#CRYSTAL CASTLES group

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"NO ANESTHETIC, LAY YOUR PACE, MUTILATE THE HUMAN RACE."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a live shot of Alice Glass, Canadian vocalist, singer, songwriter, co-founder and former frontwoman of electronic/dance musical duo CRYSTAL CASTLES (2006-2017).

"When I cut deep you'll think of me, Until your lobotomy, No anesthetic, lay your pace Mutilate the human race, This way, we can be together, Mangled hearts stitched with leather, I've been waiting for so long, Your silent scream's my favorite song."

-- "Love and Caring" (2008) by CRYSTAL CASTLES

Source: http://timeforheroes729.blogspot.com/2014/02/crystal-castels-alice-glass.html.

[sl-ut]

princess of the north

in case i dont end up posting again over the holidays, i just wanna say i hope everyone has a great holiday season and a very very happy new year!!!!

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!pregnant!reader

description: cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws. 

warnings: NO DANCE AU!!! (rhaenyra ascends the throne peacefully), weird blend of book and show timeline, slight description of character (silver hair, purple eyes, that’s it!!!), smut, reader gets pregnant like halfway through, pregnancy sex, oral, piv, SEX IN FRONT OF A FIREPLACE ON A BEARSKIN RUGGGG oml

words: 9.7K

date posted: 10/12/24

The winter had been very forgiving, thank the gods. It had been remarkably short, just under eight years in total, meaning that it had come to a close with plenty of food still in storage and northerners who were more than willing and able to transition into the oncoming summer with ease. 

Winterfell was left in a generally stable state, aside from the fact that there was a greater need for livestock now that they not only had an additional mouth to feed, but also a fully grown dragon who resided in a make-shift dragonpit only a few minutes ride beyond the walls of the castle–a wedding gift that the Lord of Winterfell had prepared in anticipation of his new wife’s arrival. Otherwise, the North seemed to be in greater shape upon the dawn of this new summer than it had in all of Cregan’s years. 

The greatest of Cregan’s accomplishments, of course, was his new wife. At the beginning of the winter, he had not expected that he would be married by the end of it, but with the arrival of Prince Jaeaerys on his official tour of the realm also came his proposal of marriage between Lord Cregan and his own aunt, the youngest daughter of the late King Viserys I and his second wife, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. He had been hesitant to consider this offer–he’d never met the woman, which was not uncommon for marriages of such high status, but he’d been fortunate enough to have been able to form some sort of friendship with his late wife prior to their union. Jace had brought along with him the terms offered by his mother, in her own hand, of course, as well as a portrait of the woman in question. 

Cregan was not above admitting how taken he’d been with the sight of the princess, even if it were only a recreation of her beauty on canvas. He’d heard of her beauty before, it was rumoured around the realm, but seeing it was entirely different, a sort of beauty he could not have imagined on his own.

“Tell me, my prince,” Cregan asked him, hardly drawing his crystal blue gaze away from the portrait, “you are her blood and have grown up with the princess, is this painting to her likeness?”

Jacaerys smirked, “Of course, Lord Stark. My aunt is known to be one of the most beautiful women ever to live.”

Cregan pursed his lips. He was aware of the strange customs of the Targaryens, having married brother to sister and uncle to niece for generations. Jacaerys could be speaking the truth, for he himself could hold some sort of affection for his aunt, but Cregan did not suspect as such. Intead, his greater question was whether Jacaerys could be lying to him out of political gain; as his mother’s envoy, it would do him no good to suggest that the artist had not accurately painted her. Her looks were of no concern to him, but he valued honour and truth over all else. If they were attempting to attract him to the deal by portraying the princess as such a beauty over anything else, he would be personally insulted to discover that he’d been lied to, a snub from the royal family would not be taken kindly by House Stark. 

“What say you?” Cregan turned to the group of men standing just to the left of the prince, all who seemed alarmed at Lord Stark’s attention being turned to them, “How do each of you vouch for the princess?”

The men, one at a time, attested to the princess’s beauty until he stood before the smallest and visibly youngest of the men.

“And you, lad?” 

“I’m afraid the portrait fails to depict the princess, milord,” The boy grew rosy in the cheeks as he imagined the princess in his mind, eyes drawing towards the portrait, “That is her, yes, but only as close as the Master Holbein could have made it, for I do not think it possible to recreate such beauty. She is gifted by the gods, surely, milord, both in beauty and manner. She is kind, brings food and toys to orphans in Flea Bottom and ev’rything, milord.”

Cregan, taken aback by the answer from the youngest boy, turned back to Prince Jacaerys, who seemed equally as surprised as he did pleased with the answers of his men.

“This is true, milord,” Jace said, “the princess is known among the people for her generosity, among her other talents and traits. It cannot be denied that her mother, the Queen Dowager, was not fond of my family, nor us of her, but the princess was raised better than any of us, I would say. Take the night to think on it, I would hope to send word to the queen before I leave Winterfell at noon.”

Cregan did as instructed, thinking on it long and hard. Her beauty had been their main selling point, something that could not be denied from the portrait sent of her. Lord Stark had half a mind to hang it upon the mantle in his bedchambers whether he takes her to wife or not, but it was not her beauty that had truly swayed his decision. Instead, he thought over the young lad’s words; a southern lady scarcely thrives in the North, a nation nearly as large on its own as all of the remaining six kingdoms put together. The weather was harsh, and the people were harsher, something he could not imagine a Targaryen princess handling well. However, he’d heard of Alicent Hightower’s assertiveness and ability to lead while her husband was incapable and Rhaenyra was in Dragonstone. If what Jacaerys had told him was true, the princess would be dutiful and loyal, and according to the prince’s men, kind beyond words. Beauty may have factored into his decision on a personal level, but he also met the prince the next morning with his acceptance mostly on the basis that he believed that the princess would be wholly capable of helping him rule the North.

He wrote to her a week after Jacaerys departed from Winterfell, certain that the news would have already arrived in the capitol and she would already be aware of their arrangement. He would have little time between her arrival in the north and their wedding to meet with her in private, so this was his best hope. He was pleased to receive a raven in return only three days later, neat handwriting befitting a princess scrawled across the parchment. It was not much, but Cregan was able to learn some things about her through the letters, making it seem like he was less-so marrying a stranger and more as if she were a distant friend. 

The month following, the princess would depart from King’s Landing in a procession he was told seemed a mile long. He waited with anticipation, Winterfell in a flurry of servants and guards to prepare the castle to house the royal family and their household, as well as for the wedding itself, and only one more month would pass before his bride had arrived within the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan had bowed respectfully to the Queen Dowager as she stepped out of her wheelhouse, then to the two silver-haired princes who arrived on their steeds. His eyes scanned the growing crowd for any sight of his betrothed, finally catching sight of her as she took the hand of a Dornish white cloak to balance herself as she exited the wheelhouse, a pretty white fur-lined cloak wrapped around her shoulders, almost blending into the pale blonde of her hair. She was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had traditional Valyrian looks, but also held an aura of softness. 

She was nervous as she curtsied before her, but seemed happy enough with his appearance and manners as he greeted her with a kiss to her leather-gloved knuckle. The moment was broken apart by her mother’s level tone, requesting to be brought to her chambers for some rest before supper. That evening Cregan found the portrait of the princess that he’d received months earlier and personally hung it above the mantle in his bedchambers. He thought it was safe to say he was smitten.

The princess appeared bashful in his presence, though he was partially certain that her discomfort was brought on by her ever-present family, each looming nearby as if waiting to intercept his attempts of conversation with his betrothed. He could not decide who he had grown to loathe the most; Aegon had already drank a generous portion of Winterfell’s wine cellars even before the wedding, and often joined the conversation with the goal to tease his sister and see her shrink in embarrassment; Aemond was constantly looking to best anyone in his path, and seemed almost possessive over his sister’s attention; her mother had hardly allowed them a moment alone, constantly insisting on supervising any time that he would invite her for any sort of activity, or set one of her brothers after them instead. Alicent had a habit of speaking for her daughter, meaning that Cregan had no opportunity to truly know her while her mother was present, while her brothers made it impossible to even speak to one another at all. 

He was finally glad on their wedding night, when he’d arranged the head table to be broken into three, leaving the happy couple to sit above the rest and finally receive some alone time. She had been radiant in her gown of white furs and fleeces, meeting him beneath the weirwood tree with her eldest brother at her side to give her away. He’d been glad to tear away the cloak of red and black, intricately interwoven into a field of green and gold at the bottom–it would be unlike Alicent Hightower to allow her children to wear the Rhaenyra’s colours without her own as well. It would be hard to tell whether she looked prettier in the harsh colours of her maiden cloak or in the dull ones of his own, but he couldn’t help but note how greys and blues suited her better than he could have imagined. 

He could tell her family was less than pleased with this arrangement, making an effort to step in for every miniscule matter that caught their attention. Cregan watched her from the corner of her eye as she shakily took a long drink from her cup. He finally found time to chat with his wife, slowly watching in awe as her walls slowly began to come down as she found herself giggling along with him and whispering into his ear. 

“What of the leftovers?” She’d asked, breaking their previous conversation topic.

“Leftovers?” Cregan repeated.

She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes expectantly, “The food. There will be plenty of leftovers–they should be brought to the nearest towns.”

“Is that a command, princess?” 

She appeared bashful at his response, walls slowly building back up around her, “I-I- My apologies, Lord Stark, I–”

He grinned at her playfully, his large palm cupping her cheek affectionately, “If you wish it, you shall have it. I intend to make you very happy, my love.”

She smiled, her beauty shining through even stronger as she became more and more comfortable around him, “Thank you, husband.”

Cregan pushed himself to stand, the sound of his chair pushing back cutting through the chatter and music and laughter filling his hall, all eyes turning to him expectantly. 

“My lady wife has made her first official command as Lady of Winterfell,” his voice carried through the hall with stern ease, and the attention of the crows quickly turned to her, “Lady Stark has decided that all leftovers from our wedding feast will be donated to the people of Winterstown.”

The crowd had been quick to applaud, deafening cheers throughout the great hall, northerners seemingly pleased with her decision or, at the very least, just excited to have another reason to be celebrating. He caught the glance she sent to her mother, and the happy grin that covered her face as the Dowager Queen sent her a sign of approval. His lady wife was kind, and sweet, and he was certain that, once she gained her footing in the North, would serve as a strong and dutiful Lady of Winterfell, all of which he muttered into her ear as he had her for the very first time that night. 

Three years would pass, he’d been right to assume such things of his wife. He’d quickly discovered that she was able to thrive without the looming shadow of her mother and brothers. She had been slow to find her footing in the beginning, some of his bannermen even questioning his choice in wife, but she was determined to prove them wrong, and in doing so, warmed Cregan’s heart even more. 

They’d discussed children in the past, and both had decided that they were happy enough with Cregan’s son from his previous marriage for the time being. They were not trying, but they were also not not trying, which is how she found herself swelling with her first child just as winter came to an end. Her husband had been insatiable in their first year of marriage, but once he knew that she carried his child in her belly, there was scarcely anything that could stop him from having her each and every night. 

Summer brought a homier feeling to Winterfell. People were not quite so afraid or negative as the desolate conditions faded away. Summer in the North was nothing compared to the many summers she had spent in King’s Landing, where she had once enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, exposed beneath her more revealing gowns than those she was able to wear in the North; the lords of the North had criticised her choice in dresses early on in her marriage, and she had no doubt that their wives spoke harshly about her in her absence. She was by far the youngest of them, and was also the only one who could afford to wear such fine silks layered over her thick fleece and fur underdresses. Cregan knew better than to try and argue against his wife’s will–Lady Stark or not, she was a Targaryen princess through and through, and now that he had helped her build up her confidence, there was no way he was about to take that away from her (especially when she looked so so beautiful). She was thankful that she was able to cut down on the layers she needed now that the weather had transitioned from inhospitable to frigid, though she knew it was coming time to transition her wardrobe as well now that her breasts and belly were beginning to swell. 

The change in season also brought a wave of new duties. Winter was undoubtedly the most difficult and busy season for the lord and lady of Winterfell, but the transition to summer also brought the beginning of the agricultural season. Farmers and fishermen alike flocked to Winterfell to speak their needs and wants to their liege lord and lady, and Cregan found himself busy with attending to the replenishment of all of the North’s resources for Winterfell, all of his bannermen, the Wall, and all of the towns in the North. He’d made his wife agree to take a lesser load of duties now that she was expecting, dealing with issues within their own household so he could instead focus on bearing the burdens of the North all on his own, though this meant there was less and less time that they were able to spend together. 

Each morning, Lady Stark was awake and on the move early enough to meet with the maester and stewards and advisors, sharing no more than a few sweet words and touches with her husband as he watched her dress before she was out the door. They would see each other in passing throughout the day, sharing loving glances across the courtyard as they attended their duties and occasionally catching each other in the corridors, and she was normally in a deep slumber by the time he came to her chambers every night. Both of them were growing restless in their time apart, especially with her ladyship’s heightened emotions and hormones. 

She had just finished speaking with the mistress of the orphanage in Winterstown when the maester came to her, a neatly folded piece of parchment in hand that bore her mother’s seal. She smiled to herself as she brushed her thumb over the thick spot of green wax, glad to have a response for her most recent letter to her mother to deliver the news of her pregnancy, along with a request for some new silks to be sent in order to accommodate her changing body. Breaking the seal, she scanned over the letter with her eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she read over her mother’s words.

“My lady?” Maester Elryn asked, concern evident on his wrinkled features, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she smiled tightly at him, “My apologies for my reaction. Could you ask Lord Stark to come to me when he is free?”

“Of course, my lady. Anything else?”

“That is all, thank you, Maester Elryn.”

Cregan came to her two hours later, finding her seated at the small desk in the corner of her chambers. He paused to drink in the way she looked, having scarcely seen his wife for more than a moment all day. Her body was changing in the most glorious ways possible, and the bodices of her gowns were growing even tighter than before, her breasts threatening to spill over the neckline with every breath, and her belly growing firmer and rounder to accommodate his child. His smile widened as she turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes softening as she finally took note of her husband’s figure in the doorway.

“You called, wife?”

“My love,” she greeted, pushing herself to stand with a gentle hand cradling her barely-there bump, “It seems it has been forever.”

His heart thumped against his ribcage at her action, chest growing warm at the sight of her maternal instincts already kicking in before she had even passed through her first few months 

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to meet her before she was able to move too far. His palm cupped her cheek, the other finding its place over her own against her belly, “Longer than forever to me.”

She grinned, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, giggling to herself as he chased after her and grunted as she pulled away. He pressed small kisses to her cheeks, across the curve of her jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving small nips in his wake. His wife pushed at his chest helplessly as she continued to laugh, the soft growth of hair along his own jaw tickling her with every brush of his lips on her skin. 

“I called you up here because I needed to speak with you,” she whispered to him, body slowly relaxing against him as she sank into his embrace.

“Speak, then,” he ordered, thick fingers tugging at the laces of her dress.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his antics, “I wrote to my mother a few nights ago, I need silk for new dresses. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my own are growing rather…tight.”

His mouth dropped to nip at the bulging flesh of her breast peeking over the neckline of her gown, “I certainly have.”

Her head tilted back, letting both a laugh and a breathy moan at her husband’s attack on her chest as he quickly laid her back on the bed, “She has written back to me. She says I shall have as much silk in as many colours as I wish.”

Cregan hummed in response, quickly peeling the layers of her gown away until she was left in only her thin white shift, her words going ignored as he tugged and pulled at her clothing until she was bare before him. He stared down at her, running his hand over his jaw as his eyes trailed over her breasts, heaving and swelling with milk, then down over her small bump, and finally to the place where her thighs clenched together. 

She pushed herself up to sit before him, her own hands reaching out to tug at his clothing. He was quick to help her, shucking off his layers and boots until he stood before her in only his heavy leather breeches. His wife grinned up at him, pressing a gentle kiss against his own belly, a layer of soft flesh over his firm, almost inconspicuous muscle. 

He pushed at her shoulder, chuckling as the mattress bounced beneath her as she was laid back again. He crawled over her, returning to mouthing over her neck, over her shoulders, and finally coming across her breasts.

“She says she will deliver them personally,” she uttered, whining in protest as he paused, pulling back to focus directly at her face. 

“Personally,” He repeated, more for his own sake than a question of clarification, “your mother intends to come to Winterfell.”

She pouted at him, fingers carding through his long hair as she attempted to soften him to the news, “She wishes to be here for the birth. I know she can be…difficult, but it would bring me comfort to have her with me as I bring our firstborn into the world.”

He sighed, his head falling into her shoulder, “If this is what you wish, then this is what you shall have. 

She smiled, remembering when he spoke the same words to her on their wedding night. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, winding her legs around his hips and hugging her tightly to her chest. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at him as he finally pushed himself up to gaze down at her once again, “my mother can be difficult, as I said, but I wish for her to know her grandchildren, as she does my niece and nephews. I promise you, she will be on her best behaviour.”

“I believe you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, mumbling against her, “but I must ask that we do not speak any more of your mother at the present. I do not think she would appreciate what I plan to do to you.”

Cregan did not allow her another moment of peace before his kisses grew in intensity, tongue intertwining with her own while his meaty palms pulled her legs further apart and began to rock his hips into hers. He smirked at the whine that escaped her throat, pressing himself further into her.

“Cregan–” 

“I have missed you, my love,” he moaned against her lips, “you cannot possibly believe how much I have been longing for you.”

She chuckled, “I think I can. The maester told me pregnancy can bring on many side effects; discomfort, fatigue, desire…”

Cregan pulled back for a moment, “Should I be concerned about these conversations you have been having with Maester Elryn?”

She scoffed, “You are far too jealous for your own good, my love.”

“You might be too, if you were married to the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms–nay, the world.”

“Flatterer.”

“Can it be called flattery if it is the truth?” Cregan pushed himself to kneel between her legs, palms continuing to push her thighs upward to bare her completely to him. He let out a desperate groan as his eyes settled on her core, barely hidden beneath a neat patch of silver hair, “gods, have you ever been this wet?”

She snorted, raising her leg to press her foot flat to his chest, “It is the pregnancy, as I said.”

His long fingers wrapped around her foot, tugging it up to press his lips against the slope of her ankle, “Then perhaps I should keep you like this, eh? Would you like for your lord husband to fill you with his child, again and again?”

“I am already with child, my love,” she smiled at him, drawing a deep breath from his throat, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a few moons longer.”

“And I will spend every second I have with you perfecting the craft then.”

She sighed in relief as he finally reached between her thighs, fingers catching against her slick hole.

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, “do something, anything.”

“Anything?” He asked, breathlessly, his own chest heaving in anticipation as she nodded excitedly. 

A loud gasp tore from her lips as he finally sunk his fingers into her, her wetness audible to them both as he began moving with slow but purposeful thrusts. His thumb settled on her sensitive bud, making slow, tight circles over the swollen bud, his free hand gliding up from her thigh to tug at her breasts. Her hips rocked in sync with his every movement of his thick fingers, stilling as another one easily slipped inside.

“My love,” she panted, “e-enough, I need you.”

He quirked one of his thick brows at her words, “Should I not prepare you, my heart?”

“I am pregnant with your child, and as we can both tell, I am more than prepared.”

Cregan snorted out a laugh, withdrawing his fingers with a small whine from his wife, “How should you have me then, wife?”

Lady Stark smirked to herself, legs wrapping around his back and forcing him to fold over her, “Take me as you did on our wedding night, only you do not need to be so gentle with me.”

He slipped inside of her easily, a strained hiss sliding between his teeth while her own teeth sunk into his shoulder. Cregan did indeed take her like he had on their wedding night, but against her wishes, was almost as gentle as he had been, out of respect for his child’s personal space, as he had muttered to her. In truth, he simply wanted to take his time with her as he pulled her apart bit by bit, not wanting to rush their first time lying together in the few weeks since summer had come. 

When they were finished, he remained inside of her for as long as he could, but the warmth of her and the air around them was far too much. His wife, despite the progress she’d made in the years of their marriage, was a southern woman and despised how frigid the castle could be, earning herself the warmest room in Winterfell and a required constant upkeep of her hearth. Cregan did not mind coming to his wife’s chamber when she needed him throughout the day or early evening, but there was a reason that they’d made a habit of sleeping in his personal chambers each night, where the air was cooler but he was able to keep her warm at night. He carefully pulled away, meeting her for a final kiss before he peeled himself off of the bed, slowly strutting across the room to haul the window open and feel the cool summer air against his burning flesh. 

She watched him through hooded eyes, gaze raking down his muscular back, over his plump ass, and down his thick legs. She pursed her lips, pulling one of the heavy furs around her shoulders as she padded across the stone floor to wrap herself around him from behind, fingers hooking together around his belly as her bare chest pressed to his back. After a moment, one of his hands came over to cover her own as she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade. 

“My mother wrote that she expects to be here in two moons,” she murmured against his warm skin, “I should begin preparations for them on the morrow.”

Cregan hummed, eyes scanning over the horizon for a moment before he comprehended her words, “Them. How many attendants does she plan to bring with her?”

He felt his wife tense behind him, “About that…”

Two moons later Cregan found himself standing tall in his own courtyard, jaw set as a procession of horses and wheelhouses began to file through the front gate of his ancestral home. He’d been a touch angry with his wife when she had finally revealed to him that it was not only her mother coming, but rather the entire royal family; the queen, her king consort, and all of their children; the dowager queen, the remaining four of her children, as well as Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s three children. Winterfell was about to be overrun with heads of silver hair, something Cregan had hoped would only happen as a result of his wife’s genes overcoming his own among their children. 

At his side, his wife nervously chewed her bottom lip–a nasty habit he’d grown to detest after she’d drawn blood one night. He knew exactly how her family could be from their short stay during their wedding festivities, and the way that her mother and two older brothers alone were able to affect her, let alone the entire living Targaryen dynasty. 

On her other side stood young Rickon, gripping her hand tightly as he struggled to compose himself. The boy was only six years old, but he already seemed to understand the importance of his role as the heir to Winterfell. He’d taken to his stepmother rather quickly, having been an infant when the fever took his own mother. He’d been in need of a maternal figure in his life, and her presence in Winterfell had done nothing but draw father and son closer together with every family supper and breakfast she had insisted on over the years. Seeing her welcome his son into her heart so openly only further pressed Cregan’s instincts to bring their own children into the world, wishing for nothing more than to give his boy dozens of siblings for him to play with. 

The procession finally came to a halt just as two large, intricately carved wheelhouses entered the gates, flanked by the king consort and all of the elder princes on their horses. Lady Stark’s nerves only heightened at the sight of the silver-haired men, particularly her elder brothers who almost immediately turned their gaze her way. The queen soon climbed out of her wheelhouse, followed by her own litter of children, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. The second wheelhouse opened, producing Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena and her own children Jahaera, Jahaerys, and Maegor. 

The queen came before them, regal as ever in her red cloak lined with black fur. She watched stoically as the three bowed before her. 

“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Cregan spoke loud and true, “my family and I are honoured to host you and your family in Winterfell.”

“Many thanks, Lord Stark. I commend you on leading the North through yet another winter,” a smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes turned to his wife, who lowered into another curtsy under her stare, “I hear that Lady Stark has taken to her role quite well. I believe motherhood suits you, sister.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Stark nodded in thanks. 

The next line of Targaryens filtered through the short lineup of Starks, first Daemon, who scarcely offered any of them a second glance (aside from his niece, who he stared at for a moment too long in Cregan’s opinion). Prince Jacaerys greeted Cregan like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder heartily while he offered his aunt a polite hug, his younger brothers following, though with less familiarity. 

Then came her mother, who hardly offered Lord Stark a moment of her time before she began fawning over her daughter, hugging her tightly before pulling away and pawing at her swollen belly through her layers of fur. A tear escaped the red-haired woman’s eye as she pressed a sweet kiss to Lady Stark’s cheek, then offered a greeting to sweet Rickon, who had shuffled closer to his stepmother in his nervousness. Aegon skipped over Lord Stark altogether, though he certainly was not complaining as he could smell the stench of wine radiating from the eldest prince even before noon, throwing himself onto his sister. She’d stumbled in her attempt to catch him, sending her husband a warning glance as he moved to rip him away from her. Aemond, at least, was more courteous, offering Cregan a polite greeting and kissing his sister gently on the forehead. Helaena was soon to follow, her greeting to Cregan leaving him with a puzzled look as she moved on to place her palm to her sister’s cheek.

“I am so happy to see you, sister,” Lady Stark’s eyes welled with tears. Cregan had been aware of how disappointed his wife had been when her sister had not been able to travel with her for their wedding, but she had not blamed her for choosing to stay behind while she was in her sixth moon of pregnancy, not to mention the poor state of her mind.

Daeron was the most reserved of his good-siblings, showing both Lord and Lady Stark his respect, though he had no personal relation with either. He’d spent most of his childhood in Oldtown under the care of his grandsire’s brother, the Lord of Oldtown, and his own uncle Gwayne. He’d been rather hesitant to even return to King’s Landing after being away for so long; his own mother was a mere stranger, and his siblings had gone on to marry and produce their own children without even a second thought of their youngest brother. 

Winterfell’s hall was overflowing with Targaryens and those who served them. Cregan could hardly recognize any of the faces at the tables nearest to his own, his men being pushed farther back into the hall to accommodate the royal family. He, himself, had even been pushed one seat to the right to offer the queen the highest seat in the hall. He was not pleased to be doing this, far too used to southerners coming to the North with such entitlement, but he would take the treatment silently for the sake of his dear wife, who had been so excited for the arrival of her family and had been overtaken by anxiety of ensuring the visit went well. 

She sat next to him, dressed in a fine silk gown (new, a design brought by her mother), a deep emerald with golden stitching across the bodice and around the cuffs. Cregan hissed through his teeth when his wife entered the hall, a happy grin on her lips as she cradled her round belly over the dress of her mother’s house rather than her own, though he was eager to greet her and accept her gleeful kiss on the cheek, and he was glad enough to see that her hair had been braided among the stems of various flowers, all of which being indigenous only to the North. Her mother could try with all of her might to try and hold tight to her daughter’s familial tether to the South, but Cregan knew his wife had transformed into a woman of the North–she was no longer simply a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider, she was also his wife, Lady of Winterfell, and mother of his children. 

It never escaped Cregan’s watchful stare everytime the Dowager Queen gripped her daughter’s arm when her attention was not focused solely on her, or how she forced a smile each time he joined their conversation at all. If the woman had not been his wife’s mother, he would have gladly warded her away from his wife’s personal space. He understood well enough that his wife was bound to miss her family, especially her mother and sister, but he was afraid to see her begin to slip back into her shell, which had taken him a considerable amount of effort and care to bring her out from in the first place. 

He was quickly tiring from the responsibility of hosting an entire flock of Targaryen princes, all of whom considered themselves above the northerners and their laws, customs, and expectations. They most often gathered in the training yards, each more eager to prove themselves over the northerners and each other than the last, except for Aegon, of course, who would rather spend the mornings in his chambers before he would disappear into Wintertown, most likely gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the only brothel within twenty miles of Winterfell. 

Throughout the two weeks to follow, they had barely found a moment to themselves that was not in the early hours of the morn or when the castle is alight with only the light emitted from torches and the moon itself, where Lady Stark was usually so worn out that she had barely enough energy to cuddle into her husband’s side and share a handful of words before her snoring would reach his ears. He made an effort to seek her out when he was granted a brief moment away from his duties, but there was hardly a moment when she could be found without at least one member of her kin at her side; in the nursery with her mother and sister, discussing her duties with the queen, reading with Aemond in the library, or comforting Aegon amidst another bout of alcohol-induced sickness. 

The one moment he did find her alone in her personal study, not wasting a single moment before he was hoisting her into his arms and kissing her breathless. He’d been pleased to find that she had no fight in her, easily melting into his embrace and winding her arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as small mewls of pleasure vibrated against his mouth. He’d almost forgotten that the door to the study had been left ajar, making his good-mother’s entrance even more silent, though he likely wouldn’t have noticed even if she had knocked, fully taken with his wife’s affection. 

“Ehem.”

“Mother,” Lady Stark pushed away from her husband, face still with shock and, quite evidently, embarrassment, “I, we did not hear you come in.”

“Yes, as I could see.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cregan nodded to the woman, though his tone was laced with his annoyance, “I’m afraid you’ve been subjected to a moment of weakness.”

“Nonsense,” Alicent’s lips tightened into a strained smile, a touch of tenderness on her face, “it comforts me to know that my daughter is cherished and loved, even so far away. We are not all so lucky to find love in these circumstances.”

His wife rounded the desk, meeting her mother with a tight embrace. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the red haired woman–it was true, most marriages of such caliber did not afford the couple any form of affection, and he was more than aware of the fortune that had fallen into his lap that day that Prince Jacaerys landed at his gate. The moment came to a crashing end all-too-soon as his good-mother once again dragged his wife away from him, not to be seen again until she was deep asleep in their shared bed.

He’d arranged for a hunt during the visit of the royal family, where he was forced to play the peacekeeper between the queen’s sons and their uncles, all while keeping his eyes peeled for the prize he’d been hoping for; his wife had mentioned more than once that she wanted to find the perfect blanket to gift to their first child, one that can be used again and again with each babe they brought into the world, so it seemed only fitting to him that he be the one to bring her the pelt. 

It would be weeks before the warmth in his chest subsided after witnessing her grin and laughter as he presented it to her, two rabbits of a similar white and brown pattern, drawing her away from the large elk that had been brought in for their supper that night. It was a brief moment of privacy amongst the crowd, where she curled her fingers beneath the neckline of his leather doublet and dragged him down to her height, pushing a soft kiss to his wind-bitten cheek, though he was thankful for every moment of it. Her mother stepped in a moment later, grasping her daughter’s hand and willing her to join her in the nursery, where she could continue to preach her wisdom and advice for the soon-to-be mother, though Cregan hoped his wife was smart enough to take it with a grain of salt. 

He’d spent the rest of the day both tending to his duties, which have seemingly doubled since the arrival of his wife’s kin, and also offering a hand in preparing the elk when he had a chance; his cooks could do wonders with elk meat, but the kitchen maids often made a fuss when such large animals were brought to whole or at least without being skinned first. He had barely even spared a moment to clean himself and change clothes before supper.

When he arrived in the dining hall, a smaller yet more formal area where he hoped he, his wife, and their many children would all dine together whenever they could. He was, however, miffed to discover the dining hall filled with princes and princesses and queens alike, only two seats left empty–his own, and his wife’s. 

His immediate thought was that perhaps she was still readying herself, perhaps she had gotten carried away in the nursery with her mother, and she would be there soon enough. Then, his eyes fell upon the red-haired woman a few seats from his own. 

He cleared his throat, drawing silence across his hall, “My apologies, I expect Lady Stark in only a moment.”

Alicent furrowed her brow, directing her words to the rest of the royal family rather than to Lord Stark, “I’m afraid she will not be joining us tonight.”

Cregan raised his own brow, “Why not?”

Alicent’s gaze flickered to his own, “She was unwell this evening–a pain many women know while carrying their children, all she needs is rest.”

“And why was I not made aware of this at once?” Lord Stark felt his blood beginning to boil.

She looked somewhat taken aback, “These pains are normal, they are expected for how far along she is. My daughter–”

Cregan’s heavy palm landed flat on the wooden tabletop, “My wife is my main concern. Any news concerning her or my children should and will be brought to me at once.” 

Alicent pursed her lips, appearing to have a few words of choice for her daughter’s husband, though he turned his attention to the queen opposite him on the other end of the long table and looked equally as surprised and amused at the altercation as she sipped her wine.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he pushed himself up to his full height, “forgive my absence this evening, but if my wife is unwell I would prefer to be at her side.”

Rhaenyra smirked at him, nodding her head at him, “But of course, Lord Stark. I am honoured that you take such care of my sister. After all, family is everything, is it not?”

He ignored the way that her words seemed to have been aimed at the red-haired woman, who had slouched back into her own seat as a soft pink tinged at the apples of her cheeks, instead nodding at the queen and fleeing the room at once, his hurried and heavy footfalls carrying him through the castle and up to his wife’s personal chambers. He was disgruntled to find that they were empty, save for a servant girl who had been tending to the hearth and directed him to his own chambers.

The hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside, finding two handmaidens hovering worriedly over his wife as she hunched over on her hands and knees atop the plush bear-skin rug, back arched upwards like he’d only seen done by a cat. The two servants froze at the sight of the broad figure crossing the threshold.

“Lord Stark,” one of them rushed to him, “Lady Stark, she is alright, but–”

“Alright?” He scoffed, “She is on the floor in pain, she does not look alright.”

“Cregan,” Lady Stark glared up at him, voice strained with discomfort, “do not speak to my ladies like that.”

He let out a deep sigh, offering the servant a quiet but genuine apology, “Now please, just tell me what is wrong with her, and what I can do to help. Should I call a maester?”

The servant fought a soft smile, touched at the lord’s concern for his wife and child, “Lady Stark is experiencing little more than body aches. Normal for women carrying a child, especially their first. I’m afraid all the maester could do is offer milk of the poppy for discomfort, which could potentially do more harm to the child than good to the mother,” Cregan swallowed at the thought, “We’ve allowed the princess to soak in warm water, and the stretching helps while we prepare a hot pack over the fire.”

His gaze flickered to the small grate across the embers of the fireplace, holding three large black stones over them. He nodded, turning back to his wife, who had turned her face back into the rug while the other servant girl carefully massaged gentle circles into her lower back.

“What can I do?”

“The hot pack should help with the aches, but I’m afraid the best thing may be to keep Lady Stark as comfortable as possible, anything to keep her mind away from the pains.”

He nodded, “Leave us, I should care for my wife on my own.”

The door closed behind the two women as they hesitantly left their mistress’s side, loyal to the very end. Cregan wasted little time in removing his leather doublet and abandoning it on the plush bed, leaving him in only his breeches and thin linen shirt. He crossed the room, kneeling beside his wife and carefully laying his palm flat to her lower back, a small smirk appearing on his lips as she sighed from the relief brought by his large, warm hand. 

“If you were not so obviously in pain, I would guess that you were enjoying this, my love,” he chuckled as his hand copied the same circular pattern that the servant girl had applied.

“Shut up,” she turned her head to the side so she could glance up at him, “this is your fault.”

“My fault?” He scoffed, “As I recall, your current condition is the result of your uncontrollable desires.”

She pushed herself up onto her hands, “My what? It was you who was gone to the Wall for more than a moon!”

“And it was you who kept me from my duties until midday on the day after I returned.”

She pursed her lips, “Alright, next time I will allow you to go about your duties without a word. Then we will see which one of us is so insatiable.”

“Be that the case, I’m afraid you may be with child for the next decade or more, my love.”

“Just get the hot pack,” Lady Stark rolled her eyes, lowering her head back down to the plush rug, muttering to herself with a small grin, “a decade or more…”

He obliged, wrapping the stones in a thick woolen cloth before pressing them against the small of her back, a dusting of pink coating his cheeks at the sound she released, back curving inwards as relief overtook her body. 

They remained there for a long while, one of his hands holding the hot pack while the other smoothed over her silver hair, braided and still damp from her bath. The stones began to cool against his palm until they were no warmer than her own body heat, finally being tossed to the side.

“How do you feel?” He asked her, hands cradling her head and hip as he helped her roll onto her side.

“Better. Still plagued with discomfort, but better nonetheless,” She smiled softly at him, “I only wish someone may have warned me of the unpleasantness of pregnancy before I agreed to it.”

He barked out a laugh, remembering the many times she had pointed out the many ways pregnancy could ruin any romance in their marriage before it even began, hence their decision to wait before finally trying to conceive. 

“If only, eh?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye, “Well Maryssa did say that you should be doing anything to keep me comfortable…”

Lord Stark raised his brow at her words, “And what was it you only just said about me being insatiable? How have you gone from crippling pain to reaching for my breeches in such a hurry?”

She gasped, faux offense in her eyes, “I am not reaching for you breeches! What do you take me for?”

He quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, leaning down to press a slow yet meaningful kiss to her lips, “My very pregnant, very beautiful, and very impatient wife.”

She whined against his mouth, “I think impatience is quite appropriate given the circumstances. Your child has brought me the greatest joy and greatest pain of my life, and yet I constantly yearn for you, my love.”

“Constant?” He laughed.

“The maester warned me of it,” she kissed him again, “all a part of my hysteria, he called it.”

He hummed, “Which brings me to wonder why I was not made aware of this. I could have…relieved you of this suffering.”

She snorted a laugh, a sound he knew he could never grow tired of, “Cregan, if you do not take my clothes off now I would like to go to bed.”

“And what was it I said about your impatience?”

She pushed at his shoulder playfully, gasping as he grasped her wrist in his large hand and pulled her to sit up, moving to lift her and carry her to the bed when she pushed at his shoulder, shaking her head with a sly grin. 

“Here,” she insisted, “it is so warm, and this fur is so soft.”

He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. Only his wife would be demanding enough as to where he had his way with her and choose anywhere except their marital bed. Only he would be so foolishly in love as to oblige her every whim and allow her to make such demands. 

Growing impatient, she began tugging at her own shift, struggling to lift her hips just enough to slide it over her hips and off completely, leaving her bare before her husband while the firelight flickered off of her soft, freshly oiled skin. His eyes fell from her own to her breasts, which had seemingly doubled in size through her pregnancy, then to her rounded belly; only a few moons would pass before she brought their first child into the world, and he could not be any more in love with her. He knew how excited she’d been over the last few weeks as her body developed with their growing child, spending much of her time with little Rickon, who was just as excited to become an older brother as she was to become a mother. 

“I am not simply here for decoration,” she growled, reaching up to begin tearing the linen shirt from her husband’s body, ignoring his laughter as she struggling to pull the fabric over his wide shoulders and causing his head to get stuck for a moment, “As I said, fuck me or let me sleep.”

His booming laugh echoed through the chamber, scarcely hearing his wife, a Targaryen princess and Lady of Winterfell, use such coarse language. It was the northerner growing within her, he decided as he obliged, kissing her with every ounce of desire he’d been forced to swallow throughout the duration of her family’s stay, pressing her back to lay flat against the dark brown fur. 

Cregan made quick work of kissing down her body, taking a few moments to kiss and suckle and squeeze at her swollen breasts, encouraged by her response to his touch on her sensitive skin as he continued further down. He pressed several playful kisses over her belly, whispering to their child to go to sleep so he could take care of his wife guilt-free. She giggled at this, causing a flood of heat to spread across his chest as he finally crested over the underside of her belly, coming face-to-face with the silver curls safeguarding her womanhood. 

Her legs fell apart easily, and he found no resistance as he eagerly began to feast upon her most intimate place. Her fingers curled into the fur beneath her as her whines and whimpers filled the room, unable to reach for his long dark hair with her belly in the way. He was pleasantly surprised to discover how much of her arousal had pooled between her thighs, two of his thick fingers easily slipping into her heat with practiced precision while his tongue massaged her sensitive pearl. 

Her body seemed more responsive than ever, thighs quivering against his shoulders as her peak crashed over her once, and then moments later, once more. 

He pulled away, noting how her hips had begun to pull away from him, her womanhood more sensitive than ever. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching through lustful eyes as his wife grabbed hold of his other wrist, taking the fingers that had brought her to bliss twice only moments before between her lips and sucking them clean. She stared up at him through her lashes, leaning up on her elbow to reach down and paw at the tent that had formed in his breeches, tugging at the laces until they fell open and allowed her to reach inside.

He let out a low growl at the sensation of her hand taking hold of his member, head falling back in relief. Cregan was quick to pull her hand away, shedding his trousers and boots as efficiently as possible so he could lay her flat on her back once more and finally press himself inside of her. 

They both let out long, breathy sounds at the stretch; no matter how many times they would lay together, she never quit got used to the intrusion of his thick cock inside of her, He remained still for a moment, regaining his wits as he willed himself not to finish far too early, though he could not guarantee that he would be able to fight his peak for very long after weeks without his wife’s intimate touch. 

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, nails scratching down his arm as she planted his fist next to her head, bracing himself as he began to work slow, deep thrusts into her warmth, his own grunts and gasps of pleasure falling from his lips while her lips fell open to allow wails of her enjoyment fall from them with every punch of his tip against her most sensitive place deep within her. 

“My love,” he panted, “For-forgive me…I do not think–”

“Give yourself to me, my love,” she whined, “I need to feel you.”

He nodded, eyes tightening shut as he quickened his pace, chasing his release with grunts and growls and groans until his hips began to stutter, his release pumping deep inside of her until he was shaking. His release triggered her own, pleasure crashing over her for the third time that evening, soaking his length in both of their releases as she clung to his broad frame for dear life. 

She whined when he pulled out of her, sensitive from her three climaxes. He took a moment to stare down at her, stormy gaze trailing from her cunt, where their mix juices had begun seeping from her warmth, to her belly, where their child grew. His eyes then moved to her breasts, which heaved with every deep breath the escaped her parted lips, and finally to her face, which shone with a layer of perspiration as she pulled him down to lay next to her on the fur, turning to press her back against his chest and settling into his embrace as he trailed sweet kisses over her cheek, jaw, and neck. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep threatening to overtake her at any moment. 

“Thank you,” Cregan responded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Silence overtook the room for a moment, only the sound of their slowing breaths and the crackling fire in the hearth could be heard before he finally shared his final thoughts of the night.

“I cannot bear to not have you all to myself for even a moment ever again,” he mumbled into her flesh, “we are never hosting your family again.”

A small chuckle vibrated through her chest.

“I could not agree more.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it. 

[wiptw]

Pokémon Stadium Series

Nintendo 64 - Nintendo - 2000 to 2001

You as a Pokémon fan are absolutely fucking spoiled these days. Aside from the mainline games you have spinoffs and fangames offering different experiences, you have entire websites dedicated to documenting everything down to the internal maths of the series, there's no end to the free content you can access with an internet connection between emulators and battle sites like 'Showdown!', and it's now socially acceptable in most circles to be older than 13 and have something with Pikachu's face plastered on it (especially if you're female presenting, especially if your friend group is also infected with the Pokémon hype). Back in my day™ you had almost none of this. You had the anime on Saturday mornings, you had the early run Pokémon licensed merch which WOULD get you called a baby if you continued buying past 10-12, and you had the games. Those sweet, sweet games that indoctrinated a generation of young people into being gamers and awoke a horde of JRPG addicts.

Literally Me

So remember this when I tell you that Pokémon Stadium, both one and two, aren't great games because they do something back then that you can't get today; they're great for what they did back then. So Pokemon Stadium 1&2 were a duology of games from 2000 and 2001 respectively that allowed players to battle Pokemon in 3D, with the addition of some side content such as minigames included to prevent the game from being 100% Pokemon battles. Because otherwise, the game is in fact navigating a series of menus and completing Pokémon battles with 3D models.

Whether it's taking on the gym gauntlets, the marathon of battles in the Pokémon cups, or just free battles with friends and loved ones, 98% of the experience is either selecting Pokémon from a roster of pre-built 'rentals' or transferring them from a saved game using the Transfer Pak, then fighting them in a series of 3D environments. An experience which you can definitely do today using web apps but as I said earlier, we didn't have that.

The peak of Pokémon battles in 2000

So if you're buying Pokémon Stadium (either version really) you're already probably a Pokémon fan right? So that means you have Red/Blue/Yellow/Gold/Silver/Crystal, so why not just play that game and get the full experience? The fun of exploring, talking to NPCs, discovering new and exotic locations? Simple, because in those games battles looked like this

While in Stadium, battles looked like this

If you grew up watching the anime while playing the Gameboy games, there was this special kind of dissonance where you might find yourself saying "Yeah, (for the time) these graphics are RADICAL but I wish I had something closer to these cool Pokémon Battles they had in the anime." As you hide under the covers with your Gameboy Color worm light, nestled in your Ash Ketchum pajamas while you attempt for the 100th time to capture a ditto. Pokémon Stadium was the answer to this dissonance, providing you with vibrant 3D graphics unlike anything you'd ever seen before; bringing Pokémon to life in a way that would be unmatched until Colosseum came out during the Gamecube era.

So, to actual mechanics, you play both games pretty similarly; by building a team of Pokémon (either on your handheld or by using the rental mons the game provides) and take part in a series of battles to become the ultimate battle master. To use your own Pokémon, you'd need to use the aforementioned 'Transfer Pak' to plug in a copy of Red/Blue/Yellow (for 1) or Gold/Silver/Crystal (for 2) with a game saved to the cartridge; otherwise the rental Pokémon covered all released Pokémon (except for some hidden ones) allowing you to build your dream team, sans a few caveats here and there.

Evolved Pokémon have better stats but worse moves, while weaker Pokémon tend to have better moves to compensate

In terms of WHERE you can battle, there's two choices: Either in the Gym Leader Castle, or the Tournaments held in the center of the map on either game. Either way, the game will then have you battle through a series of 3v3 matches versus a set number of trainers who will also select 3 random mons from their full team of six.

A bit bare bones, but there's some spice to how things are run. For one, the rental system was a huge thing for us younger players back in the day. Even if you had the games some Pokémon were hard to catch, had evolution requirements some players couldn't complete (like the trade-mons), or were locked to a version you didn't have. The rental mons give you a list of every Pokémon (some exceptions, but not many) and then lets you build your dream team. Sure, you can't set their moves, EVs, IVs, and it's the era before abilities and natures but I CAN HAVE A MEOWTH/PERSIAN ON MY TEAM. Do you know what I had to do as a child to have this Pokémon outside of Stadium? I had to find someone in the American South who also enjoyed Pokémon, hoped they had Blue instead of Red, hoped they had a link cable, then get them to agree to a trade despite both of us being children (and therefore, objectively terrible) which likely meant giving away a rare Pokémon in exchange for what amounted to common garbage in their game because it was Version fucking Exclusivity™ and everyone seemed to know that meant you'd do anything to get that one fucking Pokémon you wanted.

In the handheld games, if you wanted to build your dream team then likely you'd have to put in some more effort than other games of the time would've required of you. With Stadium, your dreams come true, and if you already have that dream team you can just import them to fight in glorious 3D. Circumventing the fact that rental Pokémon are kinda terrible overall.

Don't feel like building? The challenge cup mode that gives you randomized team comps that has it's own charm (for masochists)

Not to say all of them were bad but construct a normal distribution of 'Good' to 'Bad' picks then that graph is gonna skew left so hard you'd be forgiven for thinking it was just a straight line. To keep every choice 'viable' Pokémon rentals were balanced around stats and moves. More powerful evolved Pokémon and Pokémon with high Base Stat Totals (BST) were given weaker moves and first form and low BST Pokémon were given generally better moves. Charizard might have better stats than Charmeleon and Charmander but his only fire type move is going to be something like Fire Spin. Conversely, Charmander might have Fire Blast but his stats are gonna make him an easy target for the computer's pokemon, which are not bound to the same builds as the rental mons you're using.

Once your team is assembled, then you're off to battle trainer after trainer after trainer with beautifully scored (for the Nintendo 64) soundtracks giving you an unearned sense of importance every step of the way. Battles themselves are conducted with a weird, but functional control layout where A and B access sub menus you then check with the R button before finalizing with the c-buttons, which on original hardware or a USB N64 controller is fine but on emulation with a more modern controller like Logitech, can be a little nerve wracking as you worry about whether your 'up' input on the control stick was up enough for the game or if you accidentally drifted right or left using an unintended move.

fun fact: the name of imported Pokémon affects their coloration in Stadium

Battles are also largely regulated by (at the time) tournament standard rules. Little and Pokecup have level restrictions, and all three non-random cups include clauses for sleep, held items, and repeat Pokémon. Additionally, in any cup if you win the round with all 3 Pokémon still in tact, you're granted a continue; meaning you can retry the battle if you lose. Additionally, there is no 'draw' outcome in these games. Use a move like Explosion or Selfdestruct and the game will register it as your loss on your final Pokémon, regardless of whether you took down the opposing fighter with you or not.

You'll be doing a LOT of back-to-back fights here against trainers with varied team comps, but even with over 246 Pokémon in the available potential lineup you'll get tired fast of fighting. This is, however, slightly mitigated by the 3v3 nature of the matches but even so be ready to here the same Pokémon noises, watch the same effects play out, and wait for the same health bars to tick down over and over as you claw your way to the spot of Pokémon Master.

The art style of non-battle scenes like the main map and minigame plaza have that nice, 90's charm to them as well.

If you do get tired of battling it out, then Stadium 1 and 2 both offer minigames for players to partake in. Either in a tournament format or by using the free-play browser, players are able to take part in a multitude of different Mario Party-esque (without the hand burning) minigames featuring the Pokémon as stars. Minigames consist of stick twirling, button mashing, and point collecting all while controlling fan favorite Pokémon such as Togepi, Eevee, Scyther, and Pichu with no real rhyme or reason behind why these game exist aside from a amusement park theming the minigame zones have for their icons and menus.

You won't get a real explanation as to why you're racing Donphans, cutting logs as Scythers and Pinsirs, or playing Simon Says with a bunch of Clefairy, but you don't really need that either. The games are fun, the models are charming, and watching Clefairy get smacked in the head for each wrong input brings me a level of joy I should probably talk about with my therapist. You won't likely spend hours in this mode, but it's a nice breather from the onslaught of battles otherwise.

fun fact: I still won't talk to some people because of the outcomes to Rampage Rollout over two decades ago. You know who you are.

Additionally there's a quiz minigame separate from the main selection of minigames with easy/normal/hard difficulty selections. Players compete to see who can be the first to get a number of questions correct before anyone else based on facts about the Pokémon (typing, size, silhouette, etc) or facts about the game (where you can find things in the game, names of routes and towns, names of figures in the game).

It's not the most challenging on easy or normal, but playing on hard the game will try to screw you with trick questions so playing with others becomes a balance of "do I let the question play out, or attempt to steal it before someone else can answer correctly?"

Sometimes even playing the game won't prepare you for how out of pocket the questions can get

The real advantage of 2 over 1 is that, in addition to minigames, the game has the trainer academy; a kind of in-depth battle tutorial to teach players not only the basics of Pokémon fighting, but also some secrets as well

You can learn about held items, a feature new to the second generation, as well as participate in mock battles to demonstrate the materials you've been reading and quizzed on. Some of this information for the time too was obscure or hidden knowledge, like the fact that using Defense Curl before using Rollout would boost the damage significantly or that using Stomp on an opponent who used minimize would double the damage.

Some type matchups just make sense, like Ground v Electric.

Overall though what really makes this game is the presentation. The soundtrack does a great job selling the feeling Nintendo wants you to experience, climbing the ladder in a tournament or the Gym Leaders Castle makes you feel powerful, and the little details on top of it all just tie it together in a nice package.

The fights, for example, are also narrated by "The Announcer". A bombastic voice shouting over every detail of a fight. When you score a crit, when you apply a status effect, even using certain moves will get the announcer loudly narrating each detail like a Pokémon prize fight. Seeing the ground rip apart when you use Earthquake is only half the charm, the other half comes from that man yelling in your ears "A DEVESTATING EARTHQUAKE ATTACK!". Clearing gyms or clearing opponents in one of the cups grants you gym badges, a dream for any child growing up on the handheld classics or watching the anime who wished they too could earn shiny bits of metal that gave them an inflated sense of importance.

I would literally kill everyone I came across if it'd get me a real life Zephyr Badge.

Stadium 1 and 2 aren't evergreen classics. They're stuck in Gens 1 and 2 respectively, the roster of Pokémon while impressive is largely useless and makes collecting trophies way harder than it has to be, and the games were made before things like abilities and double battles were introduced, leading to the Pokémon battling game missing out on the generation of Pokémon that made battling more fun (Revolution doesn't count, Revolution is dead to me and disappoints me more than I disappoint myself.)

But for the time especially, it gave fans an opportunity to experience a form of Pokémon more advanced than what the handhelds could output. It was a window into a world of potential that wouldn't be truly fulfilled until arguably the 3DS era of Pokémon released, and gave fans a fun little romp handcrafted for them at every twist and turn. Whether you were a gamer or you enjoyed the anime, there was something here for you.

Overall: 7/10 Sound: 8/10 (for the time) Graphics: 9/10 (for the time) Memorable Moments: Stadium 1: Hearing about Mewtwo, thinking he was an urban legend, then finding out he wasn't Stadium 2: Finally beating the elite 4 using only rental mons.

[vivwritescrappythings]

golden linings

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

the evening ball presents you with an unconventional dance partner

tw: fem reader, plus size reader, mentions of body image, yearning!, not proofread

wc: 2.5k

masterlist

--

You thanked Lord Asterly for his lackluster conversation, excusing yourself with a polite smile and a lousy attempt at a curtsy. It was obvious that your father had asked him to come speak to you, the eager expression on his face clear to you even across the room. You resisted the urge to glare at him as you retreated to the safety of the refreshment table.

König lingered nearby, his armor freshly polished and a clean hood over his head. He looked larger than life in comparison to the other knights and guards scattered around the room, towering over them despite his efforts to blend in with the column he stood next to.

His gaze was on you expectantly as you approached, a crystal glass of punch in one of your hands. A question lingered in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. “He only wished to talk about how big his family’s estate was, and the rumor of my considerable dowry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

The black hood covering König’s face rippled, a sign of his soft laughter. You heard it a few times, a rough bark of a noise—he reserved it for private times between the two of you.

“My father believes that I will meet a suitable husband at one of these,” you muttered, glaring over the rim of your glass at the dancing couples. “He is convinced that I can find a love match like my sister, but he seems to forget that she was blessed with a beauty I do not possess.”

König simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He avoided speaking in the presence of others, only occasionally whispering in your ear if necessary. Apparently it was not necessary that evening.

You ran a hand along the embroidered fabric pulling in your waist; the dress you were wearing was far too extravagant for a woman of your station. It squeezed you around the middle—it had taken the effort of two maids to pull the bodice laces so tight that you could hardly breathe. As though members of the court would not see the softness of your jaw and your arms and know better.

The punch was tart on your tongue. You hardly could conceal your scowl as you watched the dance floor, men twirling their wispy dance partners over the polished stone floor. Jealousy threatened to strangle your heart as you set your empty glass down, pivoting away from the dance floor to take a turn about the room.

König remained where he stood, you could feel his gaze track the back of your head as you offered tight-lipped smiles to lords and ladies as you sidled your way past. You had become used to the weight of his eyes on you. It would be odd if he looked elsewhere, the comfort peeled away from your shoulders to leave you bare.

You wormed your way into a group of ladies your age, their chatter filling your ears. They made space for you readily, welcoming you into their circle with saccharine smiles and soft greetings.

“Tell us, have you thought about what your wedding will be like?” one of the girls asked. You recognized her from around the castle—a recent arrival for the ball. She had always been kind enough, smiling at you in the halls and asking polite questions about your embroidery.

You felt your cheeks heat up as though you had been caught doing something wrong. “Admittedly, probably not as much as I should,” you said with a sheepish smile. 

It seemed that a wedding should be the only thing on a young lady’s mind. 

The women giggled, some offering up remarks of solidarity. “Not even what color dress you will wear?” another asked, pressing closer into the circle as she observed you with wide eyes.

Another resounding no. “Well, most likely blue, I suppose.” You stumbled through the words, begging for some detail to come forth into your mind. “I would want the color of my dress to match my husband’s attire. Perhaps even the same fabric could be used for the gown as his tunic.”

“Oh I think that would be lovely!” Mary exclaimed, grabbing onto your wrist for a moment as she grinned excitedly at you. She was your closest friend at the castle aside from König. Her father was on the king’s small council just as yours was, proximity forcing you into an easy friendship. You squeezed her arm as a thank you.

“I think my father will be willing to pay for a gold gown for me.” Your eyes rolled of their own volition, your irritation obvious. Mary shared your sentiment, leaning into you as her bony arm pressed along your soft bicep—a silent agreement.

It was as though all anyone thought about was getting married: whose dowry was bigger or whose father was willing to spend more coin on their wedding. 

It was exhausting.

The whole event was exhausting. You never realized that balls lasted until the early hours of the morning. The musicians played until the blue fingers of dawn started to cross the sky, the sun threatening to rise over the ocean. 

You yawned into your palm, bidding Mary goodnight as you ambled your way back to König. He was still just as alert as you left him, posture straight and hands clasped behind us back.

“Goodnight, papa,” you murmured to your father as you passed him. He paused his conversation to wrap an arm around your shoulders and squeeze you to his side for a brief moment, murmuring a “goodnight” into your temple before releasing you. 

König perked up slightly when you came to a stop in front of him, his broad shoulders relaxing a fraction as he tilted his head down toward you. 

“I think I have had more than my fair share of the festivities this evening,” you said, already turning toward the double doors leading toward the east wing of the castle. He nodded, dutifully falling into step at your side.

The castle was eerily quiet at that time of morning.

Many servants had either retired late or woken up as the sun rose and the party guests had not started to leave yet, the halls were empty. The light streaming in through the windows was tinged the periwinkle of early morning, the sconces lining the walls nearly burning out. 

“I can only imagine you had a rather exciting evening,” you murmured to König, a bit of a smirk on your face.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head once. “I have had worse nights than that, my lady,” he said, voice low and raspy from disuse. It still surprised you to hear him, it felt like a special privilege to know his voice.

You hummed your acknowledgement. He told you of his times fighting along the eastern border. There was a vague memory floating in the back of your mind of your father discussing the skirmishes with neighboring kingdoms about farmland, but it had not affected your home much aside from a sudden drop in potato dishes. You could not fathom what it had been like on the front lines.

It was a relatively peaceful era for the majority of the kingdom; König was one of the few people you knew that had actually seen battle. He refused to tell you the details of it.

“Well that is true,” you concurred, inclining your head toward him, “but this certainly had to be boring. Knights on duty were not even allowed to dance.”

You turned the corner toward your quarters, the windows lining the one side of the hallway showed the sun starting to crest over the horizon. The sky was splashed with pinks and oranges, the whispers of the clouds above catching the colors and lined in bright white. 

“You did not dance, either,” König remarked.

Your cheeks warmed, embarrassment clenching around your throat. “No one asked me to dance.” You studied the way the hem of your gown fluttered across the floor as you walked. 

“Would you have liked to dance?” 

You shrugged noncommittally, chewing your lower lip for a moment. “I suppose I would have,” you finally mumbled. A sidelong glance at König confirmed that he had turned his head to look at you, eyes the color of aquamarines shining through the eye holes of his hood. “But it is not proper for a lady to ask, she must be asked by a man.”

König hummed thoughtfully for a moment before stopping in place. You were just a few paces from your door.

“Would you like to dance with me, my lady?” he asked, turning to face you dead on. He offered a gloved hand palm-up for you to take, his other hand tucked behind his back as though he was a proper lord asking a lady to dance.

You let out a soft chuckle, the warmth on your cheeks spreading to the entirety of your face. At first you assumed he meant it in jest, but a twinkle in his eye made you reconsider. “But there is no music.”

“Humor me,” he responded in the same beat.

It was enough to convince you. You smiled nervously, your nose scrunching a bit as you slipped your hand into his. 

“Which dance will we do?” you asked, having to crane your neck back to properly look up at König. You placed your hand on his shoulder, the metal pauldron smooth beneath your fingertips.

His broad hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer. You were surprised by the stretch of his fingers, feeling the press of his hand around the entirety of your side. You never thought you would feel small in a man’s embrace.

“The one that had you glaring at the dance floor.” König’s voice had a hint of a smile in it, mirth clear in his gaze. You scoffed, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. He squeezed your hand as he snickered.

Then he moved into the first steps, shockingly graceful as he led you into the dance. You stumbled at first, both of you laughing as his hold on your waist tightened. He pressed you in the right direction with his palm.

“You are rather good at this,” you commented, finally synchronizing with him.

“It was a long evening,” König explained, spinning you elegantly before capturing your waist once more. “Dancing is not so far from fighting when it comes to the core movements. The steps are not hard to grasp and are similar to one another, I did spend the past few hours watching them.”

“So you did use your time wisely,” you teased. 

His hand shifted from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. You were nearly pressed against the metal of his chestplate, the burnished steel reflecting the light of the sunrise as König whirled you over the stone like it was a dance floor. 

You hardly even noticed there was no music playing, your mind filling in the silence surrounding the soft sound of your footsteps and the occasional metallic click from his plate armor. Your gown swished against his legs, just a whisper of noise.

The edge of König’s hood fluttered against your fingertips as your hand rested on his shoulder. The black fabric was coarser than you expected, the edges fraying. It was different from the hood he wore most days: there was no discoloration around the eyes. You ached to remove it.

The sun rose slowly, blood orange light flooding the hallway. Everything seemed to stand still aside from the syrupy movements of the two of you dancing in silence. König led you through the steps slower than the music would normally go, seemingly savoring the moments of closeness as his head bowed toward yours.

You were lost in the moment, the heavy scent of oakmoss incense interlaced with marjoram and sage that clung to him almost made you feel like you were in a dream. Perhaps you had dreamt this? It would not have been the first time you dreamt of the knight sweeping you off your feet.

“You are lost in your thoughts, my lady,” König said, pulling you from the reverie. You blinked a few times, looking up at him through your lashes with a guilty smile.

“You have surprised me, I did not think you to be a dancer,” you managed to lie, attempting to hide your daydreaming.

König let out a huff, spinning you once more. It would have been the crescendo of the music had there been any, he continued twirling you until the imaginary note ended. Then he yanked you close, pressing your belly to his pelvis as his forearm settled across the small of your back.

“König!” you yelped, giggling as you steadied yourself with your hands on his breastplate. The lack of sleep and proximity were going to your head, your face so warm you could practically start a fire. 

Gloved fingers brushed a loose piece of hair from your forehead, tucking it back into the braided style you wore. “Those men are fools for not asking you to dance, all of them,” he said softly, a knuckle brushing against the outside of your jaw to direct your gaze up at him. 

You floundered for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The sun had nearly risen, light flooding in and illuminating a golden outline around König. You could feel the scales of his armor through the too-tight bodice of your gown, the pieces of metal shifting with your breaths.

You inhaled, lips parting to respond.

Peals of laughter bounced down the hallway, making you lurch apart. You pressed your back against the carved wood of your door, teeth digging into your lower lip as he settled into the same stance he had been in all night: shoulders squared and arms clasped behind his back.

It took time to gather yourself after the shock—you and König had done nothing wrong. But you would have. “Thank you for the dance, König,” you finally blurted out, voice higher pitched than normal. 

He inclined his head toward you, silent now that others were wandering down the hall back to their chambers. They were in their cups, staggering in each other’s arms as the morning sun shined on them. You stared for a beat, chewing the inside of your cheek.

König grabbed the handle of your door, pulling it open for you in a smooth motion. “Goodnight,” you said, reflex driving you. It had become routine–bidding him goodnight at the end of each day. 

“Goodnight, my lady,” he whispered, so low you could barely hear it. You looked up at him over your shoulder as you turned, meeting his bright eyes before slipping inside your room.

The door closed behind you, your hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your giddy laugh. You leaned against the door, imagining what König was doing on the other side. He would have to be relieved of his post soon, he needed to sleep just as much as you did. 

But for the moment, you thought of his heavy hand on your waist and his knuckle on your cheek.

[felassan]

Neve's outfit just has such a great design!! the silhouette it has - iconic, delightfully Tevene. Neve's piece really reminds me of the feel and vibe of her DA: The Missing cover. In the background are the towers and streets of Minrathous, the city that is her home - including the iconic floating castle. with its white/pale blue light, shimmer and the impression of ice crystals the magic she is casting has, it looks like she's using one of her ice mage abilities. It's cool, even the chair she is sitting on has that diamond, rhombus (not sure if I'm describing this right, but hopefully you know what I mean ^^) kinda design Tevinter things tend to have. you can see it in like their doorways and windows and stuff. I love the unique design of her staff/wand, and in this painting it reminds me of a cane. as in like, you know, didn't Sherlock Holmes sometimes carry a stick or cane? like Hercule Poirot? that kind of vibe. fitting for a detective and private investigator. :) in one of the past trailers they talked about "hard-boiled detective stories", which on reflection now I feel can surely only be in reference to Neve! a lil touch of film noir.

In the background, spotlighted (as if by one of the spotlights from the floating castle) against the wall and looming over her, is the ominous shadow of another person, or entity. the staff they carry implies they are a mage. A random Venatori? A Venatori leader? she has had dealings with them in the past, they don't like her and in the gameplay reveal we can see that they basically want to kill her and her allies; as someone affiliated with the Shadow Dragons, she's opposed to them. this could represent that opposition (Venatori/Neve) and the threat that they pose.

there's something off-looking about the shadow though - Tevinter magisters and Venatori etc wearing robes and getups that give them startling outlines is nothing new, but still. their arms are too long (unsettling), and the one without the staff, though it could just be the fancy trailing sleeves and embellishments on the person's robe itself, is drawn in such a way as to resemble a claw or talon. something demonic-y. their arms are all spiky, the waist over-narrow and waspish. A corrupt[ed] magister? An ancient magister? A demon? some combination thereof? ^^ There is something about it which reminds me of the designs of figures like the Architect and Cory, and they were not the only members of their group. the demonic vibe and recent Venatori plot stuff in general also makes me think of the trapped demon sealed in the Catacombs beneath the city of Minrathous, as detailed in The Streets of Minrathous in Tevinter Nights, in which Neve appears. in that short, she prevents the Venatori from releasing the demon, but it's not dead or defeated. Also, the way in which it was described in that short was 😀 extremely worrying. whatever it is, it feels like Neve's art piece is giving a glimpse at what her storyline in the game might involve.

[source]

[osleeplessflowero]

Time for some conveniently timed romance with Dust! Oneshot Masterpost

*Notes - Gender Neutral Reader - A part of the Bad Sanses series - A little steamy this time. Nothing NSFW, but there is some making out..

tags/warnings: Forced Proximity, Biting

🔒Cornered🔒

"Alright, listen up." Nightmare said as he walked back and forth before your little lineup, each of you standing next to each other and waiting for him to speak further.

"I am only agreeing to start this little game because of Killer's insane amount of persistence. In order to make this little game of his fair, I will be casting a spell over the castle in order to temporarily disable your magical abilities such as teleportation and Checking for souls. This way you will naturally be able to hide and seek each other out. When the game is done I will remove my spell. Are we clear?" He comes to a stop before you all, looking over you and Killer who seem to be bouncing in place with excitement. The others look fairly neutral about this where they stand.

"crystal, boss! let's get this party started!" Killer cheers, already debating where his hiding spot should be, unless he is chosen as the seeker..

"Why you would want to play a children's game is beyond me. But, I couldn't care less, so do as you wish." He holds up his hand, magic forming around it before encasing the outside of the castle with a green glow. "It is done. I will be in my study, do not hide in there or my room. I will snitch."

You internally swear, because you'd decided on that earlier..oh well. You'll just find another space to hide.

"okay, who wants to seek?-" Killer is cut off by a series of "not it"s, frowning immediately. "no fair! you guys didn't give a warning or anything. whatevs, i'll do it. better get to hiding.." A menacing grin stretches across his face as he turns around to count, leaving the three of you to split up and find a good hiding place.

Hearing Killer's loud counting at the end of the hall, you take in your surroundings and try to pick a good hiding place with excitement. You open the door to one of the storage closets, only to be met with a pair of red and blue eyelights..

"Shit, sorry Dust- damn, I need to find somewhere quick.." You look around quickly as Killer reaches the lower single digit numbers.

"it's okay, just get out of here before-" He's cut off by Killer announcing the last number, and you quickly shove him back to enter the room with him and lightly close the door behind you hoping it didn't make too much noise. You look up as the skeleton hiding with you recovers from bumping into the shelf behind you both, apologizing quickly to him and backing up.

"it's fine, don't worry about it." He reassures you, the two of you listening intently as you hear commotion outside.

"You have to be really careful finding spots to hide in here..he's memorized almost all of them by now." You furrow your brows as you whisper, hearing a chuckle leave the skeleton behind you.

"i know. dude's a hide and seek fanatic. eh, at least it's fun for us. sometimes it's good to play games like this, even if we're considered way too old for 'em."

"I don't think you're ever too old for hide and seek." You turn back to him with a smile. He nods in agreement, pausing for a second when he hears a door open and close abruptly in the distance.

"if you run, you might be able to find another spot." He glances briefly back at the objects sitting in boxes behind you both.

"Nah, it's too late for that now. He'd catch me immediately if I left." You lean your back on the door, listening carefully for Killer outside. Dust opens his mouth to reply but hears the sound of something beginning to tip over and fall. He reaches out his hand to stop it, only to remember his powers have been disabled, and you quickly pull him towards you so the group of boxes doesn't hit him. You pause as you listen to the noises outside, Killer seeming to walk past with a few chuckles here and there as he looks into different rooms. Thank god he didn't hear..

"i'll find you sooner or later!" He disappears down the hall, and you let out a sigh of relief, turning towards the skeleton who is..rather close to you right now. His hands are resting on each side of your head where he'd steadied himself after you pulled him, his eyelights staring at you in slight shock as he realizes. You feel heat rush to your face.

"Shit, Dust, I'm sorry- I-I just didn't want you to get hurt so I pulled you out of the way and now we're um..we're in a bit of a predicament, huh?" You smile awkwardly, hoping that the darkness around you both isn't making your flushed face too visible. But considering his eyelights are natural flashlights..you have a feeling he already knows..

"it's okay." He speaks softly, sending shivers down your spine. "i'm not gonna be mad at you for helping me out. ..do you want me to move?"

"I.." You pause, your face growing much warmer. In truth, you don't mind this scenario all that much..being close to him and all. However his eyes being solely on you has you a bit flushed..butterflies appearing in your stomach.

Dust's face flushes within the shadows of his hood, him seeming to already know the answer.

"we haven't had a lot of time together, huh?.. guess this is some pretty damn convenient timing. albeit a little awkward." He chuckles, and you turn to face him more directly.

"Yeah..I'm sorry about that. But at least we can now..right?" You smile sheepishly, removing your hand from one of his arms after realizing it's still holding it.

"..yeah. it'll uh..probably be a while before he finds us.." He trails off, unable to break his stare from you. Slowly, his more awkward demeanor shifts, and a smirk makes its way onto his face catching you off guard. "you wanna..find a way to pass the time?"

Oh man. Oh shit this is indeed happening right now- Your face burns as you rest your arms at your sides, looking up at him. So unfair that he's towering over you right now..

"I-I mean if you want to, I wouldn't mind- I mean it's not like I would mind to begin with because you're really cool and is it hot in here or is it just y-" He cuts your rambling off by pressing a kiss against your lips, silencing you. You don't seem to mind this, raising your arm and placing them around his neck, pulling him a little closer to you.

His kisses start soft..but then the lack of attention begins to get to him..and they grow more desperate, at least on his end. He bites your bottom lip gently, sliding his glowing tongue into your mouth when you permit it. He takes a short break after a while so you can catch your breath, leaning down to your neck and ensuring it's exposed enough for him as he speaks. You feel a chill as his breath hits you.

"do you have any idea what you do to me?.." You hold your hand up to your mouth to ensure you stay quiet as he presses kisses against your neck, stopping at one space in particular before looking up at your expression. He grins to himself when he sees your flushed state, lightly biting down near your shoulder and leaving a mark.

"Dust, he could find us-" You whisper shakily as he returns to meet your gaze, wiping some bright purple equivalent of saliva away from his chin.

"don't worry about it." He leans forwards, kissing you again to keep you quiet as Killer passes by once more. "it's my turn to spend some time with you for a bit..please..let me have this. even just for a little while."

You furrow your brows, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hugging him tightly. "Okay. I don't mind having some time alone with you..though just know you can hang out with me anytime, okay? Come see me later..we could have a sleepover, just you and me." You smile, the skeleton sharing it before leaning back in.

"damn it, why can't i find those two? i found you easily, horror!" Killer crosses his arms, trying to think of where you both could've possibly hid.

"that's because i wasn't trying." Horror says nonchalantly, leaning against one of the walls with a grimace as he watches the shorter skeleton pace back and forth. In truth, he already knew where both of you were. He wasn't about to snitch, though. For your sake, and because he wasn't about to help Killer with anything.

"i mean, fair i guess. but they've gotta be around here somewhere. just gotta think..i checked the bedrooms..we can't go in nightmare's spaces..we already decided we wouldn't go outside..hmm. i'll check the entrance hallway again-"

You both break yet another kiss, breathing heavily as you smile at one another.

"Wow, you are..really bold when you aren't shy." You let out a little laugh, the skeleton sharing the action.

"you bring out different sides of me, 's all." He presses a kiss to your forehead, giving you some space as the door knob begins to shake. He quickly moves you behind him into the darkness, motioning for you to hide.

"aHA! found you, dust!" Killer grins proudly, tagging the other skeleton's shoulder. "now it just leaves Them.."

"better get looking then, yeah?" He watches Killer walk out of the closet, before turning back to you with a grin. You raise a brow at him, confused, before he holds up one of his fingers to his teeth and closes the door. You lean back in your spot on the floor, feeling your face burn hotter than a thousand suns.

You take a few minutes to reflect. You really need to spend some more time with Dust..you'll ensure that he never feels left out ever again. A determined look crosses your face before you lift your hand up to your neck, your face flushing when you realize his bite mark is still there. Damn it, Dust! You do your best to cover it.

"ugh, i can't find them anywhere. i give up.. HEEEY- YOU WIN THE GAME, COME OUT!" Killer shouts, causing the older skeleton to wince. "sorry, horror."

You exit the closet with a smug smile, Killer staring at you exasperatedly. "what?! you were in the same spot? no fair!" He puts his hands on his hips.

"There's nothing in the rules against hiding with someone else." You stick your tongue out, hearing Dust snicker in the background.

"well, whatever. i'll go tell nightmare to remove his spell." Killer waves you off, walking off in search of Nightmare's office. You and Dust share a glance before you walk over to Horror, giving him a side hug since you hadn't earlier in the day.

"Hey, where'd you hide?" You smile up at him, Dust taking a sip of a drink he got from who knows where.

"i just hid in my room under the bed. was a wonder i could even fit under there." He chuckles, before looking over you both. "you two have fun?"

Dust chokes on his drink somehow, spitting it out and coughing. You laugh awkwardly, playfully nudging his shoulder. "I don't know what you mean!"

"mhm. thought so. i'm gonna go take a nap, this shit wore me out. you two uh..do whatever." He messes up your hair, walking off. Well, now the two of you are left flushed in the hallway..

The spell over the castle is lifted, and before you can get a word out, Dust pulls his hood completely shut and shortcuts to his room. You simply smile at where he stood, deciding you'd go check on him later.

[summerlovingbaby]

shopping spree

The stroll around Hogsmeade was pleasant, if not a bit cold for Y/N’s liking. Remus told her to wear a sweater, but she didn’t want to ruin her outfit. She wasn’t gonna ask one of the boys because then not only would they be cold, but she would have proved Remus right. That she did need a sweater, and Y/N was nothing if not stubborn.

The mug of butterbeer defrosted her fingertips, and warmed her throat and stomach when she swallowed it, and she knew that they would be leaving soon anyway, James sluggish tread and Sirus’s frequent eyerolling was enough to tell her that. That, and they were walking back to Hogwarts, stopping mostly at stores to peer through the windows or to humor eachother. James buying Remus and obsinly large chocolate bar that was mostly supposed to be a gag gift, but with as much as Remus ate chocolate it would be helpful.

Y/N walked ahead of the group. The butterbeer she drank made quick work to energize her, not to mention the handful of gummy candy she bought at the store that she chewed on as she walked. Not to mention she was excited that she had the evening off with all her boys, no quidditch, no studying, no interruptions. Just her and the boys she deighned to spend her time with.

She almost started skipping until she saw a flash of yellow in a store window, she stopped suddenly in her tracks and turned on her heels, speedwalking to the store as fast as she could without slipping in the mud, and pressed her face as close to the window that she could get without touching it, her breath fogging up the glass. 

James couldn’t help but smile at the sight, Y/N nearly skipping along the path until she came to a skidding halt to stare at something at a store window, hunched over like a kid at the candy counter. He knew she was probably blushing, it didn’t take alot to make her blush, a simple kiss on the cheek, or holding hands, or calling her pretty was enough to make her glow. Sirius who held James hand was poised to follow when James drug him to stand behind Y/N at the store window, Remus trailing behind them, not wanting to be touched, his skin still raw from the recent full moon.

Sirius smiled at her outfit, though simple, it was pretty, though he was sure that she could make a paper  bag look couture. She was wearing a denim midi skirt that stopped mid calf, combat boots with ribbons for laces and a cropped yellow tank top. Her lips were shiny with black lip gloss and her hair was done up in pigtails tied together with a pink ribbon she stole from Remus.

“ Look at that dress it’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed, pressing her head against the glass, her forehead making imprints.

James peaked over her shoulder, standing on his tiptoes to see. Sirius squatting down to meet her eye line to see. The only thing they could see was a ghastly looking bright pink dress that nearly took up the whole window display. Remus was sure that it was heavy enough that the mannequin would collapse under it’s weight if magic wasn’t holding it up. It was covered in large chunky mismatched crystals and layers and layers of tulle.

Remus knew that wasn’t the dress that caught her eye. It was a dress in the center of the store, he had to slightly raise his head to see it, peaking out behind the pink monstrosity someone called a dress. It was a simple yellow dress, that draped off a hanger, the fabric was interlaced with gold glitter, making the dress seem like the sun, even in the fluorescent lights.

Remus angled their heads so they could see the dress too, and they were immediately smitten.

“ Go try it on,” Remus encouraged.

“ No, we’ve been out too long, and you’re tired, let’s go back to the castle,” she said tugging on his sleeve.

“ Go try it on, it’ll only take a minute,” James said pushing her through the door.

It didn’t take much convincing as she scurried through the store, snatchin the yellow fabric from the hanger as a attendant ushered her to a dressing room. The boys finding a seat near a wall of floor to ceiling windows.

Moments later, she emerged from the window, looking like the sun shining through a raincloud. As stunning as the dress looked on the hanger, it looked even better on her. The dress hanging off her shoulders and hugged her figure, especially her lower belly, which despite her insecurity with, it was James' favorite part of her. It glinted like pure gold in the light, and everytime she moved it sparkled.

“ You look beautiful,” Sirius said dreamly.

“ Thankyou,” she blushed.

“ So pretty,” Remus asked, “ You have to buy it,” he says.

Y/N shook her head sweetly, staring at herself in the mirror, adjusting the way the dress sat on her shoulders. “ No, its nearly 50 galleons,” she said, “ too expensive,” she chided.

Money was no issue for her boys, granted Remus didn’t have nearly as much as his counterparts, but had started a lucrative and illegal business a good bit of pocket change. James and Remus nearly had unlimited money, especially Sirus who could spend 400 galleons and not even notice.

“ Too expensive should not be in your vocabulary,” James clucked.

“ I’m not asking you to buy me this dress.”

“ Good thing you’re not asking,” James said still staring, particularly at her chest that was only covered with a thin layer of sheer fabric and satin.

A attendant clicked over, her heels chirping against the tile as she walked over with a shoebox, presenting it to Y/N.

“ These shoes go with the dress,” she said in a thick french accent.

Y/N opened the box, in the box was a short pair of pale yellow chunky heels, covered with the same fabric as the dress. Draped over the shoe, forming pleats, lined with strips of jewels that formed a large bow on the toe.

“ Ohh, try those on,” James says.

“ No, I’m not getting this dress,” she said, “ It’s very pretty, but I cannot justify spending this much on a dress.”

“ It’s imported from France,” Sirus spoke, explaining the price.

“ You’re imported from France,” she clicks back.

Remus, who seemed to busy to be glancing around  the store to engaged in the conversation, he pinged very suddenly behind Y/N, at a pale pink dress with a large bow on the front of it. “ You like that one,” he said, pointing to it.

“ Yes, it’s very nice, but it’s too expensive.”

“ I asked you if you liked it, not how much it cost,” Remus quipped.

“ I could unwrap you like a present,” James muttered, turning to the attendant. “ Can we have one of those dresses with the big bow at the front in size ___?” he smiled.

The attendant pursed her lips and gave him a tight nod, leaving to return moments later with the dress in that size and the accompanying heels and a handful of chunky jeweled earrings. James studdied the earrings in her open palm, talking in quiet voice with Remus about witch pair they liked, deciding on the the large ones, just because they could.

Sirius wandered off, somewhere Y/N couldn’t see, only to return moments later, while Y/N was begging James to put the dress back on the rack, and return the jewelry and the shoes. Sirius stood next to Remus and James, a lacy black thong dangling off his pointer finger, a cheeky smile accompanying it.

Y/N looked at him with wide eyes and motioned quickly for him to put it back, only for him to reveal the matching bra draped over his other hand. The attendant noticed her obvious discomfort and motioned to the lingerie in his hands, “ If blue isn’t your preference it also comes in green, red and black,” she spoke.

“ Red,” all three boys said at the same time.

Y/N violently shook her head, “ No, you’re not buying anything. Lets just leave,”

“ If you let us buy you stuff we can leave.”

“ No we’re leaving now,” she said stomping to the changing room.

“ 7 things,” Sirius suggested.

“ No things,” she yelled from the changing room.

“ 8 things?” James said.

“ Zero!” she said, flinging open the curtain to search for the hanger for the dress/

“ 10?” Remus shrugged.

“ No, no, no!” she exclaimed, she saw sirius eyeing a dress with an inlay of diamonds and finally came to a resolution. “ Fine, I will get the yellow dress and the one with the bow and the shoes, but no jewelry,” she said, snatching the bow dress from his hands.

“ One necklace,” James added.

“ And one necklace that I don’t need, and the..” she leaned close to them to whisper something quietly, “and the painties,” her face going pale when each odf the boys had a new pair of lingerie dangling on their fingers. Remus, a pretty silk yellow slipdress, and James a bright red teddy.

“ Fine,” she exclaimed out of nothing but embarrassment, snatching the stuff from them and stomping over to the counter.

[cherryfennec]

Quickly wrote a long overdue summary of the Bad End AU Prologue that I can send to people if they ever ask me about the plot. Ahem!

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR PAPER MARIO 64, PAPER MARIO TTYD AND SUPER PAPER MARIO.

The Prologue:

The story begins following the first Paper Mario game in the series where Bowser originally obtains the Star Rod. During the final battle between Mario and Bowser, Peach watches as her hero in red starts to loose to the Koopa King, due to not being able to match the Star Rods accumulated power. She gets a chance to make a wish to the stars, however instead of wishing for the Star Rods magic to be nullified (like in the original game), she instead wishes for her and Mario, who is at the brink of Game Overing, to be taken to safety immiediately. The heroes proceed to stay low during his recovery, planning how to stop Bowser who continues his evil deeds unbothered for now.

After this we skip to the events of the second game in the series, The Thousand Year Door. Just like in the canon, Peach invites Mario to search for the hidden treasure of Rogue Port. Due to the rumors, she believes that whatever they find behind the legendary sealed Door can help them defeat the now Star Powered Bowser. Mario of course accepts.

The plot continues similarly to the original game plot, up until Chapter 4 that is. Mario proceeds to get his name and body stolen by Doo_liss, however in this timeline he and Vivian happen to be out of luck since the crows who originally had the information about the tricksters name are nowhere to be seen. Mario becomes trapped in Twilight Town, with his memory starting to fade as a side effect of turning into a shadow. Meanwhile Doo_liss leaves the town, with now 4 Crystal Stars in his pocket, and proceeds to exploit his new identity. Shortly after he disbands the party, simply because he has no care for the original quest.

He is later found by the two remaining Shadows, Beldam and Marilyn, who convince him to give up the Stars after peaking his curiosity about what's behind The Thousand Year Door.

With no more Mario around, the remaining stars are discovered with the map that was left in Doo_lisses pocket and Peach is ultimately used as a vessel for the Shadow Queen who has world domination plans of her own. Doo_liss also swears his loyalty to her, alongside the remaining Shadow Sisters, since he doesn't want to get on the bad side of someone who could end him right then and there when he can just follow some orders when summoned once in a while and use the rest of his time for having fun.

The Queen returns to the Mushroom Kingdom and proceeds to make a treaty with Bowser, who returns the castle and the rule over Toads to her under a few conditions.

After this we do yet another skip, this time referring to the plot of the third game, Super Paper Mario. Count Bleck arrived as the castles doorstep, making a proposition to the Queen of The Mushroom Kingdom. He promises an artifact of great power that could destroy whole worlds, known as the Chaos Heart by the Ancients. As an old demon herself she recognises the potential of gaining it and agrees help summon it.

With little trouble to convince Bowser to marry her, the ceremony is held and The Chaos Heart appears as planned. There starts to be sudden big ruckus among the guests caused by unexpected explosions around the altar of unknown origin. Before anyone could however react, someone steals the ancient artifact and dissapears without a trace.

The thief is seen again after some time, now looking different than before as well as acting rather off with talking to seemingly air and going from being able to fulfill certain tasks to being unable to do them mere seconds later. He is recognised by Bowser as Marios brother, much to Doo_lisses annoyance.

One day the thief he just started hanging around The Mushroom Castle before being ultimately accepted as a part of the main group of evil, as uncooperative as he can be, with the Queen hoping she can one day turn him into a loyal servant or take what's rightfully hers.

The General Description of The Current Plot:

The current events of the AU revolve around the group of villains, that the main four has now become, trying to take over the rest of the land and other Kingdoms, inconveniencing and eliminating their enemies, finding artifacts of power as well adapting to the current reality. Unfortunately their plans tend to get inconvenienced, or even foiled, by their own faults such as overestimating their own abilities, being stubborn and unable to cooperate effectively often and just not getting well alongside eachother in general. In other words: hijinks ensue!

Main Events of The Story: TBA

[torveiglyart]

Due to my inability to post a comic page today, I have some more fleshing out of the Avicorians… and a Lance AU.

Due to the unique materials that many Avicorian’s body parts are made of, this race has been poached to extinction. The feathers, bones, teeth, claws, and eyes of an avicorian are held in high regard on the black market. Although they are universally known as extinct, there was a rather large group of Avicorians that escaped the mass poaching epidemic by fleeing to a small outer-rim planet known as Earth, and hiding there.

As generations came and went, the degree of chameleonisation rose, making it impossible to tell an Avicorian from a human, 2,000 years after the genocide. The only indicator that a person could be Avicorian or of that descent is heterochromia, yet even that genetic factor happens in regular humans, so there is no sure way to identify them.

Like Alteans, Avicorians have a unique connection to quintessence. The light markings on their wings indicate a person’s connection, or “power”, to the quintessence they feel strongest. for Avicorians, the composition of quintessence differs based on the colour: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Teal, Blue, Violet, and White. Coincidentally, this colour action works similarly to Earthling’s “Auras” in that personalities can be identified by the quintessence colour. Unlike Alteans, Avicorians cannot “wield” quintessence or manipulate it in the way alchemists can. They can react to and with it, like recharging a Balmera, but cannot utilise it, like Oriande shows. Avicorians require quintessence usage to shape-shift (to morph, not sustain), while Alteans do not.

Quintessence and meaning

Red: Passion, agression, impulsion, heart

Orange: Energetic, creative, impatient, skittish

Yellow: Stubborn, support, compassion, caution

Green: Inquisitive, petty, productive, amicable

Blue: Fluid, thoughtful, trust, fawning

Violet: Decisive, level-head, weary, calm

White: “Purity” White quintessence does not normally appear naturally as it is a refined version. There are no traits, as there are none with a connection to white.

Teal: “Raw Quintessence” Balmeran crystals are the easiest example of quintessence in a raw form. Curiosity, kindness, flexibility, empathy

And now the Lance AU:

Unknown to Lance McClain, he is half Avicorian. His parents, who were actually a full-blood Avicorian and his “aunt” Rosa, were killed in a car accident when he was only 2, and so he was taken in by his aunt Sophia, who he knows as his mom. He was never told of his true parentage, as no one felt it was important for him to know. He was a McClain anyways.

Lance always had heterochromatic eyes, brown on bottom, blue on top, but preferred to wear coloured contacts to hide the unusual colouration, especially after a bad spout of bullying when he first moved to America.

Years later, when Voltron went to aid an Empire outpost with broken shields, Lance sacrificed himself to save Allura from a beam of electricity and was revived by her newfound knowledge of Altean alchemy. Upon revival, he began to have strange pains in his back and nails, yet continuously brushed them off as battle scars or “the whole dying thing”. Months later, when they fight Lotor in the quintessence field, Lance passes out after their victory and wakes up in Red, his armor broken on the ground in front of him and eyes burning. He doesn’t actually take note of the changes until Red is packed with his things and the castle is gone. No one ran into him during the packing trips, but now that things have settled, Pidge is the first to point out Lance’s silence. It is then that Lance freaks out about the wings, blue sclera, and claws.

[hp-hcs]

Omg are you a SAINT??? I’m the one who requested the Theo x ftm Parkinson Reader and it was incredible!!! I love Yanderes ngl because I have….issues…..anyways please bring me a part 2 （╹◡╹）

uh. super dark themes in here? i’m really sorry?

requests open

CLAIRVOYANCE AND TASSEOGRAPHY (Chapter Two of Pansy’s Brother) — yandere! psycho! theodore nott x ftm! sweetheart! parkinson! reader

WARNINGS: abduction/kidnapping, stalking, possessive/obsessive behavior, intense unwarranted jealousy

hey! if you like someone, please don’t stalk and kidnap them! that’s decidedly uncool!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“You going back to your dorm?”

“Nah,” you shake your head. “I need to finish my homework for Trelawney. Going to the library.”

Enzo snickers. “Good luck. ~Clear your mind~,” his voice took on a sing-song quality as he imitated your professor, laughing when you smacked his arm and told him to be nice.

“I like Divination,” you whine. “Trelawney’s nice!”

“Yeah, sure…” he teases, knocking his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes and wave goodbye to him, heading to the library while he turns to go back down to the dungeons.

The hallways are mostly empty, although a few straggling kids make their way through the castle, but a multitude of others must’ve had the same idea as you, because the library is completely full.

You weave your way between a pack of first year Hufflepuffs and a group of zonked-out Gryffindors, dropping your bag down onto the only free table to claim your spot.

Madam Pince, always one beat ahead of everyone else, emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding a simple wood box out for you.

“Y/N, dear. I believe you’re in need of this?” She said wisely with a small smile on her otherwise stern face.

Madam Pince had always quite liked you. You were quiet (unlike your sister and her friends), you always thanked her whenever she helped you (even if it was just bringing you another cup of tea and an interesting book on the Muggle constitutional monarchy), and you once marched down to the library just to give her an entire plate of cookies because I made too many, really Madam, and besides, you deserve a bit of thanks for all the hard work you do.

(She’d later asked the house elves. They informed her that you’d only baked one batch of cookies. She’s had a soft spot for you ever since.)

You thanked her gratefully, taking the wood box and opening it. Inside was one of the library’s loaner crystal balls. A bit scuffed up, but it did the job.

Sitting down at your table, you got to work writing your Divination essay. You weren’t particularly adept at clairvoyance, but as long as you tried (or at least pretended to), Trelawney would leave you alone.

The library grew quiet as groups began intermittently leaving, rubbing tired eyes and yawning as they stumbled their way down the hall. Madam Pince came by with two mugs of tea and and an order to take a break, dear, have a cuppa with me.

You laid down your quill, taking your offered mug with grateful thanks and a tired smile. She pulled a chair up next to you, sipping her own mug.

“I’ve closed the library up for tonight, but you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. I know, I know. As an educator, I’m not supposed to have favorites but…” she gave you a conspiratorial wink. “Anyway, the only people left in here are Miss Granger, you, and I. Lovely girl, that Granger. But remember, you need to sleep at some point, dear.”

You laughed and nodded, draining the rest of your tea and swirling the leaves around. “I know. I just need to finish this essay.”

Madam Pince gave you a pointed look, glancing down at the three sentences you had written on your otherwise blank twelve inches of parchment and then back up at you.

“Divination is a difficult subject,” she advised. “Take notes, and write your essay later. Although you seem to be doing quite well with tasseography.” She nodded towards your empty mug which you were still swirling around, just as something to do with your hands.

You laugh, finally stopping the cup and peering in. “Oh no, I’m terrible at reading tea leaves. This looks like a… an axe, I think? And… ooh, this looks like a shark. Or maybe a goldfish.”

She snickered, patting your shoulder and standing up, smiling at you before returning to her seemingly endless task of reshelving books.

You spun the cup around once more, finding only a wonky heart and a vaguely knife-shaped bit. The rim of your tea mug held only a weird looking dog.

You brushed off the silly reading and resumed your homework, tapping the crystal ball with your fingernail in frustration.

There wasn’t anything in there.

You sighed in annoyance, setting down your quill with a clack and rubbing the heel of your hands over your eyes. It was starting to get late, and you weren’t getting anywhere. Might as well call it a bust and go back to your dorm.

You huffed out a short breath as you screwed on the lid of your inkwell, stuffing your quill and parchment in your bag with little care.

Turning back to put the crystal ball back in its box, you froze when you saw something.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer to get a better look.

Nope.

Nothing.

You sighed again, shaking your head. You could’ve sworn you’d seen something move. But alas, it was still just the same stupid upside-down reflection of the bookshelves in front of you.

You picked up the ball, nestling the stand back inside the satin interior of the box. As you moved the set the sphere down as well, you saw it again.

Movement.

Now you knew you weren’t crazy.

It was a little hard to tell, as whatever was on the other side of the ball would reflect back inverted, but you swore it looked like a person.

You squinted, shifting a bit. The indistinct figure vanished.

You looked up from the ball tentatively, a bit afraid of what might be ahead of you.

Nothing.

“Hermione?” You called softly. Your voice carried in the empty library.

“Upstairs!” Hermione’s distinct voice called back. You glanced up at the small second floor loft, catching a glimpse of bushy hair.

A hand suddenly came down on your shoulder with a vice-like grip.

You startled, a yelp halfway on your lips when another hand covered your mouth. The mystery person leaned down behind you to whisper in your ear.

“Easy. You’re okay.”

You were frozen with fear, the ball slipping out of your hands and falling onto the (thankfully) carpeted floor, where it rolled to a stop some feet away.

“Not a word.” The stranger’s voice hissed, their grip tightening over your mouth, their short nails digging into your skin.

They yanked you out of your chair from behind, leaving all of your things scattered across your desk. The stranger moved their hand from your shoulder to your opposite elbow, their arm across your torso and keeping you from moving as they dragged you down the row. They made a beeline for the library doors, your weak attempts to fight them off not hindering them in the slightest.

As the stranger fumbled to open the door with both of their hands occupied, a familiar voice called out.

“Are you finally leaving, Y/N, dear?” Madam Pince’s called from just around the corner, half-hidden behind a bookshelf.

The stranger’s grip on you tightened even further, to an almost painful degree.

“Answer her.” They hissed again, digging their nails into your cheeks again before slowly moving their hand down to uncover your mouth.

You trembled with fear. “U-uh, yeah. Got some wonderfully mediocre notes down, and I’m exhausted.”

Her laugh drifted through the library. “Alright then, Y/N. Oh! And if Professor Trelawney actually does assign any tasseography homework, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, of course. We can share a cuppa chamomile together.”

“Sounds lovely, dear. Sleep well.”

The rather sweet moment was ruined as the stranger’s hand returned over your mouth and you were bodily dragged out of the library.

~~~

Irma Pince was many things, but she was not stupid.

Once hated by the students of Hogwarts, now one of the most beloved staff members, she was an integral part of the school. Since allowing for more freedom in the library—which now drew more regulars and first years who were no longer afraid of her—plus with the addition of befriending some of the more polite students, she no longer was the sour, unpleasant woman she’d once been.

She was knowledgeable in virtually every subject—she knew who needed to return what books by when, who the Muggle prime minister in 1857 was, what dittany is, and how fireworks worked, they’re really quite simple, Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Point being, she knew just about everything about anything.

She also knew for a fact that Y/N Parkinson hated chamomile tea.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

A NEARLY TWENTY-YEAR-OLD GIG THIS MONTH -- DOING THE ROUNDS IN THE UK.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on live shots of singer Alice Glass of electronic music duo CRYSTAL CASTLES, their second show, c. January 2006 in Glasgow, Scotland. 📸: Lies Records.

Source: www.flickr.com/photos/liesrecords/2169885570.

[hezzabeth]

The trumpets were old plastic souvenirs painted gold, so the off-key wailing was hardly surprising. A band of disheveled people marched onto the stage, still blowing on the plastic trumpets. Surprisingly, Isabeau was among them, her face displaying a bored, blank expression. They abruptly stopped once they reached the center of the scaffold, the wood creaking under their feet.

A man wearing green tights and a shirt reading "Medieval Christmas market 3345" on it walked onto the stage. His hair had been cut into a peculiar bowl shape with a blunt fringe, and someone had painted red circles on his cheeks.

"All hail Sister Morganna! Conduit of the one true god," the man bellowed in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Did you bring your solar flare gun?” Dityaa asked.

“Of course I did! I never go anywhere without it,” Revati snapped back.

Revati had never seen Sister Morganna up close. During her childhood visits, Sister Morganna was a distant figure. Glimpses of her gloved hands could be seen waving from the castle windows. Every summer solstice, she would lead a parade across the park, carried by men in a gold and white carriage. Through the mesh curtain windows, her shadowy figure could be seen shifting about. Now, Sister Morganna was walking across the scaffold boldly and freely.

She was dressed in a sky-blue and emerald dress, with a thick red and golden scarf covering her scalp, the ends trailing down her shoulders. Slowly, she turned toward the waiting audience, and Revati gasped. Sister Morganna's skin was the same color as fresh lavender. A single round, circular eye glanced about—an eye that could see and understand everything, even things that had yet to be—an eye that could glance into the very nature of people.

“She’s an alien!” whispered Dityaa.

It was an eye that could read minds; no wonder she had successfully started a cult.

“Technically, she’s a human from a faraway planet,” Revati hissed back.

The "faraway planet" was the closest the solar system got to actual aliens. Over a thousand years ago, a group of scientists set off to colonize Pluto. Obviously, they vanished, the ship sinking into the darkness of space. Three hundred years ago, their descendants returned. They were, of course, different.

Sister Morganna calmly walked across the stage and raised her hand.

“Praise be to Marduk, son of the sun, radiant is he,” Sister Morganna said.

“Radiant is he,” the crowd echoed, their expressions blank.

“Who’s Marduk?” Hissed Dityaa.

Revati merely shrugged, completely confused.

“Today we bring forward two heretics, those who smother the great transition,” Sister Morganna said, gesturing towards Bridgadeiro and Aurora.

“Heretic? I don’t even understand what I did! All I said was 'Bless Goup' when my new friend sneezed,” Bridgadeiro argued, nodding at Aurora.

“And I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Aurora cried.

“Goup is a lie! A false prophet created by an ancient snake oil seller,” Sister Morganna said with a small, tight smile.

“False prophet? The rainbow mat of crystal light has been proven to work! It balances your mind, body, and spirit,” Bridgadeiro smiled, and Sister Morganna turned to him, her one eye slowly blinking.

“I can see you standing on that mat, praying to the dark,” she whispered. “Your brother, he drowned, didn’t he? On that hot summer night? You cried and prayed! You think it was her that brought him back,” she added, and the smile dropped from Bridgadeiro’s face.

“She did save him! Goup saved him,” Bridgadeiro said, and Sister Morganna shook her head.

“Oh, you’re a true believer... you poor little boy,” she sighed. “Some gods are lies, but Marduk is true and ancient. My people have lived on his surface! We have been blessed with his gifts! Praise Marduk,” Sister Morganna said.

“Praise Marduk,” the entire crowd screamed, including Revati, who found herself clapping her hand over her mouth. Sister Marduk had hijacked her vocal cords.

“Now repent and embrace Marduk or sacrifice your light to his glory,” Sister Marduk cried.

“I repent! All hail Marduk!” Aurora cried, bursting into tears.

“Well, I’m not repenting. Marduk is just another name for your home planet that blew up centuries ago,” Bridgadeiro said with a small shrug.

“Very well,” Sister Morganna said. Revati sighed, pulling out her solar gun and setting the final charge to maximum.

“Oh, you’re not going to…” whispered Dityaa, and Revati nodded, pulling the trigger.

The solar flare hit the stage in a blinding loop of ultraviolet light. Sister Morganna screamed, flying upwards and landing face-first in the crowd, her body twitching.

“Praise Marduk! This must be an omen!” Aurora smartly yelled from the stage.

The crowd, no longer under Sister Morganna’s control, began to scatter in all directions. Some stumbled towards the fallen leader, striking her with whatever they could find. Others pushed and shoved each other, stumbling over cobblestones.

Through it all, Bridgadeiro stood, completely confused, his hands still tied behind his back. People pushed and shoved, stumbling over each other and tripping on the slick cobblestones. Revati fought through the tidal wave of chaos until she reached the scaffold again. Bridgadeiro was staring down at her, completely transfixed.

“Did you just save my life again?” He asked.

“Yes!” Revati replied, climbing up to the scaffold.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen! He said it so quickly,” Aurora said as Revati began to undo her bound hands.

“It was pure instinct!” protested Bridgadeiro.

The crowd was starting to swarm towards the stage like ants around a sugar cube. From above, Revati could see the smoking, twitching form of Sister Morganna.

“What are they doing?” Bridgadeiro asked, and there was a faint creaking sound as Isabeau joined Revati.

“They’re probably going to kill her; none of them wanted to worship an ancient Babylonian god!” Isabeau said and then she smiled. An actual smile. “I can talk normally again! She’s really gone!” Isabeau cried with delight as Aurora pulled her hands free.

“She’s gone!” Aurora echoed, grabbing Isabeau. Revati watched them kiss for a fraction of a second before politely turning her head.

“Did she really control all these people with her mind? Why would she do that?” Bridgadeiro asked as Revati began to undo his constraints.

“The tornado and the second invasion messed a lot of people up,” Revati merely replied.

“You seem fine,” Bridgadeiro replied, and Revati chuckled.

“Trust me, I’m not fine,” Revati said firmly. Life on Baker Street before the tornado had been hard. But there had been drawing lessons with her father. There had been fairytales with her mother. There had been tea parties with Dityaa. Dityaa.

“Where’s Dityaa?” Revati said as Bridgadeiro tugged his hands free. There was no telltale flash of Snow White silk in the crowd. Everyone was dressed in shades of green and mud brown.

“She was out there before,” Bridgadeiro said, gesturing to the bottom left corner of the courtyard. Revati jumped swiftly off the scaffold, ignoring the pain searing up her ankles. People were pressing in from all sides, shrieking, laughing, and, in some cases, singing. A blur of purple skin and red fabric passed her head on outstretched hands.

“Did you see a girl in a white dress?” Revati screamed in general; no one answered, and the crowd pushed her forward. People were spilling out of the courtyard into the laneways. Someone had decided to start looting the shops. Revati felt herself thrown against a wall, crushed face-first into the bricks. A hand grabbed hers, calloused, well-worn fingers gripping her wrist.

“I saw her at the end of the crowd! This way!” Bridgadeiro ordered her.

“You’re helping,” Revati gasped; something hot and red was trickling down her cheek. Revati was bleeding.

“Let the crowd push you forward; don’t fight it and try not to stumble,” Bridgadeiro said firmly, still holding her hand. The crowd surged and pressed in. Revati could see nothing but gleeful faces, smell nothing but hot, foul sweat.

Then suddenly, the crowd began to break into pieces, trickling away like water. They had reached the back wall of Medieval Faire. There was a hole in the wall. A massive hole. Beyond the hole lay the freezing wilderness of Mars. People were climbing out of the hole, running into the cube-shaped snow. One of them was Dityaa, spinning around and dancing with the Duke of Io. Dityaa spotted them and waved happily.

“They’re all going to freeze to death,” Revati realized, marching to the hole.

“It looks like some of them had enough to steal jackets,” Bridgadeiro added. Revati and Dityaa rarely left the park. When they did, Amma always made them wear her old protective gear. Dityaa seemed oblivious to the cold. It was almost as if the Duke's love was covering her in a warm, sacred light.

The escaping people were beginning to join in with their dancing.

“Look! He was waiting for me outside the wall,” Dityaa yelled, resting her head on his shoulder. Revati stepped closer to the wall. Revati let go of Bridgadeiro’s hand and carefully climbed through the hole. The freezing winter of Mars blew around her, fighting against the park's atmospheric heating system. Snow began to blow around her chest, and Revati felt flushed and dizzy.

The Duke was dressed in the same outfit from the night before. The same thin jacket and trousers. Up close, his blue hair was a little too shiny. Up close, Revati could actually feel heat wafting off his body.

“The Duke was waiting for you… outside in that outfit?” Revati asked suspiciously. Dityaa’s expression froze for a moment as if considering this.

“Sissy’s right! Let’s get out of the cold, darling; I have so much to tell you,” smiled Dityaa. The Duke held up a hand. The tip of his finger turned blue.

“Ah, the sister,” he remarked, reaching towards Revati. His eyes glowed with the brilliance of true Ai, and darkness prevailed.

Here's the revised text with corrected spelling and grammar:

True, jet-black, soothing darkness.

For Revati, who spent most of her nights lost in nightmares, it was actually comforting.

In fact, Revati felt herself sink into it.

The darkness was as soft as the mattress she once slept on.

“Oh, don’t sink into it, Dimpy. It’s not time for that,” her father’s voice whispered in her ear.

Dimpy.

Revati was Dimpy, Dityaa was Rinky.

Jay would draw pictures of them flying across the stars with wings.

Dimpy and Rinky; the sisters were so close they could be twins.

“You’re not real. You died, and your consciousness is in a plastic box,” Revati muttered.

The darkness was warm and sleepy, lulling Revati into nothing at all.

“Some of me is in that box, but scientists don’t know everything. Some of me is also in you, in your sister, and in your mother,” her father’s voice said.

“And I’m guessing I’m dead?” Revati whispered.

“No, you’re just recovering from a traumatic brain injury. Someone has placed a standard issue healing pad on your forehead,” Jay’s voice replied soothingly.

“And how do you know that?” Revati groaned doubtfully.

A distant, tiny light had appeared in the dark.

A pinprick that seemed to strip away things.

“Dimpy, you know I was a nurse! Relax, your glia cells are busy repairing themselves. Look, they move like fireflies,” her father said.

He was right; more dots of light had appeared.

They buzzed around gently.

For a moment, one of them flashed, lighting up everything.

Revati, in that second, saw a much younger Dityaa handing her a doll.

“I remember that doll. I bought it the day Dityaa was born,” her father said.

“Dityaa tried to give it to me after we buried you. I told her I’d take the book of fairy tales instead,” Revati remembered.

“Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Mithila, the earth yielded a miraculous gift. A baby girl was born. She was discovered in a furrow by King Janaka and named Sita. As she grew, her grace and beauty were matched only by her wisdom and strength of character.

One day, Rama, a prince known for his valor and virtue, won her hand in marriage by stringing the mighty bow of Lord Shiva.

Soon after the wedding, Rama and his best friend were exiled to the forest. Sita, full of devotion, followed.

The forest was dark and full of dangers.

The most dangerous being was the demon king Ravana,” a woman’s voice, the voice of the maternity droid, whispered.

The lights were growing stronger, and Revati remembered something.

“Dityaa’s in trouble,” Revati realized.

“Yes, she is,” her father replied.

Revati’s mind was so bright she could see her father.

He looked younger than what she remembered.

He was dressed in the blue protective outfit Amma kept packed away.

Standing next to him was a woman.

A familiar woman cloaked in a fuchsia and green saree.

“You’re the lost princess,” Revati realized, and the Princess nodded.

“Wake me up, wake me up, and I will find my daughter,” the Lost Princess insisted.

[scholarlycoffee]

WIP INTRO: NEON VIOLET

The light-leaks and scratches on the old film flicker over her face, masking her reflective white eyes. The video kicks back and loops. “My name is Nettie Schultz and I have died three times,” she repeats. 

Blurb: On the island of Tombedel, no one dies. At least, no one stays dead.

After separating from his wife of over twenty years, London-based private investigator Abe Tannen visits the exclusive medieval island of Tombedel during their Saint Martin’s Day celebrations, but his much-needed vacation takes an unexpected turn when a man is murdered in his hotel: the first person to actually die on the island in over 1,000 years.

With the local law enforcement unprepared to handle a real murder, the investigation falls to Abe, who enlists the help of an eclectic group of ghosts.

When the investigation leads them to begin uncovering the island’s long-buried secrets, Abe and his team find themselves in far more danger than they could have anticipated. After all, there are far worse fates than death.

Setting: Tombedel, a mysterious medieval island off the coast of England. November of 2025, but also 1983 and 1934 and 802 AD and 509 AD.

Genre: Adult, sci-fi mystery

Series: 1 of 2

POV: 3rd person present tense, multi-pov

Vibes: glitter-smudged faces, foggy coasts, chainmail under t-shirts, crystal balls, ancient church towers, neon lights, dimly lit labs, tape recorders, ren faires, crumbling castles, rundown pubs, cable-knit sweaters, old magicks.

Soundtrack: Seventeen Going Under - Sam Fender / I'm Set Free - The Velvet Underground / Night Shift - Lucy Dacus / The Body Electric - Hurray for the Riff Raff / Yuri-G - PJ Harvey / My Darling Faye - Songs for Moms / Vampire Empire - Big Thief / The Killing Moon - Echo & the Bunnymen

Word Count: Planning

[sugar-lolya]

Anything can be cured.

Sandor Cligan x reader

(Hello dear reader. I am a newbie writer, why don't judge harshly:) I hope the story came out not bad for the first time. But I will be glad to all your comments (recommendations/advice), which I will take into account in the future. I won't keep you any longer, have a nice read.)

Chapter 1

The North is cold and harsh. Many newcomers cannot even live there, let alone stay. The Northerners are the only ones who can survive in this chilling cold. And they are led by the equally great Stark family, who have ruled the North for hundreds of years. But sometimes you don't have to be born a Stark to be one....

......

Winterfell Castle. It stands on a hot spring, and the water runs down its mighty walls like blood through your veins. It is as old as the wall that towers over all of Westeros. But the castle has not been abandoned for so long. On the contrary, it is teeming with life.

The fierce clang of swords sounds in the courtyard, accompanied by cheering shouts, the neighing of horses and the howling of the harsh North wind. Inside the castle there is the usual bustle, everyone is busy with business. Even the lord's children, the boys are practicing swordsmanship. And the girls are working in the upper room at the top of the tower.

-Aunt Kris, please tell one of those 'camping' stories again, I can't stand this nasty embroidery class. I'm worse at it than Sansa anyway. - a nine year old girl whimpered, if she had her way, this would be the last place she'd show up. Her interests were at odds with those of other little girls. She didn't like embroidery or playing with dolls, but she enjoyed shooting, swordfighting, and horseback riding. But none of those things were available to her.

-"Arya, my girl, you've heard these stories thirty times, and the septa doesn't like it when I tell them to you. You know how she feels about cruelty and violence, and my stories are full of it,” the girl replied, keeping her eyes on her embroidery: she was holding her own cloak, which she had been working on for weeks. It showed Winterfell, flanked by a dark gray draug and a fox. Most of the fur was white as snow, except for the ears, paws, and tip of the tail. They were black as night, and the eyes were like two small pieces of ice, just like the owner of the cloak. She didn't really like embroidery, but it was better than dealing with the colors and patterns she had left behind.

The girl turned around, looking at the elderly woman, Septa Mordain, once again praising the work of the eldest Stark daughter. A dozen girls crowded around Sansa, also praising her embroidery. Only Arya and Crystal did not participate in this “henhouse,” as the little Lady Stark called it.

Rolling her eyes, the girl turned around, turning her gaze back to her aunt: - "Please!" - Arya whispered, making her expression as pitiful as she could.

Crystal sighed, put the embroidery aside and raised her hands in surrender with a smile: "Okay, okay, but just one last time. So, what story does my little she-wolf want to hear this time?" - The girl sat closer and gently touched the girl's hair.

-"That one about you and your father,"- Arya's eyes lit up, and she fidgeted nervously in her seat as she waited for the story to be told.

"A long time ago, when your father was about ten years old and he had just become a student of John Arena at the Eagle's Nest. One day, he and his friend Robert went hunting in the nearby forest. Of course, they weren't allowed to go alone, and they sent a whole squad with them to help with the hunt. Your father didn't like such senseless noisy gatherings, so he separated from the group and went hunting on his own. At some point, Ned heard a strange sound that was not typical of the forest. He headed in that direction and came across a stream flowing down from one of the many mountains. He looked around and saw a basket being carried along the stream, and from it came the sound of a child crying. He dropped all his weapons and rushed into the stream in front of him without hesitation. At the last moment, he managed to grab the basket and pull it out. He returned, clutching the basket tightly in his hands. I stopped crying and looked at my savior's face with interest. Soon Robert and his servants found him and took him back to the Eagle's Nest. Already there, Ned called me Stark and gave me the name Crystal, after the color of my white skin and light brown hair"… Her story was interrupted by Arya's scream.

-"And my father said that he named you after your eyes, because they looked like crystal clear waters."- The girl blurted it out in one breath and looked at her aunt with a satisfied look, but the smile quickly disappeared when she saw the expression on her face.

Crystal looked very gloomy, thoughtfully staring at the wall. Arya realized that she had blurted out too much and was already thinking hard about the words of apology. When suddenly Septa called out to them,- "Arya, show me what you've done!" - The woman came over and snatched the work out of her hands. -" Again, everything is crooked and askew, your hands are not made for sewing, these are the hands of a carpenter."

Crystal looked up at the septa and crossed her arms over her chest in protest. As she approached, she snatched Arya's work out of the old woman's hands and began to study each stitch carefully. -" I don't think so, she has potential, but if you notice only the bad in your work every time, then you will never get good." - putting the embroidery on the table and taking her finished cloak, Crystal left the room, Arya jumped out after her. The septa's scream echoed throughout the tower. Upon hearing it, Arya distills the Crystal and gets lost in the countless corridors of Winterfell.

On the move, putting on a cloak, the girl leaves the tower and goes to the Godswood. After passing through the high arch, Crystal saw her brother Lord sitting on a stone under one of the weirwood trees. Coming closer, she nodded in greeting and sat down next to him. Eddard was diligently sharpening his family's sword "Ice". None of them dared to interrupt the silence, because they did not want to end the already few moments of calm.

After a while, Catelyn joined them. The expression on her face and the black letter in her hands did not bode well. As she got closer, she hesitated, trying to find the words. -" Ned, Crystal… bad news has come from King's Landing, I'm very sorry, John Arryn died… "- there was a tense silence, people sitting in mute horror stared at Catelyn. -" I know how important he was to you because you grew up with him, and he replaced your father with a Crystal… But there is something else in the letter… The King and his family are going north to Winterfell to visit you." - Catelyn gave the letter to Ned so that he would be convinced of the truth of his words. Looking at each other, the brother and sister smiled slightly. They had a good relationship with Robert, and as children, Ned and Robert took care of the newborn Crystal.

To be continued…

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

The Wicked Witch of the West - Translation (西の悪い魔女)

Translator's notes can be found at the end and are marked with an asterisk.

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

I have also made a version which includes the members' notes found in the script.

[The battle with the Wicked Witch of the West - The Witch of the West’s castle]

The sound of a silver whistle resonates. 

The Wicked Witch of the West has sharp eyesight and can see the group approaching. 

Using the silver whistle, she commands various beings.

Witch of the West: Hmm... So there are some fellows heading this way...? Two children, a scarecrow, a tin man, a lion... What an odd bunch.

She trembles in irritation.

Witch of the West: I don’t know what their goal is, but they were probably instigated by Oz. I won’t forgive anyone who dares to harm me, the great Witch of the West!

The sound of the silver whistle.

Witch of the West: Now, wolves! Tear them apart and finish them off!

The wolves rush forward, aiming for the Tin Woodman.

Tin Woodman: Wolves, huh! This is my fight! Even if they bite me, I won’t feel a thing. Their teeth will probably end up getting damaged instead!

The Tin Woodman cuts down the wolves that jump at him with his axe.

Tin Woodman: Your efforts are futile! Even the teeth of a wolf cannot compete with the blade of this axe. Haa! Huff! Yah!

Oz, watching the five through his crystal ball, speaks like a kyogen-mawashi*.

Oz (N): With his axe, the Tin Woodman chopped off the wolves' heads one by one.

Witch of the West: Ugh... Then let's have the crows peck out their eyes! Go!

The sound of the silver whistle. The crows attack.

Scarecrow: Crows? Well, that’s my area of expertise! Go ahead, peck at my eyes as much as you like!

Oz (N): The Scarecrow defeated the crows by twisting their necks.

Witch of the West: What the...?! Damn it...! In that case, next up are the bees! Writhe in agony from their venomous stings!

The sound of the silver whistle. The bees attack.

Scarecrow: This time, it’s bees...! Let’s work together, Tin Woodman! Theo, Terry, and Lion, use the straw from my body to hide yourselves! After that, well, you already know what to do, partner!

Tin Woodman: Yes, the only target left will be me, made of tin. The bees’ stingers are no match for tin, and they’ll all break...!

The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow high-five.

Scarecrow: That’s right! 

The bees fall helplessly, plopping down. The Witch of the West cannot hide her irritation.

Witch of the West: Oh, all of you are useless! Flying monkeys, this time, make sure to end their lives! If you don't, your friends will die!

The sound of the silver whistle.

The winged monkey attack.

Oz (N): A wise person can probably roughly imagine what happened next.

The Lion asserts his strength.

Lion: Finally, it’s my turn! I am the king of beasts, the Lion! I won’t lose to some monkeys!

He threatens with an even louder voice and a terrifying expression.

Lion: Roar!! If you don’t want to be eaten, get out of here!

The winged monkeys leave, screeching.

Oz (N): The monkeys, who were originally under the control of the Witch of the West, abandoned the unwelcome battle and left.

She stomps her feet in frustration.

The group has arrived at the foot of the Witch of the West’s castle.

Witch of the West: Eek! They’re getting closer and closer! I have to do something… my life is in danger!

Oz (N): Feeling threatened, the Witch of the West decided to use the Golden Cap. This was a magical tool that could summon the winged monkeys and grant the owner’s wishes three times.

The Witch of the West takes out the Golden Cap and places it on her head.

Witch of the West: Now that it’s come to this, there’s no other choice...

She stands upon her left foot, then upon the right, and finally, she stands upon both feet.

Witch of the West: Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke! Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo! Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!

He commands with a big wave of his hand.

Witch of the West: Drop the Tin Woodman from a high place onto sharp rocks so that he’s all battered and dented!

The Tin Woodman is lifted high into the sky by some of the winged monkeys under the magic of the Wicked Witch of the West, and then dropped.

Tin Woodman: (screams as he’s carried through the air and grunts once he hits the ground)

Witch of the West: Serves you right! Next, it’s the Scarecrow’s turn! Pull out every last piece of his straw and throw his clothes on top of a tall tree!

Other winged monkeys under the magic of the Wicked Witch attack the Scarecrow and pull out his straw.

Scarecrow: Ah... stop… please... I’m losing... all my strength...

Witch of the West: Capture the Lion with a rope and bring him here! I’ll work him to the bone.

The winged monkeys wrap the Lion tightly with a rope.*

Lion: Ugh, it hurts...! I... can’t... move...

Witch of the West: Lastly… Take care of those insolent humans…!

Terry despairs as he witnesses real magic.

Terry: What a horrible thing... Everyone has been defeated…! We’re done for, too!!

Witch of the West: Tear them to pieces!!

Terry is about to be attacked by a winged monkey under the magic of the Wicked Witch. 

Theo steps forward to protect Terry.

The silver shoes emit a strong light.

Theo: I won’t let you do that! I absolutely won’t allow anyone to hurt Terry!!

Terry is surprised by the light.

Terry: Theo!! You-!!

Witch of the West: Those are… the silver shoes...! And good magical power is surrounding the children? Where have you been hiding such power? Ugh… I can’t interfere like this.

Theo is unaware of his magical powers, so he can’t control them.

Terry: What’s the matter? Weren’t you going to tear us to pieces?

Witch of the West: … He’s not attacking? Could it be that he is still unaware of his own power? And those pure eyes. If I play it right, this might be something I can take advantage of.

The Witch of the West snaps her fingers and the gate opens.

Witch of the West: Go ahead and enter the castle!

Terry: Hey, are you going in? It might be some kind of trap.

Theo: Even if that’s the case, we won’t get any further if we just stand here, so I’ll go. There must be a reason why she won’t lay hands on us.

Theo and Terry proceed into the castle and reach the Witch of the West.

Witch of the West: So you’ve come, humans... Hand me those silver shoes. If you do, I’ll let you go.

Theo realizes from the Witch's words that the silver shoes are special.

Theo: ... If you want them that much, why don’t you just take them by force? The fact that you can’t do that means there must be something else, right?

Theo takes a step closer to the Witch. The light from the silver shoes grows stronger.

Witch of the West: Hey, stay back…! If you do as I say, I won’t do anything bad to you. That’s right, how about we team up?

Theo: You join forces with me, a mere human?

Imitating what he sees, he reaches out his hand and poses as if gathering his strength.

Witch of the West: N-No... Stop it... Wicked magic can’t win against the power of good magic.

Theo: Magic…?

While Theo is distracted, the Western Witch circles around to grab Terry.

Terry: … What!? Ugh...

Theo: Terry!!

Witch of the West: Separating you two was always my goal. So, do you not care what happens to your companion...?

Theo’s anger reaches its peak and his hidden power awakens.

Theo: … Let go of Terry!!

The magic creates a huge amount of water that splashes over the two of them.

Terry: Uwaaa!!

Witch of the West: Aah!!

The Witch writhes in agony.

Theo rushes over to Terry.

Witch of the West: My body... my body... is melting... Did you know that... water is my weakness?

Theo: O-Of course not! What is this, anyway!? Is this... magic…!?

Witch of the West: … The strength born of purity… The true power that resides in your heart… It’s over… for me.

The Witch of the West melts away to nothing. 

The Golden Cap drops to the floor, making a clattering sound as it comes to a stop.

Terry: Did we... do it? Did we win?

Theo: … I think so. More importantly, are you alright, Terry…? Are you hurt?

Terry pumps his fist in the air.

Terry: Aside from being completely soaked, I’m feeling fine! It seems like it was really just water.

Theo: … I’m so glad~

Terry: … Oh, that’s right! We can’t just stand around, we have to help our companions!

Theo: Yeah!

Translator's notes:

*1 Kyogen-mawashi- storyteller/narrator

*2 Unlike the other lines, they didn’t mention the monkeys here, only the Witch’s magic. I assume this is a mistake in the script, keeping in mind the context and the original book.