown into the essence of beauty itself. I am grateful to be graced with your presence.” “When did you get so charismatic?” “Maybe i have been practicing for the day you should return to me.”

You shake your head at him as you can’t help the grin that grows on your face. if you were being honest you were not as close as you would have liked to be with Aemond as a child, especially not as close as you were to Jacaerys. It was hard to be when all he did was push you away, though you did always try to apologize to him whenever the boys were picking on him but that's pretty much as far as it had gone. You had wanted to be his friend, even Alicent had tried to encourage him to talk to you but all he would do is run away or say something mean to you that he had not meant.

“You are a fine fighter my prince.” “Thank you my lady. Would you stay and watch?” “You wish to show off?”

You watch as he takes a couple steps back, yet he keeps his eye on you, “I believe with you cheering me on i shall win every fight.” “By the looks of it you do not need me, you would win these fights regardless.”

He says nothing more simply making his way back over to criston with a pleased look on his face. You watch as he turns his head every once in awhile to make sure you’re still there. You stay. You watch him fight with all the different white cloaks, winning every match. It reminds you of being back in the eyrie when the main source of entertainment was watching the knights of the vale train. Though he was much more skilled than those men, much more skilled than any man you had ever seen. You could wager he was the best swordsman in the keep.

As the sun begins to set a maid approaches you. “The queen has invited you to dine with the family tonight my lady. Would you like to freshen up before?” Of course you were being invited to dinner. An odd pit fills your stomach as you think about the fact this would be the first time you would be seeing all of them together the only people you have seen are jacaerys, aemond, rhaenyra, and glimpses of daemon, lucerys and joffery at the ceremony early today though you had not gotten to speak to them.

“Please.” You glance at the training grounds once more and see aemond and criston looking at you. You bow and aemond nods to you before you walk off with the maid.

When you enter your room you let out a gasp as you see another maid fiddling around with a large bouquet of flowers on the main table of your room. “Gorgeous are they not?” You approach the huge bouquet with surprise, “Who is this from?” “Prince jacaerys my lady. How romantic.” You stare at the array of red roses in front of you and allow your fingers to graze against them, bring your face close enough to even smell them. How did he have this prepared so quickly? You can even see that each rose has been dethorned.

Your heart swells at the gesture. “It truly is.” You will have to thank him.

You finally allow yourself to relax as the maids bath you. You could not believe today. You did not know how you felt. You think you are happy to be back in the keep. It is certainly odd to see these halls once more and it is even more crazy to be staying in the same room you were when you were a young girl again. In an odd way it felt like home, a lot more than the vale did. There is certainly more going on here than the vale.

You can help but let your mind linger on aemond and jacaerys. They both cross your mind in an odd way. You do not know what to think of either of them, they were both clearly trying to win your affection and this put you in a rather tricky situation. You think both men are nice, yet you do not know them anymore so you cant say who you like more. You suppose that's what the purpose of this trip is.

This clouds you mind and thoughts all the way up until you are walking into the dinning room. You are early, the only people in the room are alicent, rhaenyra and daemon who were seated at the table chatting with one another. They look at you and smile, “Ah you are here.” They stand to greet you and you wave your hands, “Please you do not need to stand up. I am merely a lady.” “Oh nonsense you are pretty much family.” You smile warmly at them rhaenyra urges you to take a seat.

You pull out a chair in the middle, allowing you to sit in direct eye sight of them who all look upon you. “You look wonderful.” You thank them and awkwardly fiddle with the fabric of your dress under their gaze. “I am hoping you day went well, i apologize again for leaving so suddenly.” You shake your head, “It had gone well my queen. do not fret. I spent it in the training yard.” “The training yard?” “Yes my lady, prince aemond had asked me to stay and watch him practice.”

You watch as a pleased look graces alicent face as she leans forward, “Did he now?” “Yes he seemed rather insistent i would be his good luck charm.” This has alicent beaning as she looks over to rhaenyra in almost what looks to be a challenge. You watch as rhaenyra stiffly smiles, “oh how wonderful.” Daemon shakes his head and picks up his goblet while chuckling. “That reminds me. You should join us in the royal box tomorrow for the tourney. Im sure my son would be more than happy about it.” You catch the way alicent eye twicthes for a moment and rhaenyra merely continues to smile at you. You look between the two women as you attempt to hide your horror. Were they trying to set you up with their sons?

“I would be honored your grace.” “It is settled then.” “Yes the royal box has such a nice view, im sure aemond will impress you with his skills.”

This could not be happening.

“He is very skilled from what i gathered. I am eager to see him on the field.”

As you begin to pray for a saving grace you get one as the doors open and you hear footsteps approach. The chair next to you gets pulled out and a body plops into it with a groan. “I am starving.”

His eyes hit you and his smirk dawns his face. “Ah lady arryn, the talk of the keep today.” “It is nice to see you prince aegon.” “You do not need to lie i know it is not.” You say nothing as alicent scolds him for his words but all he does is shrug, taking a long chug from his chalice. Helaena follows soon after and you greet her from your chair, remember her adversion to touch and she seems grateful for it as he takes her place next to aegon. Soon enough more and more people flow into the room, you stand to greet the dragon sisters and lucerys who all give you hugs and warm greetings, you feel your dread leave your body for awhile until you sit back down and the chair next to you gets pulled back and jacaerys fills the spot next to it.

“My lady, it is nice to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure my prince.”

He smiles and opens his mouth to speak until you feel a presence behind you and turn to see aemond place a hand on aegons seat, aegon looks up at him and grins, “brother.” aemond keeps a stoic look as he continues to glare at aegon. You begin to stand, “You can sit-” “No. Aegon get up.” The man in question groans, “But i like it here brother.” “get up i will not ask again.” You sit down slowly as aegon rolls his eyes and stands from his seat. Sending you a wink before he walks off, “We shall speak again my lady.”

You say nothing as he sits down, merely a nod of acknowledgement. You keep your gaze forward which just so happens to be staring direction at daemon who humorous looks between the three of you. You fear you might go mad.

The dinner starts with a silent prayer, you merely continue to keep your eyes open and look at the table. You have never been a religious person so you allow yourself to look at aemond for a quick moment who appear to be lost in prayer before turning your attention to jacaerys who is already looking at you. You weakly smile at him before turning away quickly just as everyone begins to raise their heads.

The table begins to fill with chatter as the food begins to get brought out. The three of you however stay dead silent. You are going to die. You look over to your mother to see if you can get her help but she is lost in conversation with alicent. You try not to groan as you fold your hands in your lap. Did things truly have to be so awkward?

As you somber in your despair suddenly a very family scent hits your nose and you sit up, looking over your shoulder and staring at the plate the maid drops at the empty spot in front of you amazed. It was your favorite, a dish that was near impossible to get in the reach due to the ingredients and how hard it was to even get food in to the eyrie in the first place.

“It is your favorite right?” You turn to your left in shock as he begins to speak, a light smile graces his face. “I had it requested for tonight.” You lightly open your mouth in shock, you hear a tsk from your right and a light groan. jacaerys is furious with himself how come he had not thought of that?

“It is my prince i am shocked you remember that. Thank you.” He shakes his head, “I would be a fool not to remember such things about you, my lady.”

You eager take some onto your plate and take a bit, letting out a pleased hum as you can’t help but smile. It reminds you of your youth here in the keep, many fond memories come flowing to mind. You were shocked he had even remember this about you as you two truly never spoke much. How much did he know about you that you had no clue about?

As the silence between you all is much more palpable you turn to jacaerys. “I wished to thank you jace.” He lightly coughs into the cup he was sipping from as he turns to you with wide eyes. “Whatever for y/n?” You do not see aemond glaring at jacaerys from behind you, he did not like that you two were on first name bases while you only called him my prince.

“The flowers, they are oh so gorgeous.” He beams, “It is the least i could do. I would have gotten you more but i was short on time.” “I am happy you thought of me no matter what my prince.” “I am always thinking of you.”

You ignore the light scoff from your left but you do not miss the way jacaerys eyes stray and he begins to glare behind you. You quickly turn to aemond, wishing to avoid them arguing. “I have heard you will compete in tomorrow tourney my prince.” His stoic face drops as he turns to you, he hums and nods taking a sip from his cup, “If you bless me with your favor i am guaranteed too secure the victory.”

“Has the queen already asked you about sitting in the royal box?” You nod as you glance quickly at jace. “Yes i will be joining you.” “Very good.” Aemonds face turns devious and your stomach drops.

“It is a shame you are not competing jace, what ever was the reason you gave again?” Jacaerys cluches the cup he has in his grip tightly as a maid walks over to refill it. He does not allow himself to look at aemond simply keeping his gaze onto you. “I am sad to say i have not picked up a sword in a while i am a bit rusty. Some of us have more important things to do then swing a sword all day. I am the heir after all.”

You wish to throw your head back and groan. The tension between the three of you was so noticeable but you tried to simply look at your plate and take a few small bites from it. You had basically lost your appetite. This was the last thing you wished to be happening. Suddenly a hand taps you on the shoulder and you turn around. A hand suddenly shoots out and you notice the band in the corner had begun to play a waltz.

You smile lightly and grab his hand, not sparing a glance to the two men who grow furious as they watch you walk hand and hand with lucerys who turns his head back and sticks his tongue out at them. Why had they not thought of that?

You both bow your head at one another and grab each others hand as you begin to dance the simply dance. “You are welcome.” You sigh at his smile, “Was it truly so obvious?” “to everyone yes.” “Well i shall thank you formally then my prince.” “Luce please. You are basically family. Well you are too be family soon i gather. Whether it be my sister or my aunt. Though i would much rather you be my sister.”

You shake your head, “It is too soon.” “But it is not too soon for them to be fighting over you like dogs?” You have no reply so you attempt to change the topic. “I have heard of your recent engagement to lady rhaena, congratulations.” At this a blush dawns his face up to his ears. He looked adorable. “She is very pretty.” “That she is.”

For a short while a silence falls over you but it does not last you feel the heated stares of the men at the table. “You have gotten much better at dancing.” “You do not need to say that i know i have stepped on your foot one too many times.” as if on cue he steps on your foot again causing you both to go into a fit of laughter. Lucerys looks over your shoulder as he lightly scoffs, “I am shocked one of them has not tried to cut in.” He spins you around and you are able to get a good look at the men who both cannot take their eyes off you. “Do you truly think they will try?” “No. They are cowards.”

You tilt your head at him and he continues to giggle. The song soon ends and they watch from the table as you two bow at each other once more and aemond tries to stop his eye twitching as he watches lucerys whisper into your ear and you double over laughing, lacing your arm with his as he leads you back to your seat.

“My feet are killing me after that.” They do not understand why the two of you bust out laughing at your words and lucerys walks away with a small wave. You continue the dinner with a smile on your face and neither of them say another word much to your surprise. It is not that you do not wish to talk to them if anything that's the only thing you wish for but not if they are going to be acting like fools.

The dinner soon enough wraps up and you stand. The two men quickly standing up after you.

“Allow me to escort you back to your room.” You stare at the two of them as they speak over each other and cross your arms over your chest. “I am more then capable of walking back myself. Though i appreciate the offer. I hope the two of you will be more well behaved the next time we speak. Goodnight.”

And with that you swiftly turn your back and walk off with a shake of your head. They were ridiculous this whole situation was absolutely ridiculous. You just pray that tomorrow will be better and you will be able to get your mind and your heart in check.

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[elbiotipo]

So, remember the 5000 TONS OF FOOD that were supposed to go to community kitchens that Milei's administration refused to give (even though legally the Argentine state should?) Here's the very, very abridged story so far:

When Milei was inagurated, because of his anti-state spending fanaticism, he concentrated the ministries of education, health, science and technology and others into a single mega "human capital" ministry. The name is dystopian enough, but he also put his personal "friend" Sandra Pettovello in charge. Pettovello has just a 2-years degree in "family science" and no experience at all with administration and she was left with all that. Predictably, things are turning to shit, universities and science are defunded (which as you can imagine has affected me very personally), cancer patients have already died because of lack of medicine, and basically everything related to education health and social justice in Argentina is being defunded and in crisis.

The Human Capital (literally 1984) ministry was also supposed to support community kitchens (comedores) which provide for poor people are often administered by popular associations. These associations, being left-leaning and anti-Milei are often hit with accussations of corruption, which are sometimes true, but never to the extent that they're accussed of. So Milei and Pettovello retained, again, 5000 TONS OF FOOD that were supposed to feed hungry people until they 'investigated' these popular associations. Of the hundreds and hundreds of acussations, less than two dozens are currently being investigated. Pettovello insulted the people who said they were going hungry saying that they could queque in the Human Capital ministry and she'll recieve them (and they did as a sort of protest).

Many activists like Grabois (the evil leftist zurdo kirchnerist) demanded through the justice that the food was released. The government and its trolls called them thieves, corrupt, etc. etc. and they started lying (as in the official spokesman, the puppet Adorni) that the food was reserved for emergencies (it was requested for recent emergencies and denied) then that it was of poor quality (it wasn't), and Grabois and other denounced that the food was going to expire, and it should be released NOW. Even pro-Milei right-wing journalists had to recognize that Grabois was right, and hell is freezing over. Meanwhile the chief of cabinet, head of ministers, whatever the translation, was fired for spying and likely insulting Milei's sister. How did Milei respond to this political crisis? He went in honeymoon with his sister to visit some shitty tech CEO forum. He cannot stop visiting shitty right-wing forums.

Finally Pettovello and the government (not Milei, he's busy sucking CEO cock in the US) admited that the food, especially powdered milk, was about to expire and should be distributed by the army (which has no idea what to do but that's how the right thinks), and to cover herself, she threw one of her secretaries, De La Torre, to the anti-corruption office. However, she cannot save herself because everything that De La Torre did was under HER signature, and what's worse it was recently discovered De La Torre had over 100 employees that were cashing millions of pesos without a single day of work, and THAT was also approved by Pettovello. This is probably just the tip of the iceberg of the corruption in Milei's government, which has been just a circus of personal friends and incompetents. What's funny is that people like Grabois were acussed to be corrupt wasters of state money, by De La Torre, and now HE'S likely going to prison for being a corrupt waster of state money.

Speaking of which, Pettovello, by all accounts, is not capable or ready to holding the ministry, she often breaks down crying (too bad, but people are dying because of her incompetence), and most of her subordinates are resigning in droves. Milei remains ironclad in his support for her, though. In fact, he might have REJECTED her resignation when she presented it. Why? Well, when you look at the register of visits to the presidential residence, Pettovello has spent several nights there. It might be that she's really Milei's 'therapeutical companion' with her 'reiki sessions'. At least it's not his sister Karina? Well, while his government and the country is in flames, Milei was taking selfies with Mark Zuckerberg and now is visiting Bukele while Karina (again, his sister) acts like the first lady, and is basically treated as such by libertarians.

It would be all so chaotic and funny if people weren't deprived of education, health and food because of this.

Milei has been president for 6 months, by the way.

#cosas mias #política #argentina

[tossawary]

I'm thinking about "What if the main character did not have a secret, powerful family background and was just some random person?" AUs for different stories, because I personally find that situation more compelling most of the time and I think it introduces more interesting struggles. While thinking about a bunch of other stories, I ended up thinking about Aragorn in "Lord of the Rings".

Now, Aragorn is a special case because 1) I wouldn't really call him THE main character and the "noble" members of the Fellowship are well-contrasted by the hobbits. The hobbits may be mostly Shire gentry (except for Sam), but on the grand stage of Middle Earth, they're still unimpressive nobodies. Frodo is already our ordinary hero. 2) Aragorn's road to kingship comes with him struggling with his ancestor's failures and accepting the heavy burdens that come with being Isildur's heir. This is specifically an arc of a character struggling with their family history. I am absolutely not saying that Aragorn being royalty makes LOTR a bad story and that it would be better if he was just some random guy. I think this is a well-written character storyline that is a key feature of the overall story.

But I do think it would be really funny to write fanfiction where Aragorn wasn't Arathorn's son. (There is the issue of the heritage that makes Aragorn age slowly, but maybe you could wiggle that so that Aragorn has that kind of heritage from a different source?) Like, the line of Isildur has died out, and let's say that Aragorn's mother takes shelter in Rivendell with her son, and kid Aragorn ends up wandering around to the broken sword and picking up the handle. And either Aragorn's mother lies to Elrond about Aragorn being Arathorn's son or Elrond happens across kid Aragorn with the broken sword and thinks... "Hey, what if we just... lied about it?"

Now, this could end really badly! As I vaguely understand it, the Silmarillion (which I have not read) contains a bunch of examples where lying did not go well, so maybe this lie is how Middle Earth falls into chaos in this AU. Whoops.

But even though this breaks some plotlines, I'm a sucker for adoption storylines. I love adoption being treated as important. It's compelling to imagine Elrond and Aragorn's mother carefully explaining the situation with the sword to him, and then this child just... stubbornly deciding that he's going to become Isildur's heir. Maybe Aragorn's determination falters at some point, he gives up on the idea, and he later has to return to Elrond as an adult and persuade him that no, he means it this time, mankind isn't just about bloodlines, he's going to pick up this burden on behalf of all of humanity. I think that there's something powerful in a person deciding that no, I'm not of Isildur's blood, but I have his same potential for success and for failure, and I'm here. I'm fighting. I picked up the broken sword and that's good enough, isn't it? Who are you to say I'm not his heir? I'm HERE.

I think there's powerful magic in that too. (Also, Arathorn is dead and getting adopted as a father by some random kid. Sure. Okay. I think that's just funny.)

(Also, oh my, there is SO MUCH tragedy if Aragorn being Isildur's heir is a lie and Boromir died believing it. The GUILT. The GUILT that Aragorn would feel when Boromir says, "I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king." Like, oh man, now you HAVE TO make it true.)

Now, maybe Aragorn doesn't become King of Gondor in this AU or maybe he does. Maybe Faramir becomes king instead. Maybe it becomes well known by the end of the journey that Aragorn isn't a blood descendant of Isildur and maybe it's a secret known only to the Fellowship. I'd like to think that he still marries Arwen. I like the idea of Arwen happily and knowingly marrying some nobody lying about his heritage and Elrond internally being like, "This is kind of on me."

The most important thing here is that it would be so fucking funny if Aragorn (and Elrond and Gandalf and Galadriel) successfully lied to Sauron the Deceiver. Sauron's like, "Oh? A secret heir come out of hiding to fight against me? Sounds legit." And at some point near the end, just before some hobbits chuck a ring into a volcano behind his back, Sauron is looking at Aragorn like, "Wait a minute, what the fuck, you lying little SHIT."

(Or Sauron finds out via Pippin that Aragorn is lying and feels SO SMUG about how he's going to crush a false king, which just adds to Aragorn's whole "made you look!" distraction keeping Sauron from noticing the hobbits sneaking into Mount Doom.)

#tossawary tolkien #fic ideas #aragorn #elrond #long post #spoilers #make the main character a rando au

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part I

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your story begins. Chapter Warnings: Off screen parental death, implied alcoholism, financial ruin, Loki being vaguely menacing in a library.

Once upon a time, you had a family and you were happy.

Your father was a lord with a modest estate to his name. You had enough money to live comfortably and pay your servants well, but not so much that you lost all perspective. Your parents were good, kind people who were well-liked and well-respected, and they loved you very much. Though they had been married for many, many years, they still behaved as a couple newly and madly in love. Your mother’s eyes lit up when your father walked into the room and your father looked at your mother like she was the sun and moon and all the stars combined in one dizzying and glittering person who lit up his entire world.

In the darkest part of the night, when all your tears had been spent and your heart felt as though it would never stop breaking, you wondered if it would have been better had he loved her a little less, if that would have made things easier for him in the end. It’s the sort of thought that you feel guilty having, the sort of question that you know you’re not supposed to ask—after all, some stones are better left unturned.

Your bright and glittering mother burned too brightly for this world and it seemed rather bitterly poetic that she should be taken by a fever. Her eyes shone bright as new silver coins as the sickness burned through her, her fevered mind conjuring demons and shadowy figures from the flickering firelight in her chambers. The shadows in her mind made her weep and scream so loudly that you couldn’t help but hear it, even though your father tried to shield you from the worst of it. Worse, though, was when she went very still and quiet, her rattling cough the only sign that life still lingered in her too bright eyes.

She was only sick for a fortnight, but it felt like months of pressing cool cloths against her burning brow and waiting with bated breath for relief that did not come.

She died at sunrise, leaving you alone and taking a part of your father with her.

He tried, your father. He really did. He got up and got dressed every day. He still took you on rambling strolls through the city, still took an interest in your studies, still quizzed you on history at the dinner table, still told you he loved you. But his eyes never really regained their former sparkle and his face grew hollow and just a shade too thin. He drank more—always at night after he thought you’d gone to bed. Sometimes, you would find him staring empty-eyed into the fire, like if he looked hard enough, he might catch a glimpse of your glittering mother dancing in the flames just beyond his reach.

The worst part of it was when you tried to talk about it, he insisted he was fine, even as he began to neglect the house, even as he did not hire replacements for the servants who had begun to leave. You suspected—but could not say for certain—that if you were to look at the house’s accounts, you would find a good deal of red in the ledger. He grew weaker and thinner, like he was trying with all of his might to just disappear.

Your father died like your mother—in the quiet of the night before you could say goodbye.

But your problems were only just beginning. 

You hadn’t expected them to bring you before the king’s steward, but that is where they take you when you arrive at the palace. The palace as a whole is light and airy and bright, but Fritjof’s office feels like a dungeon—largely because of the man himself. Fritjof is a thin and reedy man who would seem less imposing and severe if he were carved from granite. He sits at his desk as he looks you over, his mouth drawn into a thin hard line like you've already disappointed him.

“Do you know why you’re here, girl?” You don’t know it yet, but this greeting is a rather apt example of what your entire relationship with Fritjof will be: cold, distant, and abrupt.

You’re not sure if you should look him in the eye—he seems like the sort of man who would interpret a direct gaze as a sign of impertinence while simultaneously demanding it as a sign of respect. There is no winning with that sort of man—you’re young, but you know this.

Ultimately, though, you decide to look him in the eye. Not for him, but for yourself—it at least gives you the illusion that you’re somewhat in control. It’s a comforting illusion, even if it is a lie.

You clear your throat. “My father’s debts, sir.”

He sniffs slightly and it’s somehow dismissive, like you’d said the wrong thing and he’d expected that. “No.” He picks up a quill and makes a careful note on one of the papers sitting in front of him. “You are here,” he says as he writes, “because of the Allfather’s generosity.” He looks up, fixing you with a stern gaze. “You will do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

He returns to his writing. “You are not of age and you have no family to take you in.”

This is a fact that you’ve become quite well acquainted with, but you are still surprised by how painful it is to hear Fritjof say.

“The Allfather has settled your father’s debts and you are now a ward in the employ of the crown. You will take no wage until such a time that your debt to the crown has been repaid. You have ceded all claims to your title and any property of significant value.”

He sets his quill down and looks up, his expression devoid of any warmth. “You are a servant, you are indebted to the crown, and you will remember your rightful place at all times. I do not tolerate foolishness, laziness, impertinence, or stupidity. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow, your fingernails digging hard into the palms of your hands, any hope of finding kindness at the palace well and truly extinguished. “Yes, sir.”

Fritjof stares at you for a moment longer and you get the sense that he’s trying to decide whether you’re truly clever enough to have answered his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from squirming under his gaze. Finally, he clears his throat.

“You will work in the kitchens. Grete will see to your training. You are dismissed.”

You don’t really know where the kitchens are or who Grete is, but you exit as quickly as possible, desperate to leave Fritjof and his icy gaze well and far behind you.

Years pass and you come of age in the punishing pace of the palace kitchens.

You are an average worker, precise and methodical, but not exemplary or incompetent enough to draw much attention. You like it this way—the less conspicuous you are, the less likely that you’ll stumble into Fritjof’s crosshairs. While Fritjof spends very little time in the kitchens, his general presence in the palace has the same effect as an icy draft on a guttering fire. He doesn’t exactly seem to like anyone in particular, but it feels like he reserves a particular kind of disdain for you especially. You’re not entirely sure why—it’s not as if you’ve done anything other than simply exist in front of the man—but you try not to think on it much. At some point, you mention it to Grete and she laughs.

“That man has never smiled a day in his life,” she says. “His soul’s made of vinegar. Keep your head down and pay him no mind.”

You laugh, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling.

Grete is something like a friend, you suppose. She’s around your age and prone to gossip, but she’s pleasant enough. She makes an effort to include you in her small group of friends—Marit, Solvi, Lise, and Ylva. It’s not quite the same as your life before, but you have something that resembles a social life, which is more than you expected given Fritjof’s icy reception.

The head cook, Anja, also turns out to be something of a blessing. While the details of your current situation have left you feeling a little wary about trusting anyone, Anja proves to be the exception to that rule. She’s not exactly a warm person, but when she finds you crying in the pantry one night not long after you first arrive at the palace, she sits you down in front of the fire and fixes you a mug of warm milk.

“I’m not one much for sentiment,” she says gruffly as she hands you the mug.

You tense in anticipation of the lecture you’re certain is coming.

“But losing both your parents in such a short time, that’s a heartache I understand.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you nod and take a careful sip from your mug.

“I won’t tell you it gets easier,” she says, “but the pain dulls after a while. It’ll become an ache you can live with.”

Anja is quiet for a long time as you sip at your milk, but it’s not an uncomfortable quiet. “You’re a smart girl,” she says eventually. “This—” she gestures broadly at the kitchen, “—this is just a short season in your life. You won’t be a ward of the crown forever.”

It’s the first time that anyone has said anything like that to you, the first time that your debt has felt like anything other than an immovable and immutable obstacle. It’s a hope that feels practical and you feel something lighten in your spirit. 

You blink away more tears and Anja pretends she doesn’t see. “Thank you,” you say.

Anja pats your shoulder as she stands. “Wash the cup before you go to bed.”

For the most part, you keep your head down and focus on your work, dreaming about the day your debt is repaid and you can leave the palace behind.

Though you’re curious about your outstanding balance, you decide that you cannot ask Fritjof about it for a while yet. While Fritjof’s general unpleasantness and seeming dislike of you is a motivating factor, the main reason is because the amount you owe is large enough that it doesn't seem particularly prudent to check until enough time has passed for your work to start to make a difference.

So, you wait and work.

It’s many years after your arrival that you finally drum up the courage to knock on Fritjof’s office door. Though you are now a woman grown, you can’t help but feel like you did on that first day: wide-eyed and terrified, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands in an effort to maintain your composure. Even though you’ve never asked him about this before, Fritjof still looks annoyed as he hauls out his ledger, licking his index finger as he flips through the pages.

Your knees are shaking when he finally slides the ledger across his desk for you to inspect. You suck in an uncertain breath while your eyes scan across the page until you find your name.

And there in Fritjof’s precise script is a horrible truth: your balance owed has barely moved at all.

You have worked until your body ached, forgone sleep and many other comforts, and it all amounts to a raindrop in the ocean. At this rate, you will be an old woman by the time it is paid off in full.

You have years of practice holding back tears, but this creeping sense of despair and the lump in your throat are both new. You feel as though you’ve lost something important and after a moment, it occurs to you that the feeling you’ve lost is hope.

“Will that be all?” Fritjof says gruffly.

You jolt. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

You only allow yourself to weep later that evening under the cover of darkness.

But despite that loss, this is the year that everything begins to change, though you won’t know that until much later.

You spend the first week after Fritjof’s revelation walking around in a dazed fog. You eat little and sleep as soon as your work ends in the evening, clinging to what scant comfort your dreams are able to provide. But from that consuming fog of hopelessness emerges a strange kind of freedom. It’s not exactly apathy so much as it is perspective—suddenly, the little things that bothered you seem pointless, arbitrary rules that kept you in line feel less consequential. Does it truly matter if you sneak an extra pastry into the pocket of your apron when so many more years of backbreaking work lay ahead of you?

It’s this change in perspective that motivates you to begin visiting the palace library.

Reading is a pleasure that was taken from you when you came to the palace. You had managed to keep four favorites from your parents’ library, but you have read them so many times over that it is difficult to enjoy them in the same way that you had before. With all of your wages going toward your debt, you have no money to buy books of your own, not even the cheap paperbacks they sell in the marketplace. From time to time, you might be able to arrange a trade with one of the other servants—bartering an extra shift for a borrowed book—but your reading interests and theirs did not always align. A library is a luxury that you can barely even begin to imagine—and one day, it occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t have to imagine it.

You’re not exactly breaking a specific rule. That is the story you intend to tell if you are ever caught. The library is open to the entire palace and no one has ever specifically said that servants are excluded. Granted, if you have to guess, you’re fairly certain that you’re not supposed to be there, but you’re prepared to play dumb if it comes down to that.

You are still careful, though. You only go very late at night during your free hours. You don’t stay long—maybe an hour at most, the clock chiming midnight always serving as your cue to exit. You never take anything with you—you read quietly standing in the stacks, your eyes straining in the dim lamplight.

You like this new rhythm to your days—it gives you something to look forward to, a glimmer of light in an otherwise exhausting existence. The only person who notices you coming and going at late hours is Grete, but she easily convinces herself that you’re sneaking about because you’ve taken a lover. You roll your eyes and tell her that you’ve simply grown fond of a late evening walk. She doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t try to stop you either, which is the only thing you care about.

It’s three weeks in when you’re caught. You expected this would happen at some point, but you didn’t think it would be so soon and you didn’t think that one of the princes would be the one to catch you.

Your stomach drops as you recognize the emerald gaze boring into you from across the room. You hadn’t seen him sitting there, hadn’t heard him come in, and there is no way to hide the open book in your hand. It’s not like you could pretend that you are here on urgent kitchen business, either. If Thor had been the one to find you, you might have had a hope of pleading your case, but Loki...well. Loki isn’t exactly known for being particularly merciful.

You meet his gaze dead on, your chin jutting out almost instinctively in quiet defiance. He looks at you, utterly unreadable, his gaze flitting briefly to the book in your hand. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips—something that could be a hint of amusement, though you can’t quite imagine him smiling in this moment.

He holds your gaze for a moment more and then his gaze drops back to his book.

You stare at him for a few seconds before retreating back into the shadows of the stacks, your heart beating wildly. You’re not entirely certain what this means. Perhaps he is biding his time; perhaps he will go straight from here to Fritjof’s office after he finishes his book. Perhaps he will wait until morning.

You consider this for a moment. If he intends to report you, your time in the library is surely limited; you’ll be back to rereading your own books and making bargains with the other servants. This could be your last chance to enjoy a new book for quite a while. You might as well make the most of it.

It’s not easy to bring your focus back to the text, but you manage, even though your heart is still thundering in your chest. Your legs are a little wobbly, but you convince yourself to stay until the clock chimes midnight.

Loki looks up as you are leaving the library. You keep your eyes on his, chin tilted up as you dip into a perfunctory curtsy. You’re not quite sure if it’s amusement or something darker that makes his eyes glitter like jewels, but it’s out of your hands now and you’re resigned to whatever fate has in store. You leave the library with your head held high, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling under the weight of Loki’s gaze.

When all is said and done, though, he doesn’t report you.

He’s there the next evening when you return and most of the ones after that. You seem to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement with him, though it baffles you. You are not entirely certain of his motivations—perhaps he sees you as an amusing curiosity, perhaps he does not care enough about rules and protocol to be much concerned when someone breaks them. Perhaps it’s simply the fact that you never seek to deprive him of the chair that he favors—the red one right by the window. Or perhaps he still intends to turn you over to Fritjof and he’s merely waiting for the right moment to do it. Whatever the reason, he seems content to allow you to go about your business and you decide that it’s a reprieve that’s best not questioned overly much. 

Still, even with this silent truce between you, even with your vow not to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Loki gives you the same feeling you get when you discover a wasp trapped indoors: a slight sense of unease, the feeling that you must be aware of his presence at all times or risk some sort of danger.

Careful, you think.

Sometimes, you lock eyes and it’s hard to ignore how hard your heart beats in your throat, how difficult it is to hold your head high and not look away. It gives you a strange feeling, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.

He’s also rather absurdly handsome, which doesn’t help matters. 

Careful.

Every year, the palace hosts a masquerade ball. It’s meant to be a celebration for all of Asgard—everyone is invited, even the servants. Inviting the servants is a nice gesture, but a slightly thoughtless one—a ball requires an enormous amount of work, especially from the kitchen staff. If everyone took the night off to attend, there would be no celebration at all.

Many years ago, Anja had implemented a solution to this problem. There would be a rotation—the full staff would work together the day of the ball, with one third being dismissed a few hours early to attend and the other two thirds remaining in the kitchens to work. The assignments would change every year so everyone got the chance to attend. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fair and no one could find any fault with fair.

The problem for you was that Fritjof was the one who actually arranged the staffing for this. And every single year, you are assigned to the group scheduled to work. You know that this is intentional on Fritjof’s part: it is the sort of pointless, petty revenge that he is fond of and it requires little effort for him to accomplish.

It doesn’t really occur to you to complain about it. You’re trying to keep your head down and complaining to Fritjof is not worth the trouble it would cause, even though you would very much like to go. So, every year you ignore the sympathetic looks from Grete and the other girls and try not to think about the dress you have tucked away in the trunk in your room as you work the night away in the kitchens.

Among the few belongings that you were permitted to take with you to the palace is a gown that once belonged to your mother. You wanted a bright, glittering reminder of her when she died and this dress was the brightest and most glittering one in her wardrobe. It is several seasons out of fashion, but it is beautifully elegant, all ivory silk and lace and hemmed with silvery embroidered leaves. The matching shoes are encrusted with blue and silver beads that glitter like glass when they catch the light. A matching mask of silver filigree accompanies it—your mother must have worn it to one of the masquerade balls many years ago.

It is an impractical dress to keep—you have never worn it anywhere outside of your own room—but it’s nice to put it on and pretend sometimes. If you ever get the chance to go, this would be the dress you would wear—everyone dressed a little outlandishly for the masquerade and a gown a few seasons out of fashion would draw no special attention.

It’s a silly, passing thought—just another daydream that makes your old life seem not quite as far away. 

But in the year that everything changes, your absence from the ball is finally brought to Anja’s attention.

On the day of the masquerade, Anja summons you to the larder on the pretext of helping her with some pastries. The moment the door closes, she whirls on you, fixing you with a stern gaze. You tense and for a moment, you think she must have found out about your trips to the library.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been assigned to work during the masquerade every year since you’ve arrived?”

Your relief is immediate, accompanied by a dizzying rush of adrenaline that almost makes you want to laugh. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Of course it matters,” says Anja with a level of feeling that surprises you. “Everyone's meant to have a chance to go, not everyone except for one person. You should have said something to me.”

You know you’re speaking out of turn, but the indignation in Anja’s voice is oddly disarming. “I didn’t think Fritjof would allow it,” you say.

Anja’s shoulders sag slightly and there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that disappears almost as quickly as it appears. “I’ll thank you not to repeat this, but that man is too hard on you.”

You shrug, not really sure what to say.

“Luckily, he’s predictable,” she continues. “He’ll be in and out of the kitchens early on in the evening, so I can’t change your assignment without him noticing. Once desserts go out, though, he’s likely to stay in the ballroom. After the cakes are iced, I’ll send you to go get dressed. You won’t have more’n two hours in all, but it’s enough time to get cleaned up and dressed and have a dance or two before the unmasking at midnight.”

Your mouth hangs open. This was beyond what you had hoped for. “Really?”

“Don’t gape at me, girlie, it’s unbecoming,” she says, lightly tapping your cheek. There’s something warm growing and expanding in your chest and you realize there are tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t you cry on me either or I’ll change my mind,” says Anja gruffly, though there’s warmth there.

You nod, hastily wiping your eyes. “I just—I never thought...thank you, Anja.”

“It’s the decent thing to do,” she says, brushing you off. “Now look lively, there’s a lot of work to be done yet.”

You think of your bright and glittering mother and your kind father and the life that they wanted for you. It’s just a masquerade, but you can’t help the small, hopeful feeling that blooms in your chest.

Little do you know that this will be the start of something rather extraordinary.

(Next chapter) coming soon

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut #as the clock strikes midnight

[acheemient]

Things I think Will happen in Season 3 (it's not spoilers if it hasn't happened yet!):

Crowley takes up the roll of Duke of Hell.

Aziraphale was put into the role of Supreme Archangel so Metatron could keep an eye on him/get him out of the way/control him

God has been removed from the Book of Life or has been trapped or whatever by Metatron since the Not Apocalypse (hence no God narration in season 2)*

Crowley was a high ranking Archangel who Fell when he went to Metatron with questions. Crowley's memories have been erased (Duh)

Nina and Maggie will be back

Crowley dies in Aziraphale's arms, but Az is able to miracle him back from the dead (foreshadowed in season 2 by the whole "Lazuri" measuring system)

Crowley tells Aziraphale, "I forgive you," at some point**

Ineffable Husbands retire to a cottage in South Downs (because Neil loves us and will do right by us)

A Nightingale will sing outside the cottage and will be the last image we see.

Things I think Might happen in Season 3:

Crowley HATES being Duke of Hell, but he does it to spite Aziraphale

Aziraphale HATES being Supreme Archangle, but he pretends he's Fine. Lots of fake smiles

The Second Coming is a baby, and the Ineffable Husbands have to deal with keeping a baby safe from both sides

The Them come back to help save the day

Aziraphale brings Crowley back to life with a very tearful kiss **

Ineffables free God/bring Her back/add her back to the Book of Life somehow

God narrates the ending scene of the Ineffable Husbands living happily ever after, now that She has been freed/brought backby the Ineffables

The Ineffable Husbands end up raising baby Second Coming as their own in their cottage (throw back to them raising the fake Antichrist).

Thinks I Want to happen in Season 3:

So many kisses (I think we will get one, maybe two) between the Ineffable Husbands

A Big Hug between Aziraphale and Crowley (I'm taking about Embrace levels)

Crowley sarcastically bowing to Aziraphale and addressing him as "Supreme Archangel"

Adam still has some of his Infernal Powers. Nothing like before, but some left over

The return of Anathema, but I think her story is done, so this is less likely

A sex scene or an allusion to sex (but it won't happen, so don't worry - see below)

The last scene shows Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Second Coming in their garden outside the cottage in South Downs living as a happy little family.

Things I think we Won't see in Season 3:

Coffee Theory ***

Body Swap Theory ***

A sex scene or an allusion to sex between Aziraphale and Crowley (even though I want it, Neil won't bring it up one way or another. He'll let us all make our own choice on that one)

Newt. I just don't see him coming back

These are all just my opinions. Please do not get angry about anything listed above if you don't agree.

* God's Ineffable Plan was always for the Apocalypse to be stopped by Aziraphale and Crowley. Metatron still wants Earth to be destroyed. He wants his war.

**I'm hoping the "I forgive you" is heartfelt. Possibly when Aziraphale kisses Crowley back to life. Imagine Aziraphale holding dying/dead Crowley in his arms, saying, "Pease don't leave me, I need you, please don't go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Crowley" (etc.). And then Aziraphale's eyes glow purple as his pulls up every bit of his power and presses his lips firmly to Crowley's lips (much like their first kiss), and we finally see Crowley lift a hand to Aziraphale's cheek to kiss back, and Aziraphale is SHOCKED and pulls away to look at a very weak smiling Crowley who quietly says, "I forgive you."

***I know some people really hang their hats on this one, and no insult to them, but I don't think Aziraphale needed any extra prodding or powers used to get him to go back to Heaven. It's enough that he thinks he's going to be able to make Heaven better and/or protect Crowley. I kind of feel like it cheapens Aziraphale's agency and the story.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #david tennant #michael sheen #good omens season 3 #season 3 predictions #long post

[invisibleraven]

Hey, #7 soulmate au is DEVASTATING sooooo

peterpatterlina

Some of the first words every child learned to read were the ones printed on their skin-the last words their soulmate would ever say to them. A bit morbid, and no one really thought it best system to find a soulmate, but it was all they had.

Reggie Peters was lucky enough to have two soulmates-though that meant losing the love of his life twice, he figured that at least he wouldn't be alone. Or at least he hoped.

He traced the sentences that floated over his arms over and over until he knew them by heart.

Cariño.../I'll be waiting

The first he found out was a Spanish term of endearment, one he loved and couldn't wait to meet the person who was going to use it. The second made him a little melancholic, but it also meant he would also have a romantic soul to love.

He met Luke in college, they ended up as roommates, and bonded immediately. They loved the same music, even if Luke wasn't into country. They jammed late into the night, bonding over items of childhood nostalgia and parental troubles alike.

He saw Luke's marks early on, for he constantly wore cut offs and the sentences were scrawled along his ribs.

Maybe we can jam together in heaven?/It's okay, we'll be alright, you can go mi vida

Reggie had to hold back a squee at that, because Luke also had a soulmate who spoke Spanish-could they be the same person? Could Luke be one of his?

They started hooking up one drunken night, and decided to keep it up, developing feelings along the way, deciding to make it official upon graduating when Luke confessed he never wanted to stop living with-and loving Reggie.

They never really talked about the marks-it was a depressing thought, something that couldn't be confirmed until they broke up, or worse-when one of them died. For now they were happy, and that was enough.

They began working as session musicians at a studio, with Luke writing a few songs that got bought helping him get closer to his dream of being a real musician.

They met Alex there, the session drummer who got on with them like a house on fire, and Luke proposed starting a band, all three of them. Give them a chance to perform, maybe be the ones recording their own stuff instead of supporting the latest craze who had AI generated lyrics and next to no musical talent.

However it was through the studio that they met Julie-she was an intern there doing backing vocals for the odd song. And she was good.

"Why aren't you using those pipes to make your own music?" Luke asked her one night as they were all packing up.

"Haven't found my sound yet," she replied with a shrug. "Happy to be in the background until I do."

"Why don't you check out our band?" Reggie offered. "Might be fun to have another vocalist and I know you play a killer piano."

She smirked at that. "I could be persuaded."

Julie joined their relationship soon after that-with lots of conversation beforehand-coming to a head after a long band practice on the hottest day of the year. One that involved them needing to clean the couch in their small studio, lest Alex kill them-though he eye rolled at them the next day, muttering about 'Finally'.

Reggie loved worshipping the marks on Julie-they lined her hips, so he traced them with tongue filled kisses, Luke doing the same until Julie was a whimpering mess between them.

But what about you?/I love you darlin'

The darlin' left little doubt in Reggie's mind-his southern twang didn't come out much, but always made an appearance when granting pet names-Luke was already beau to Reggie. Luke teased him with French pet names, insisting that being called a little cabbage was totally romantic. Julie lucked out in mon cher in Reggie's estimation.

The years passed quickly and at a snail's pace at the same time. They became rising stars, international sensations and passé over several decades. Yet they were always together, there for each other, loving one another and their family.

Yet... well they were getting on in years, though none of them wanted to admit it. Luke in particular refused to act his age-something that proved his downfall, after he fell off a stage, breaking his hip in the process.

Though they had the best doctors, Luke declined fast, his body too frail to recover. The end was upon them, and after the children and grandchildren had said their goodbyes, it left Julie and Reggie.

There were tears all around, with Luke trying to joke, but his once powerful voice was faded to almost nothing. Reggie turned and he knew the next words to come out of his mouth-they had been printed on Luke's side for as long as he had been alive.

"Maybe we can jam together in heaven?" he joked despite the tears almost blinding him.

"I'll be waiting," Luke rasped, a smile painting his aged features. He then turned to Julie. "But what about you?"

Julie sobbed, but then clutched his hands. "It's okay, we'll be alright, you can go mi vida."

With that, Luke slipped away, leaving them to cry and clutch at one another, finally knowing the truth, too late to share the fact that they were meant to be together. But maybe Luke knew-he had seen their marks a million times over the years, so maybe it gave him the solace to go, knowing he had spent his long life with them.

They got along after that as best they could, though it always felt like there was something missing-reaching out in vain for Luke.

Then Julie got sick-she thought it was a cold at first, brushing it off. But after she didn't get better, they went to the doctor.

A terminal diagnosis.

"You can't leave me," he begged Julie that night. "I can't bare it."

"You can, and will," Julie insisted. "You're so strong, and we'll be reunited eventually."

Reggie stayed by her side through every chemo session, any effort to prolong Julie's life, however fruitless. Watching her white curls fall out, her already dainty figure shrinking.

"No more," Julie insisted after a few months of it. "I'm ready Reggie."

"I'm not," he said, kissing her palm. "But it's not about me."

One night as they slid into bed, Reggie knew-deep down in his soul that he would be waking up alone.

"I love you darlin'."

Julie's eyes welled with tears. "Cariño..."

He shook his head, resting their foreheads together and kissing her sweetly. Just held her tight as they slept, feeling her grow cold sometime in the night, and he calmly called for the ambulance.

He had her buried next to Luke, a space bracketing him for Reggie. He went on as he must, but his heart wasn't in it. He tried, for Danny and Luna, for their broods, but he knew life was gray and meaningless without Luke and Julie.

So he let himself grieve, growing even older, until one night-the night he knew he would give up. Tucking himself into the too big bed, closing his eyes and smiling for the first time in forever.

"I'm coming sweetie pies, I'm coming."

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms #hopefully this was devastating enough because it ripped my heart out writing it

[aphblrconfess]

Sooo my yk how in MCD michi faked her death, had a twin brother, and got adopted by the crazy cat lady? Wouldn't modern mystreet version of Michi have a similar life? (Sorta like how laurance joined the shadow knights gang pre-PDH) Well my head cannon for her is this...

(Warning This is a longgggG one)

In PDH we see her as a calm normal teenager, this leads me to believe this was before all of the things listed above. My head cannon is at some point before she was 18, let's just say the summer between sophomore and junior year, her parents and twin all died somehow. Personally I like to think it was an accidental house fire because when you think faking your death in medieval times you think burning your house down and then vanishing. This is also how I think MCD!Michi faked her death.

after her family died, she was placed in the care of the crazy cat lady. And well... To say moving in with an, 'unhinged' old lady won't do wonders for your grieving mind is an understatement.The crazy cat lady effectively isolated her, only allowing for her to go to school and home. This caused Michi to the few positive relationships she had remaining, namely Laurance. But Laurance didn't even really consider her a friend, they hadn't even really hung out much at all. And she always found him with, her. That short girl who delivered that present for that boy who remembered her birthday in freshman year.

High school came and went, and alongside it Michi's could feel as if she was loosing herself. As if all her positive traits were fading, her negative traits just kept multiplying. She still stayed with the crazy cat lady up until she was around 21, that decision would set the stage for the Michi we saw in mystreet season one. The crazy cat lady Michi as though she were a possession rather than an adoptive daughter, she refused to let Michi get a job and also would toss out any college acceptance letters.

She would only leave the crazy cat lady's home when her child hood friend Nana came home from college and was in need of a roommate to afford rent. Nana could tell her childhood friend had changed, but whenever she asked Michi would bring up how much Nana, now 'Kawaii~Chan' had changed since when they first met all those years ago.

Being Nana's roommate wasn't easy, seeing her go out regularly, have a boyfriend, worship that shrine with that girl who was always around laurance in high school, make all the most delicious desserts when Michi struggled to even make pancakes, just made Michi all the more jealous of her. At first she tried getting a job at a bakery, in hopes it will help her get better at baking. But that was a fleeting dream. When she got fired, Nana helped her get a job at the IHOP she worked at. But little did Nana know that this would cause their friendship to fall apart.

At ihop, the girls had a manager, this manager always would compare the two. Always talking about how Nana was the most friendly towards customers, meanwhile Michi was the quickest server they had. The manager would encourage the two to compete. Sowing the seeds of hatred further into Michi's soul.

She just wanted to take then down a peg, just wanted to take them to her level, just to see that stuck up grin leave their faces. 'Kawaii~Chan's joyous laugh which was now unrecognizable. That, Aphmau's smile that lit up rooms. All of it, all of them, she hated them. She wanted to ruin them.

So she tried. She failed of course, but still. But then someone came along, a pretty lady. One Michi knew had the connections to make Michi wealthy, no more hungry nights, no more worries, none of it. She did what the lady asked of her, honestly Michi didn't care much for them anymore, distance truly is a cure all, but she still did it. The lady, Melissa, paid Michi fairly for her trouble.

Michi, now with money to provide for herself. Moved up north, to the mountain range. She always did love the snow, something colder and harsher than she ever was. She became someone new. She felt better and more like herself for the first time in nearly a decade. She even met a nice guy who ran the convenience store! He always had a new and easy recipe to help Michi try.

But then, it happened. Michi was walking home after a rough day, she saw the two people she thought she'd never ever see again. Sure the mountains were close to her old town, but what were the odds? It felt as though someone broke s bottle over her head, followed by a dull feeling, sorta like the potions she used to use. But those potions only lasted a half hour tops, this one felt stronger, more permanent.

Once again Michi felt like a husk.

The man who did this to her, a werewolf, mentioned something about a potions that lasts forever. But Michi wasn't in the right space of mind to even question it. She was like a marionette, saying whatever he'd like, harming whoever he said to, helping dress that girl who looks so familiar but she just can't place her finger on it.

Michi watched as the other three who followed the man's orders left. She watched as the man left too, telling her to go wonder the mountains and find some dignity. So she did.

Local teens tell tales of purple haired mei'fwa who wonders these woods, looking for a man named Ein. Another teen would chime in that sometimes she calls out for 'Chet!', the same name as the old man who works the convenience store. Skeptics debate if she was just a magicks user who likes to be alone, or if she's somehow connected to myth of the wolf who turned into a woman.

(P.s. sorry for typos, I can write long paragraphs but cannot read them :p.)

-

anon can u like ? rewrite mystreet ?? you had me hooked from start to finish and i don’t even remember michi that well

#become a writer #long headcanon #aphmau mystreet #mystreet #aphmau #mystreet headcanons #aphblr #michi aphmau #aphmau mcd #mcd #minecraft diaries

[spacebarbarianweird]

Mortal Bounds. Part 3. Paint it Black

Summary: Astarion delivers news about Tiriel's death to Alethaine who has been living in a faraway kingdom Cormyr as the High Necromancer

Tags: angst, dadstarion, widower Astarion

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

This is the third part of the Mortal Bounds series. Tiriel dies and Astarion deals with grief and loneliness along with their daughter.

Alethaine's age: 130

Mortal Bounds. Part 1. Shall We Meet Again?

Mortal Bounds. Part 2. Death, Worthy of a Barbarian

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The boy is scared. He knows he shouldn’t be – he may be only six, but he is the king of Cormyr! He must not be afraid, that’s what his regent-grandmother says!

But he is.

The mansion is dark and cold as if its owner tried to repel all the light and warmth from it. The king’s nurse, the lady of the mansion, says she is going to protect him.

“Roderic, my boy,” she murmurs, licking her pale lips. “You will be safe here! I will protect you from the vampires.”

The vampires… Roderic heard the rumors whispered by servants in the shadows of the court. That there was a vampire in the castle; someone close to the royal family had been turned into an undead. That people were missing. Grandmother tried to protect the little king, but he heard everything anyway.

And now he is here, so far from his home. 

“I want to go back,” the little king whispers. “No! I order you to return me back!”

The nurse, an old pale lady, laughs. 

“You shall be safe here, my king, you shall be safe.”

And then the door to the room slams.

The nurse stands up and tugs the boy to her. The king may be only six ,but he understands when a person is scared.

“How…How did you get here?!” the nurse hisses.

The stranger doesn’t answer. Roderic stares at her – he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. 

An ageless woman  walks inside the room. Her armor is pitch black, but her hair is the color of moonlight. She has a dagger in her right arm and green sparkles crackle on the fingers of the left. 

An elf!

“Tsk. You could have hidden better,” the vampire hunter says.

“Go away! I will kill him!” The nurse cries out and bares her vampiric fangs.

Suddenly, Roderic finds himself lying on the floor. The strange elf tosses the vampire into the wall as if she were an empty sack. 

And then bares her own fangs.

“How long have you been like that? A year? A month? A week? Who turned you?”

The vampire tries to rip her throat, but the elf makes fast movements resembling a dance. 

“You are a mere spawn, who is your master?” The huntress demands.

“Enough!!!” The vampire grabs Roderic’s neck.

The huntress puts her dagger back.

And then she grabs the vampire’s hair and drags her towards thick curtains that hide a big window. 

Even when Roderic will be old and gray, he will never forget how his nurse became a pile of ashes.

“Don’t worry, your little majesty. Let’s return you to your grandmother.”

“I am Roderic, eighth of this name, the king of Cormyr,” he introduces himself. 

“Well, nice to meet you, your majesty. I rarely work for such noble clients.” She kneels and now their eyes are on the same level. “My name is Alethaine Ancunin.” 

Roderic allows the elf (later he learns that Alethaine prefers to be called “dhampir”, though she shares a lot of habits and traits of the fair folk) to carry him back to the castle. As they walk, Roderic tries to think how to make this lady stay by his side. She can hunt vampires for him! And keep his people safe!

Alethaine must stay.

Roderic doesn’t know how to describe this feeling, but he’s utterly fallen in love like only a little boy can.

***

It all happened sixty years ago and now Roderic, the eighth of his name, is called the Old King. He’s conquered a lot of lands, won a dozen battles, and fathered six children. Things are changing in the wider world and he feels old and thin. 

But some things haven’t changed.

“Alethaine, I know you are there. I expected you would have been in your tower.” The king greets the High Necromancer of Cormyr. 

A woman in a black dress enters the room. Her long silver hair flows down her thin shoulders and reaches down her waist. Her fingers are adorned with rings, each as expensive as a ship, but there is only a small necklace on her chest – it resembles a drop of blood.

“Decided to scare your new daughter-in-law’s servants. They think I am going to put a curse on them.”

“She is my son’s daughter-in-law, not mine,” he chuckles. “I am old, Alethaine, and look at you, you look the same as you did when I begged my grandmother to let you stay!”

“Considering the day before I’d slept in a dirty tavern and then I was given a chamber with two servants afraid I would drink their blood – many things have changed. You need to go to sleep, Roderic,” she places a small bottle in front of him. “This will help.”

A shadow lurks behind the door.

“They think you are poisoning me,” the king laughs. “When I was young and handsome they thought you were poisoning my wife to marry me. What do your people say? ‘You need to fall in love with a human at least once to learn the value of life’?”

Alethaine cringes and he bursts into laughter. 

“Trust me, Roderic, I still think you are a minor.  You’re almost seven decades younger than me.” 

“True. And they say elven women fall for human men. Then you realize they probably just think of them as adult children. Have a good night, Alethaine. And I give you my royal blessing to scare the shit out of those morons my grandson has brought to the castle!”

**

Alethaine walks through the empty halls of the castle to her tower. She senses the presence of servants who study her from the shadows, but Alethaine pays little to no attention to them. 

This castle has been her home for sixty years. She knows every corner and a hidden path, every room and every secret. Alethaine remembers how reluctant she felt when the old queen asked her to stay – to hunt down the vampire lord, to protect the young king.

But Alethaine stayed. 

She exchanged her traveling armor for a long black dress made of the finest fabric. She started wearing expensive adornments. She was given servants who were ready to fulfill her every whim. She gained power and influence, though Alethaine knows people are mostly afraid of her. 

And she loves it. 

Weird.

Alethaine has a lot of enemies, but vampires left Cormyr many years ago because a dhampir was their worst enemy. 

But there is one right in the castle right now.

Her ears twitch and her instincts awake telling where exactly a bloodsucker lurks.

Alethaine takes off her high-heeled shoes and walks barefoot on the cold stones. 

The vampire doesn’t try to hide. He stands in the empty hall studying an old map of the kingdom.

“Dad?!” Alethaine gasps. “What… What are you doing here?!”

Astarion doesn’t react. He keeps staring at the wall, much like a statue.

“Dad, what happened?” Alethaine approaches him. Her stomach ties in a knot.

Something bad. Something really bad has happened. 

Astarion turns to her and she sees he has dark circles under his ruby eyes. 

He is starving.

“Dad?”

Astarion hisses as if her words caused him pain. 

“Hello, princess,” he mutters. “I am sorry.”

**

Astarion sits in front of her in the tower staring blankly at the distance. 

Alethaine thinks she should cry. Maybe she should do something? She tries to remember how humans reacted to the death of their mothers but everything feels blank.

“How did it happen?” She finally asks.

“Well, that was your mother. She jumped on the dragon with her battle ax. Nothing left.”

Alethaine squeezes her lips. Well, Tiriel was a half-elf. They barely live longer than two centuries.

But…

Suddenly Alethaine feels very old. She is 130, a young adult by elven standards. If she were a real elf, she would come to her people. But she has nowhere to go. Dhampirs are cursed with their long lives – they see their families and friends die and the world changes.

Without anywhere to belong to.

“Dad, when was the last time you ate?”

No response.

“Oh fuck…” Alethaine stands up and realizes one of the servants doesn't sleep. A young girl from a poor farmer family. 

The dhampir opens the door to the next room and sees the girl who is both scared and intrigued. 

“I am so sorry, lady Alethaine” she squeals. “Is this…”

“This is my father. And yes, he is a vampire.”

The servant keeps staring at Astarion from a distance. Now the fear is replaced with admiration.

“He is…” she mutters. “I am sorry. I’ve brought you a letter…”

“What is your name? Ilsa?” Alethaine closes the door. Even when he is a starving wreck, Astarion does attract humans.

The girl nods.

“My dad is starving. He hasn’t eaten for days or weeks, I don’t know. He needs blood, and I can’t give him mine.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a dhampir. My blood is poisonous for him.”

“And you want me to…” Ilsa shivers.

“Yes. I will pay you.”

Ilsa nods, tugging a collar. “I am a virgin.”

“What? Fuck, Ilsa, why are you humans so obsessed with it? Bring me a goblet!”

Ilsa returns in a heartbeat carrying a golden wine goblet (Alethaine still hopes that the talented jeweler who made it doesn’t know the necromancer uses it for cheap ale). 

Alethaine takes off a ring from her index finger. “You can buy a house with it. And if anyone blames you for theft, tell them that I will turn them inside out. Now, give me your hand.”

Ilsa’s blood pours down the goblet like a thick wine. When the girl is as pale as the dhampir, Alethaine lets her go and calls for another servant, an old strict maiden. “Give her something sweet. And prepare a bed for my father.” 

Alethaine sits beside her dad and hands him the goblet. 

“Drink.”

Astarion tries to say something but can’t. He drains the cup and then bursts into tears. 

He cries like a lost child covering his face with his palms.

Alethaine hugs him. She feels numb – Astarion has been living with this grief for almost half a year before as he was getting to Cormyr but she still doesn’t understand what she feels.

Her mother is dead.

She will never see her again. Tiriel will never braid her hair or call her “kitten”. She will never tell her stories about her adventures, she will never…

“I am just tired,” Astarion mutters. “When I get to rest, I still see her and think she is alive.”

Alethaine takes her father’s hand and makes him follow her to the guest bedroom. When he sits on the bed, she brings him a potion.

“You need to sleep. You need a real sleep, Dad.” 

Astarion doesn’t argue. He takes the potion and immediately collapses on the bed. The slumber takes him slowly and Alethaine stokes the fire to warm the room.

“Princess,” Astarion whispers.

“What is it, dad?”

“You know… I still sometimes wonder… How come… you are…real.” 

And then he falls asleep. Alethaine hopes he will see neither nightmares nor dreams.

**

Alethaine sits on the wall of the tower wearing her black armor. For some reason, her old clothes feel more comfortable than the newer dresses. 

She misses the road. She misses the wilderness. She misses being herself. As if her mother’s death destroyed an illusion.

Alethaine opens the letter.

It’s a weird mix of Abyssal symbols and Thieves’ Cant jargon. The dhampir lingo. Alethaine immediately recognizes Theris’s handwriting, her youth pal –  a bard tiefling who single-handedly invented the dhampir culture with their songs and superstitions, myths, and legends. 

COME TO US TO THE DHAMPIR FREEHOLD.

Alethaine keeps reading – the Dhampir Freehold? Her people have got a place of their own? Somewhere to belong? Alethaine studies the symbols which appear to be a map. 

Home…

The half-vampires, the grandchildren of the night, the kids of Cazador’s spawns have finally obtained their home. 

**

Astarion sees a dream. He knows it’s a dream for he isn’t in a reverie. And he has never been in a place like that.

“Astarion.”

He looks to the left and sees Tiriel. She wears an elven armor, one she never wore when she was alive.

And she looks…not exactly like she did when she was alive.

But it’s her. His beloved. His Tiriel. His savior.

“Don’t cry, my love,” she smiles and he notices she is a bit shorter than she was and her ears are longer. 

Elven ears.

“Tiriel…”

“We are all elves in Arvandor,” she says. “I will wait for you. You need to find your sunwalker gift.” Tiriel kisses him. 

**

Alethaine walks through the halls of the castle. She almost didn’t take anything with her except for a few expensive adornments she was going to sell (those were given to her by admirers).

The High Necromancer is going to disappear.

But she needs to say her goodbyes. 

Roderic, the eighth of his name, sits in his chair before the fireplace. He doesn’t sleep but Alethaine suspects he isn’t fully conscious. 

“Hello, Alethaine. Are you leaving?” he casually asks.

She nods. “I am going to my people.”

“Hm, well, then I bid you farewell, Alethaine Ancunin. You were quite an adventure. But can I hope you will come back if my descendants need a dark witch to help them?”

Alethaine smiles.

“I will see what I can do. Goodbye, my king,” Alethaine passes by him and opens the window. 

“You know, we humans have a saying, too,” he murmurs. “Bless be a man who loved an elf.” 

With these words, the king falls asleep.

Alethaine approaches him and kisses his wrinkled forehead like she used to do when he was just a boy afraid of the dark.

And then she leaves the room walking down the castle wall.

**

“So, you are going to the Underdark?” Astarion asks when father and daughter meet at the tavern. “I think there are more…appropriate places for a woman like you.”

“I am a dhampir, Dad, we are not solitary creatures like vampires,” Alethaine says. “And you? Where are you going?”

“Back to the Sword’s Coast. You know, I prefer to mess up with the law than with monsters. Besides, everyone needs a good lawyer these days!”

“Dad…” she groans. “How many valuable possessions did you steal?”

“Nonsense,” he laughs.

“Doesn’t matter, I am not coming back anyway,” Alethaine hugs Astarion. “Hope we shall meet soon.”

“I am sure of it, my princess,” Astarion kisses the crown of her head. 

--

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@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

@nyx-knox

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #baldur's gate tav #astarion established relationship #half elf tav #hurt/comfort #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion baldurs gate 3 #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #astarion imagine #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion fics #alethaine ancunin #dadstarion #mortal bounds

[magnus-rhymes-with-swagness]

today i randomly ended up writing in a cemetery and was like huh this place looks weirdly familiar… i feel like i’ve been here before somehow… and then i looked over and there was emily dickinson’s gravestone and i realized OH! i have indeed been here before!

#emily dickinson #my words #personal #my photos #i was sitting there under a tree wondering why the place felt so familiar and then i literally looked over like oh. hi emily lmaoo #also when i was looking at the newest batch of offerings i noticed that her gravestone says ‘called back’ instead of ‘died’ #even though her family’s all say ‘died’ #looked it up and apparently her niece chose those words because emily sent a letter saying ‘called back’ to her cousins when she was in the #final stage of illness #i think that’s very interesting #also! chipmunk guest appearance! there were so many of them :]

[britneyshakespeare]

Also I never knew that there was even a single color photograph of my grandparents' wedding in 1952. I've only ever seen the ones in black and white. Don't they look beautiful? Didn't I just come from the most gorgeous people?

#i love how you can actually see my grandfather's red hair #as a redhead i know the injustice that black and white does to us... alas! #my charcoal self-portraits always look unlike myself to me because im like i have red hair. this doesnt look like a redhead #this isnt me #also even though it's a white dress. grammy's dress looks so much more beautiful surrounded by color #wow #tales from diana #did you know i never knew my grandmother was a local beauty queen when she was younger until after she died? #when her dementia got to the stage where she needed a live-in nurse to help her all the time #at one point my aunt rediscovered a picture from when she was about. 17. i posted it years ago #she scanned it and had it cropped and framed and left it in the front of the living room #the first time the nurse saw that photo (i was there) she said 'DAAAAMN MOM IS THAT YOU?' #and grammy was like 'oh :) yes thats me' #like it was nothing and then later on the nurse said 'i know you already said it but damn i just cant stop looking at you!' #that nurse was really nice. really really nice. #the priest at the wake when saying a prayer for the family before everyone else started ushering in #mentioned what a beauty my grandmother was and what a lovely couple the two of them were. #they went to that local church for about 60 years so he mustve known them for decades. it was a nice touch.

[dezwade]

started thinking about Marcus too hard again. 50 dead, 100 injured

#!!! #like he was just a KID. he was fucking FIFTEEN and he died because his own DAD didnt see him as a person #he was too human to complete his missions because again he was a fucking kid #of course he was going to be petty and let his emotions get in the way #but he wasnt human enough for his dad who literally refers to him as a weapon and only saw him as a convenient replacement. #a means to end that could be discarded once he fulfilled his purpose #douglas knew he was going to die but did fuck all to stop it #but marcus doesnt know that and doesnt know families arent supposed to be full of thinning ice and conditional love #he thinks that their pizza nights and douglas' stage dad behavior actually MEAN something #and its not just douglas using him as a way to temporarily fill the void donald made when he took ab&c #so he dies in a last ditch attempt to see his dad's plan through and prove hes good enough #and then #hes not dead? #hes not dead and its two years later than its supposed to be and his dad never fucking came back for him #his dad went off and reconciled with his brother - therefore making marcus' very EXISTENCE obsolete #- even though it was supposed to them against donald. them against the world #but it turns out that was just another fucking lie #and now the world's moved on without him and he doesnt even recognize his own body #and theres this woman who says that she saved him and is offering revenge and (to him) a new family in one fell swoop #and heres the thing: she saved him. she went out of her way to find him and repair him which is more than douglas ever did #so what is supposed to do? say no? #shake off years of being taught that when someone wrongs you you have fight tooth and nail for revenge? #douglas has had two years to grow as a person but from marcus' perspective its only been a couple of days #hes never been given the time or chance to learn anything besides bloodshed and violence. #to see himself as anything beaides a force of destuction #so of course he says yes and of course it all goes wrong #and he dies and no one grieves and his own dad CELEBRATES his murder like this whole thing wasnt his fault in the first place #and just #yeah he did some fucked up things but he wasnt worse than douglas #and how can you hold a teenager to higher standards than the man that raised him

[wyrmswears]

no one else was making content for this series so fuck it, i get to decide canon now

#'why is wolf island in bigger text than the others' would you believe me if i said i wrote classic british tv show wolfblood on accident #friends please look away from my silly werewolf blorbo #demonata #grubbs grady #the demonata #GREAT OK SO I HAVE A LOT TO SAY #i reread the beginning of lord loss semi recently and it gave me feelings as well as a deeper understanding of the circumstances tm #like?i knew WHY they died. but i didnt realise that gret was aware of it. #seeing her being genuinely terrified of it??? wow ouch my feelings #also grubbs being scared enough about losing his family to not even entertain the idea #i also seemed to have misremembered? like i thought grubbs just came home from school to see It but instead they sent him to a relatives in #order to try and keep him safe as possible #i think in timeline 2 electric boogaloo that grubbs doesnt smoke because even though there isnt That going on. it still reminds him of it #speaking of timeline 2! i have feelings about it. namely shit like imagine finding out that your younger brother is actually immortal and #all powerful and this is his second time experiencing life and also #hes a werewolf #tbh the werewolf part is probably the least shocking #anyway also grubbs is trans and since there isnt a fandom for this no one can disagree with me #i hate that hes canonically tall as fuck and buff but its ok we persevere #wyrm draws

[lanayrutower]

i'm about to throw hands with this yt poll.

this is the zelda version of that twitter butch post to me.

#the best zeldas arent even here!!! if og 'i was like 8 y/o when i SHATTERED the triforce and hid it ALONE in a monster infested land' zelda #and st 'the only one with a character arc u see play in real time & goes from i'll wait here to i will STAB malladus with my own 2 hands #and alone if i have to' zelda were here they'd obliterate the competition. maybe not in votes but just in terms of correctness #BUT EVEN IN THIS CASE. ur not voting for ms. 'i saw my family home and kingdom be systematically destroyed over the course of 7 years & #stood back up said no & changed my ENTIRE self to try to save everyone largely on my own for 7! years! as a child!! only to at the end of #it all be the only person who can truly empathise with the hero who had his childhood stolen from him and return it even though i will #never have mine again'???????????? #or even ms. 'i was normal & happy & loved until i wasnt and i learnt i was the orchestrator of my own and everyone else's misery because im #not even myself & im so much bigger yet lesser than who i thought i was and if i cannot be divine then i will be less than worthless i will #be a blight who couldnt execute the plan i had tossed everyone into and they will have lived in my lie and died for nothing so i will be #divine even if that means sealing myself away for an eternity. even if i will never know happiness the way i did again'???????? #i cant say anything about twipri. i barely remember her bc i watched that playthrough ages ago and she was barely in the game idk what ur #voting for #but botw???????? /BOTW/????????????????? #girl wasnt even the best princess in her own game and she only had one other competitor smh #(<-THAT'S A JOKE. THAT'S A JOKE. I AM JOKING.) #this whole thing is half a joke. i love botw zelda (dont look at me like that. i do) and i get why she's winning but like. come on. that's #way too big of a divide. how are oot and skysw losing that much. botw zelda's voice alone should have cost her half her votes #WKSHDKSDHKKA #anyway this whole thing is for funsies so dont be weird on my post ok <3? ive had a shit three days and if being fake mad at a silky video #game poll makes me laugh then that's fair ok? and if you're weird i have the license to explode you with my mind and curse your family for #3 generations ok <333? #freya talks loz

[fingertipsmp3]

So one of my friends considers herself to be a skeptical and distrustful person but is going to see a medium tonight. Every day God picks new and interesting ways to test me

#the urge to say ‘it’s a fucking SCAM there is no way that a legitimate medium is operating in our small; low income; white trash; #conservative yorkshire town when they could be LITERALLY ANYWHERE ELSE’ was so strong #i only didn’t say it because her sister-in-law passed away.. sunday i think. so that’s an extremely short space of time #the wound is raw and the last thing she probably needs is me saying ‘hey the person who you think is going to talk to your sister in law #is scamming you’ but also like…… the last thing she needs is to be scammed!!!!!! #the best i could do was hint. like ‘that sounds interesting; i’ve thought about going to a medium as well [my dad died] but the fact there’s #no way to know they’re legit put me off. have a good time though 💛’ #like i can’t really do more than that #i mean ideally i’d find out the contact details of whatever medium she’s going to and threaten them into cancelling the session #like ‘if you take even one singular penny from my grieving friend i will personally make sure you join her dead loved ones. and i hope they #beat you up even worse than i did’ #but she’d never give me the contact details because she knows i’d do that #the whole thing is fucking terrible. it’s fucking terrible that her sister in law died of stage 4 stomach cancer (which would have been #diagnosable and preventable if doctors had just BELIEVED HER when she went to them with her symptoms) #and it’s awful that there are people out there who look at grieving families and see gold #anyway i wish all fake mediums a very die. fake psychics who don’t claim to contact the dead you are on thin ice #i read cards too but i don’t do it for money (in fact i barely do it for other people at all honestly) and i am VERY transparent #about the fact that i don’t claim to be contacting dead people or deities and i don’t know how this works #i know my predictions are usually pretty accurate but i don’t know how #and i’m not saying there are no real mediums out there but they are certainly few and far between #and i HIGHLY doubt they’d be here in my shitty little town. thank you for your time #personal

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

#the golem and the jinni #i was scrolling goodreads and the take i kept seeing was 'oh I wish Arbeely could've had his family too bad the jinni FUCKED IT UP' #but idk that's just not how i read him. like thats not where i feel the problem is #his whole shtick is being content as the jinni's foil and like! things can change! but the way it's done leaves him totally unresolved #which in turn means the jinni's shit is also never getting resolved because there is like no way to #when Arbeely describes his future family in the first book it's all 'someday... vaguely...' and AGAIN! what you want can change! #and honestly it's really interesting and sad that he makes this sacrifice for the jinni #but it's a layer of complexity that like clashes with how little he is there for and how little the author's invested in him #and like the way the no marriage literally did not ruin his life at all... sure it sucked but the man is still like idk rich #what has continuously fucked with him throughout both books is that he wants (or at least spends half his page time thinking about) #emotional connection to the jinni in a human way #which is something the jinni cant\wont give him even though he's basically Arbeely's only close friend #(besides ig maryam who was rlly funny hinting at her dislike for the jinni like someone trying to get their friend to dump their toxic bf) #anyway the vibe in the first book is that he only thinks about wanting a wife when the jinni is being a dickhead #BECAUSE the jinni eases arbeelys loneliness by just being there because at the end of the day that's what humans need #but then it's made really weird in the second book by Arbeely getting 'trapped' by the jinni (and yet they just grow further apart) #which means that the only thing arbeely actually spent half his life discontent with and then literally died without is not a wife #it's emotional intimacy with the jinni. which is insane to me #arbeely is obviously already tragic but this seems TOO tragic entirely because the book doesn't give af about addressing it #if it was like a plot thing then all of the above would be fine and gutwrenching because it ties back into the jinnis self isolation #BUT IT'S NOT. like i get arbeely isn't that important to the plot but he was important to the jinni and the jinni was important to him #alsoo necessarily disclaimer i'm not trying to say he's in love with the jinni or anything like that #although a queer arbeely (divorced from the above idea) would also been interesting cuz I dont think the jinni has a grasp on homophobia #so idk theyd be keeping each others secrets (arbeely x the biscuit man? JOKE) #BUTTTT! I don't believe he needs romantic energy! him and the jinni having awful vibes up until arbeely's literal death is what bothers me #The jinni is a bad communicator ik but come on... not once? not even before the diagnosis? The jinni also thinks about how distant they are #could they not talk a little? for me? there are ways to do it within the bounds of their characters FOR SURE #im sure this is the point but i do dislike it either way. anyway sorry arbeely u remind me of my uncle #the hidden palace

[karinyosa]

i constantly re-remember how recently the countries my family are from gained independence. like i have relatives older than their countries' independence

#i'm absolutely not alone in this but i feel that way about a lot of historical events #the philippines got legal independence from the us in FORTY SIX #for malaysia from britian it was FIFTY SEVEN!!!!! #like that is fucking crazy #i watched an elliot sang video where he said something along the lines of #to begin to truly understand the tangible effects of colonialism you have to find out how it affected your family #or something like that like that's definitely not word for word but that's the idea #he was talking to a palestinian girl who was part iraqi and remembered #being a child and seeing her mother get all these phone calls about people in their relatives' neighborhood who died #and it was just like a constant thing and she was talking about how much palestine was reminding her of that #my mom has memories of her grandma telling her about witnessing japanese beheadings of filipinos as a girl #she said they'd come down from the trees and that the bodies and heads would spasm after being separated #my mom has had nightmares about invasion even though she never lived through it. i've seen a couple people on twitter say the same #both my grandmas are older than their countries have been independent #i don't know man it's a lot to think about #me.txt