#I know only two things for certain and one is the presence of this colour red...

[blackwaxidol]

A strange statue in the Leprosarium. It seems like you can place something inside of its chest cavity.

[capseycartwright]

just kiss me slowly

tommy does this thing, when he kisses buck. to quote myself, i underestimated your rizz, tommy kinard. the two finger chin pull has been playing on my mind since the episode aired, and this pointless bit of fluff was born. buck and tommy are running circles in my head.

ao3 link

Tommy does this thing, when he kisses Buck. Buck has kissed Tommy enough times in the past couple of weeks to know its a thing, and not just a fluke. He hasn't kissed Tommy enough that he's lost count (27 kisses - he's been counting because it still doesn't feel real, and every time he can add another kiss to the growing list of moments he lets himself linger in as he lies in bed at night, or sits in traffic on the way to work, is another reminder that this is real: that Tommy is real) but he's beginning to learn more about the way Tommy kisses, has begun to map the surface of Tommy's lips with his tongue.

He knows its a thing, is the point.

The first time Tommy had kissed him, he'd tugged Buck closer, two fingers pulling on Buck's chin as he'd pressed that chaste first kiss to Buck's lips. Buck had assumed that had been a heat of the moment sort of thing, Tommy tugging Buck closer so he could get his point across, but then it had happened again.

Tommy had come to pick Buck up, for their date. "Old fashioned," Buck had teased. Tommy had simply rolled his eyes in response, catching Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's surprised lips. "I didn't want to wait until after dinner to kiss you again," he had said, by way of explanation, and Buck had been in a haze the whole drive to the Italian place Tommy had suggested they grab dinner at. No one - no one had ever kissed him like that, pulling Buck closer with a gentle grasp, as though they didn't want to give him a chance to turn his head away.

Tommy liked to kiss Buck. Buck was learning that too. It was all so new for him, but Tommy was confident, a reassuring presence to - quite literally - lean on as he navigated his newfound bisexuality. Tommy had been thirty-one when he'd come out, he'd explained to Buck - so he understood. Understood why Buck had played their dinner off as a friendly thing, understood why Buck hadn't told Eddie yet, understood why Buck hadn't told anyone, yet, only his sister, and Hen. Understood why Buck was more at ease here, in the warmth of Tommy's apartment, than he was at a bar - for now, at least. Buck wasn't ashamed, he was just learning how to lean into this new part of himself.

Buck couldn't help but flush as he remembered the genuine look of pride on Tommy's face when he'd leaned into the other man's space that afternoon at the farmers market, listening intently as Tommy explained the benefits of using a certain kind of tomato to make pasta sauce - the way his mother had taught him to, growing up in New York. Buck had leaned against Tommy, enjoying the way colour rose in Tommy's cheeks as he'd done so.

He'd earned a reward for it too, Tommy using two gentle fingers to redirect Buck's face toward his own as they'd loaded the groceries in the trunk of Buck's jeep, pressing a brief kiss to Buck's waiting lips.

That was the thing, Tommy did - he touched Buck so gently, always redirecting Buck's mouth to exactly where he wanted it to be, and it made Buck melt right down into his sneakers. He'd - he'd just never had someone kiss him so reverently, before.

"If you think any harder, you'll give yourself a headache," Tommy murmured, glancing up from the sauce he was stirring. This version of Tommy was new to Buck - the version of Tommy in his own apartment, relaxed, shoes kicked off by the door, an unfamiliar jazz album playing over the record player in the living room - because of course Tommy had an actual fucking record player. Buck liked this version of Tommy. He was realising he liked all versions of Tommy, actually.

Buck could tell him. He could tell Tommy that the way he grabbed Buck so gently by the chin so often when he was going in for a kiss made his insides turn to goo. He could tell Tommy how good it felt to have someone want him like that, want to initiate kisses. He could tell Tommy that he had spent years of his life chasing other people's lips, desperate for the affection Tommy was already so freely offering him, a mere three and a half weeks into dating.

He could tell him all that, and Tommy probably wouldn't mind - but Buck wanted to keep the thought to himself, a little while longer. This thing with Tommy was so new, and it was good, but it still felt delicate, and Buck didn't want Tommy to stop the way he kissed Buck.

"I'm admiring you hard at work," Buck tilted his head slightly. It was still strange, to hear himself flirt so openly with another man, but he was getting used to it. He had to, really, when Tommy always responded to his flirting with a delighted grin, or laugh.

Tonight, Buck got both.

"C'mere," Tommy murmured, hand gentle on Buck's face as he caught Buck's chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a lingering kiss (28) and then a second (29) to Buck's mouth. "Just wait until you try the sauce. Then you're really going to want to kiss you."

As if Buck didn't spend every second of every day fantasising about kissing Tommy, like he was a horny teenage boy again. "Promises, promises."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Make yourself useful and set the table," he pretended to order, but he wasn't moving, nose brushing against Buck's. He kissed him again (30) and then kissed the corner of Buck's mouth, right where Buck's grin was splitting his face in two, his delight so overwhelming he couldn't contain it.

Buck leaned into the embrace, cheek scruffy where he pressed it against the palm of Tommy's hand. "I'm glad we're doing this," he admitted. Kissing, dinner - dating. All of the above. Tommy could decide which one Buck had meant.

Tommy's grin was liquid fucking gold. "Me too, Evan."

[j2hoes]

Foreign Exchanges. (Anthony Vaughn x Reader.)

Summary: Moving school in the middle of the year is never easy. Let alone from an entirely different country. Despite Y/N trying to garner the least amount of attention possible, she still manages to catch the eye of a certain brunette.

Word Count: 1.5k

Gif Not Mine . Requests are open!

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: My first Ant fic and I’m debating making this a series but you’ll have to let me know what you think! Anyway just a short one to start us off but there’ll be more soon. Don’t forget requests are open!

“I’d like you all to offer a warm welcome to our new student Y/N Y/L/N, she’s moved here all the way from the UK! So let’s show her some of that Hartley spirit.” The teacher, who introduced herself as Jojo, announces to the class. All of them staring at me with blank stares. “Go ahead and say a few words.”

She nudges my shoulder gently before I can decline the offer. Encouraging smile on her face. There are no smiles from my classmates however, only bored faces who couldn’t be less interested in my arrival. For which I’m grateful. I’d seen this school on the news prior to my enrolment, I know these students are brutal. I mean, a sex map? Dad wasn’t too happy about sending me here though he didn’t really have a choice, no other schools were admitting students this late into the term.

“Um hi, I’m Y/N. It’s good to be here I guess.”

“Does anybody have any questions for Y/N?” Jojo offers, attempting to find a way for the class to get to me.

Numerous hands raise and I let out a groan internally. It’s bad enough that I’m stood at the front of the classroom like a new shiny toy but to now be subject to whatever ridiculous questions these teens can come up with is a new form of torture. One that I am really not looking forward to.

Jojo points to her first student, allowing them to be the first to ask. “Why don’t you have a proper British accent?” The girl seems genuinely curious, eyes focused on me as she combs her fingers through her orange hair. Stickers adorn her face along with colourful eyeshadow to match her bright outfit. She has a gentle aura surrounding her, which makes me relieved as I realise her question wasn’t meant in malice and more so pure interest. Maybe these kids won’t be so bad?

“Um, I think the accent you’re think of is the Queen’s English. There isn’t many people that talk like that really, maybe a few down south but I grew up in the North East. None of us talk posh.” I tell her, watching as she seems to take notes as I speak.

“Thank you Quinni, Spider what about you?” Jojo asks, pointing to the tall blonde that is hunched over at the back of the class.

His eyes flicker up to me, giving me the once over though he doesn’t seem too impressed by my presence.

“Yeah, what is it with you and all the other poms having bad teeth?” The boy pipes up, I notice the two boys next to him laugh. Though the one in the baggy outfit makes eye contact with me and a flash of guilt appears on his face.

“I don’t have bad teeth actually. Nobody I know does and to be perfectly honest, that stereotype is deeply rooted in classism and while the UK faces a major cost of living and wealth gap crisis, I don’t think it’s funny to joke about things like that. Do you?” I retort, causing h the pink haired girl and her friend to applaud my mini speech. Both offering cheers.

“Okay any more questions that aren’t going to cause arguments?” Jojo asks, a few hands lowering as they don’t want to get in trouble. “Yes, Amerie?”

“Do you miss home?”

“Yeah, yeah I really miss it.” I start, thinking of everything that I had to leave behind. I know this was the best decision for my family, but I do hold a slight resentment towards being here. “Don’t get me wrong, Sydney’s great and all, but I miss my friends, my house, my pets, I even miss the shitty pub from down the street.”

“Thank you Y/N, I feel like we’ve got to know you a little bit more now, so feel free to take a seat and we’ll get started.”

The only open seat is next to the girl that Jojo called Amerie. Smiling as I take my place, I open my notebook and begin to doodle swirls and other patterns across the page. Focusing on that rather than the subject being taught. It’s some form of sex education by the sounds of it. However, it seems very outdated and heteronormative. Nothing worth listening to anyway.

Upon hearing the bell ring, I begin to pack away my things and watch as a few students mutter things towards Amerie. “Map bitch.” “Cunt.” and “Crazy bitch.” Just to name a few. I realise that may be the reason she had nobody sat next to her and figure it may be best to avoid her if I want to stay under everybody’s radar.

Finding my locker, I begin to turn the lock with great difficulty. Back home, the numbers simply connect and the door clicks open, that doesn’t seem to be the case here though. Fiddling with the dial, I hear the bell signal the beginning of the next class and I huff, annoyed that I’m having this much trouble with a stupid locker.

As the hallways clears out, I continue to twist and pull at the lock. Bag dumped on the floor as I try with all my strength to pry the door open. With no such luck, I throw a quick kick to the locker beneath mine, leaving a dent in the door slightly. Slumping with my back again the metal, I find myself face to face with the boy in the baggy outfit.

Not previously noticing how cute he was, dark hair hidden beneath a beanie, a couple of curls escaping. Boyish grin plastered across his face and piercing brown eyes staring directly at me. I won’t even try to deny that Australia has one up on the Uk in terms of boys, they’re just so much cuter over here.

“What did the locker do to you?” He jokes, taking the slip of paper with the locker code out of my hand.

“Bloody thing won’t open.” I mumble, stepping out of the way as he demonstrates how to open it with ease. My cheeks tinged pink as I fear my outburst may have been unnecessary.

“I thought you Brits were supposed to be good at containing your emotions anyway.” He leans against the locker beside mine, watching me as I stuff countless books into the small space. Normally this would make me uncomfortable, yet there’s there’s something about him that makes me feel warm and calm.

“Nah we love our fair share of violence.” I tell him, smiling as I do so, remembering the amount of fights that used to take place on my estate daily. Providing free entertainment for all the neighbours. “We’re polite, but piss us off and we’ll knock you into next week.”

He laughs, folding his arms across his chest as I close the locker door. His eyes gaze over me as I turn to face him properly. Noticing the small cross necklace hanging from his neck, I can’t help but imagine what it would look like against his bare skin.

“You religious?” I ask, nodding towards the chain.

“Nah, I’m Ant.” He brushes off my question and tucks the necklace beneath his shirt. Clearly a touchy subject that perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up. So instead I attempt to lighten the mood.

“Ant?” The word escapes my mouth as a slight giggle, unable to hide the amusement his name brings. “And your mate’s called Spider?”

“Yeah, stupid right?” He chuckles, playing with the straps of his bag. Almost as if he’s nervous. “We’ve been best mates our entire lives. My real name’s Anthony but nobody calls me that. Same with Spider, his name’s Spencer. Kids started to call us Ant and Spider when we were like six, guess it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.”

Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder. Figuring I should probably head to my next class despite being extremely late already.

“Hey, about Spider.” Ant reaches for my arm, clearly sensing that I’m about to leave. “I just wanted to apologise, he can be a bit of a dick but he’s a nice guy deep down.”

My arm tingles where he’s touching it, feeling the slightest of move of his fingers. As though my nerves are on fire. Suddenly hypersensitive to any little movement he makes. I know I shouldn’t be feeling things this intensely, hell, I’ve just met the guy. Yet he sparks an excitement in me that I haven’t felt in a while.

“Honestly it’s sound. You don’t need to apologise.” I assure him, offering a smile, I see his shoulders relax. “I can handle a prick like him any day.”

“Yeah you certainly shot him down quick.”

As he removes his hand from my arm, I’m quick to begin walking away. Cheesy grin on my face as I recall the interaction in my head despite it only happening seconds ago. I feel dizzy with excitement, my feet feel like they’re walking on clouds and I almost miss the shout from behind me as I go to turn the corner.

“Hey, do you wanna get high?”

[professional-yapper]

Proximity pt. 3

Neteyam x Olangi! Reader

Warnings: awkwardness, more denial, pretending certain things didn't happen, Neteyam is STRESSED, reader is homesick and anxious af, Omaticaya girls hating on her cause they want Neteyam (who could blame them), Lo'ak is Lo'ak

Neteyam didn't know what he'd done wrong. He'd been pacing the floor of the hut you two were supposed to share, to live in together forever in less than a week, vaguely aware of the fact that he was probably going to wear a hole in the floor if he kept this up but decided he had bigger problems to worry about.

Like how you hadn't spoken to him beyond a few words, ducking your head, letting your braids cover your face every time so he couldn't see your expression, since he'd kissed you.

Had you not liked it? You'd said you didn't mind, but... maybe he'd misread the whole thing. Maybe he'd scared you off for good by kissing you after barely a few days of knowing you.

He couldn't help himself. You'd just looked so good, standing there with the sunlight bringing a warmth to you that he'd never seen before, with that starry look in your eyes like all your worries about the impending union had been wiped away. By him.

Or, at least, the home he'd built for you.

Even if you hadn't spoken to him in what felt like weeks, the hut was still rich with your presence in sweet, subtle ways.

Neteyam searched for them now, eyes flicking about the room like a child scrambling for a security toy. He found himself doing this often, in the same order, whenever he was stressed. It had been subconscious at first, then grew into an unshakeable habit.

First, your cloak, hung neatly on a peg near the entrance, smelling even now, albeit faintly, of dry grass and direhorse.

Secondly, a few small pots of paint. You'd use it for your ceremonial paint for the union. But for now it remained untouched, sitting on one of the shelves. Waiting.

The wind chimes. Your wind chimes, now, really. They'd confused you at first, but even on days without wind, now, you'd set them going with a simple brush of the fingers as they passed by.

A half-carved direhorse. You'd been making wooden animals for Tuk lately, possessing a talent for woodcarving even Jake or Neytiri couldn't rival. But you hadn't finished this one for some reason, and so there it sits on the window sill, as it has for weeks now.

Your knife sheath. Tough, practical, like everything else you owned.

Not that you had a lot of things. The Olangi were so minimalistic, which, to Neteyam, seemed something of a miserable existence.

The Omaticaya adored beautiful things, surrounded themselves with them. Pretty trinkets, sparkling stones, colourful, intricate clothes...

Neteyam wanted to share all of that with you. He didn't even know if you wanted anything to do with the Omaticaya culture and way of life, but he knew he wanted to share it with you. Badly.

But you wouldn't even look at him.

Neteyam sighed, stepping in the middle of the hut, clasping his hands over the back of his neck as he looked at your few belongings, wondering if he'd rushed things, ruined it all, ruined what could have been a perfectly good union.

Meanwhile, across the village, you were having your own problems. Well, you didn't have a problem. But the slender, rich blue Omaticaya girls adorned in pretty, delicate clothes approaching you seemed to.

"You're the Olangi, right?" the girl at the forefront asked with a smile.

"Yes," you said, brow furrowing in confusion as they drew nearer, though they seemed a little wary of your direhorse, your precious Akicita, who was quite a bit bigger than the Omaticaya direhorses and nowhere near as gentle.

Well, he behaved for you, but you'd been with him from almost his birth. You were all he knew, and now more than ever, since you'd brought him to this strange place with no familiarity to it whatsoever.

"Did you need something?" you began, turning from Akicita to face them fully. "Only I'm busy, I-"

You were busy. You knew brushing them off probably wouldn't endear yourself to the Omaticaya further, but you were.

With bomb-proofing Akicita, that is.

There were a lot of new distractions and things to scare or startle him. You didn't want any accidents, so you spent your morning walking and riding him alternately around camp, introducing him to everything.

"Neteyam will never love you," the same girl said, interrupting you, her words punctuated by her friends' laughter.

You kept your expression carefully impassive, and turned back to Akicita, stroking his shoulder to calm him as he stamped his hoof, shaking his big head unhappily as he felt the hurt strike through you. "I know," you said, voice taut with the effort of not snapping at them for having the audacity to even speak to you about such things. "What is it to you? You have an even lesser chance of winning his affections than I do."

She looked like she'd been slapped.

You'd only spoken the truth, so you couldn't even begin to imagine why she then hissed at you, causing Akicita to whinny, trying to bully his way between you and them.

"You are nothing to him, just a-" she began in a voice that was unsteady with false brightness, only to be cut off.

"Just a what?" a familiar voice piped up, and the equally familiar form of Lo'ak entered your vision as he ducked under Akicita's head to stand next to you, nudging the direhorse out of the way fearlessly.

Lo'ak and Akicita had taken a liking to each other for reasons you couldn't decipher. Neteyam said it was because they were both troublemakers.

Damn. You'd been trying not to think of him. After the kiss and everything... You'd barely been able to look him in the eye. What kind of Olangi were you, to throw yourself so shamelessly at him like that? You were a disgrace, plain and simple. He'd been the one to kiss you, but you didn't have to be so pathetic about it.

It made you dizzy just thinking about it.

"Go on," Lo'ak encouraged, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright as he stared at the girls. "My brother's future mate is just a what?"

She hissed at him too, but her friends withdrew, melting back into the village like they'd never been there, clearly not wanting to square up to the second son of Toruk Makto. She had no choice but to go too, casting you a nasty look over her shoulder.

Lo'ak shrugged, then turned and gave you a lopsided smile. "They're bitches."

You repeated the unfamiliar word back to him, though it felt clumsy in your mouth. It must be English. Neteyam had told you their father had taught them a little. Damn. You had to stop thinking of him.

It did nobody any good, not you or him. You'd made a silly mistake, blinded by the allure of your first kiss and him, and you shouldn't have kissed him. You were supposed to wait.

Not that that was the way of all Olangi, but you were the youngest child of the olo'eyktan. You couldn't just go around kissing people like that.

"Hey," Lo'ak said, giving your shoulder a shake. "You okay? Breathe, bro. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you managed, shaking your head.

He shrugged again. "If you say so." He seemed uncomfortable for a second, looking at you intently. Then he spoke again. "I don't actually like you all that much, y'know?"

You blinked slowly, absorbing that. Then you mimicked his shrug. "No one seems to around here." You turned back to Akicita, feeling like crying, which you hadn't for years. How could you, when you had been so happy?

You missed your home. No one had ever insulted you there. You were with people you loved and who loved you.

"Hey, no, wait, I'm not done," Lo'ak rushed out, following after you as you took ahold of Akicita, leading him away. "I don't like you, but my brother does. So why have you been ignoring him? He's really upset about it."

You raised your eyes skyward, asking the Great Mother for patience. "We kissed," you said bluntly, slowing your walk to let Lo'ak catch up.

His eyes went wide. "Wow! Really?"

"I have brought shame upon myself and my family by throwing myself at him so shamelessly," you continued in a monotone.

The way Lo'ak tilted your head told you he had no clue what was so shameful about it.

"We must be joined before the eyes of the Great Mother before we can... kiss," you explained, curling your lip and baring your fangs at him in exasperation. "And everything else."

"Dumb," Lo'ak announced loudly, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked alongside you. "We don't do that. You can kiss him if you want. You don't have to be mates to kiss someone."

"You have to where I'm from," you sighed. "And I did want to kiss him. I still want to."

Lo'ak's nose scrunched, brow furrowing. "Ew. You can keep that to yourself."

You rolled your eyes and shoved him. "Are you trying to help or trying to make things worse?"

"I'm not making it worse. You're making it worse by not talking to anyone except your giant fuckin' horse," he pointed out.

He was right, and you hated that. "How was I supposed to know the cultural differences ran so deep? I thought Neteyam would be ashamed too! That he would not want to see me!"

"Eywa, you're stupid. He's giving you space," Lo'ak huffed at you, tail lashing out and hitting you smartly on the back. "Just talk to him. Please. He's so depressed. It's driving everyone crazy."

"You are truly annoying," you said, hitting him back across the leg with the flat of your tail. "Fine. I will talk to him. And then we will kiss." The last part was just to annoy Lo'ak more, and he wrinkled his nose again, shoving you.

"Bro, shut up!" he laughed.

Taglist: @luvv4j4ybe11 @ikeyniofthetayrangi

@ikeyniofthetayrangi @rivatar @lunamochii

@mochamochimoch1015 @oakbuggy

some people who wanted to see part 3 too I couldn't tag, sorry if I missed you 🥺 let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Also rip to everyone who wanted more fluff, I couldn't resist 👍

Part Four >

[myprincejacaerys]

Rhaenyra & Jacaerys Part ii 👑🥀🖤

Now for their dynamic, this is where it becomes interesting. We know how Rhaenyra sees Jace, and this is somewhat normal. She adores her son, she loves him so much that his death is what ultimately “hardened her”. She, while grieving for Lucerys, entrusted everything to him – The next of the war plans, the futures and safety of her other children, the leadership her entire campaign on Dragonstone. The perfect son in everything but the one thing he cannot control.

Jacaerys perceives Rhaenyra as a God, and not in a healthy way. He has grown up beside her and his ‘father’, two of the most beautiful people in the royal family and he sees everything he is not. However much Rhaenyra loves Jacaerys, Jacaerys loves ten fold in return. Jacaerys lives for her. His very existence is to be her shield, her sword, her protector, her love, etc. He was born to be her successor, her replacement once she is gone, and with his most obvious flaw out for everyone to see, he must be perfect in every other regard. And the perfect Prince our Darling Jacaerys is.

When Jacaerys looks at Rhaenyra, he sees some kind of Deity. He feels something stabbing into his chest when he sees her unnatural Valyrian beauty, those Amethyst Gem eyes and long silver hair. This fanart so perfectly encapsulates all of these feelings, her glowing like a god while he watches behind her, almost like he feels unworthy to be even in her presence, let alone to be her son and heir.

And here is the thing, not one person alive knows of this, especially not Rhaenyra herself. If she had even an inkling of understanding of how Jace truly sees himself deep down, she would be in tears for the rest of eternity. She loves everything about him, including his appearance. Why else would she have continued having multiple children with the man whose genetics overwrote her own.

Now let’s discuss their physical appearances and similarities, more so referring to the show than the book. One thing they managed to get spot on was the casting for this series, because this is one of the only things I believe the show did better than the book – Something very very rare when discussing Jace. Harry Collett’s visage is some of the most perfect casting I have ever seen in any project.

He has all of Harwin Strong’s colouring, which is what immediately draws attention to the eyes. The curly brown hair, the dark coloured eyes. But this is essentially where the similarities stop. Everything else about him is Rhaenyra. His high cheekbones, his pale, snow white skin, his aquiline nose, his freckles. I even love how Harry’s eyes are brown but still not exactly brown, but more of a lighter hazel/amber colour that really glows when he’s in certain lightings. Even the way he carries himself when he is not trying to impersonate Daemon, did you guys see him at the dinner table with the dragonseeds? The perfect way he was holding his cutlery? The poise and the grace? That was all mommy.

A much as it is going to destroy me, I cannot wait to see how his death will impact her, especially because she seems to be taking his presence for granted in the show (yes, I know this is just her way of protecting him. She got him and his brother involved before and it ended in one of them eaten alive. She is not going to make that same mistake again. But unfortunately this is how Jacaerys interprets her actions.).

That one scene where she takes off on Syrax to see Seasmoke and Addam and Jace runs out to try and talk to her before she leaves really broke my heart, but demonstrated this point so perfectly. The show also has some good moments with them, like when they somewhat tried to get Jace to suggest they put distant relatives of the Targaryens on the dragons and that split moment where he turns back and grabs Rhaenyra when she’s watching Ser Steffon burn in horror – I like to view it as a metaphorical scene for what book Jace did for Rhaenyra was she was burning from the pain and grief of losing her daughter, her son and her throne, and had to have her oldest child take care of everything for her.

“Responsible, bold and politically savvy, Jace was protective of his family. He became skilled at arms by serving as a squire. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne” - Writings of Gyldayn.

[nathabat]

Can you write about how Syzoth and the reader meet and eventually fall in love? Thank you!

oh my god YES ofc anon, this fills my brain w so many thoughts™,,,

✰ content: ## SFW , fluff with light angst (mention of Syzoth's previous family, his loss, Shang Tsung's bullshit no offense baby girl) , probably barely proofread. I speak more casually here because it's a lot of personal hcs LOL. GN!reader, you/your pronouns used.

Syzoth's romance would be THE definition of a slow burn. Meeting him with Cage and the others doesn't really speed that up, but he certainly learns to really appreciate you as a fixture of the group when you help him mourn and wrap his head around his loss. It's really abrupt, so he needs to take his time coping with the knowledge before he even thinks about taking someone else romantically. So he'd value someone with patience and boatloads of empathy. Even if you were a bit awkward when comforting him, he'd manage to find a bit of charm in your ramblings in attempt to soothe his troubled mind.

Of course it's not like you seek him out right off the bat either, so it's a lot of mutual pining as well when yours and his feelings come to light. Syzoth would feel a little guilty, like he's betraying the memory of his lost loved ones by seeking out a human of all things. I like to think Cage plays wingman- and his version of that is forcing as much proximity as possible. Like orchestrating plans just to ditch you two so you're alone for HOURS, and when he comes back he coughs really loudly to announce his presence.

"What? I didn't know what you two love birds would be getting up to while i was gone! Just had to make sure I wasn't walking in on anything scandalous-" (please hit him for me)

Jokes aside, he does really well at teaching Syzoth about "human courtship" and dating culture, and to boost the poor guys confidence. You're like a beacon of pure light and joy to Syzoth, you picked him up when he was down, how could he ever be worthy of you? How could he even repay your kindness at all???

Syzoth does his best at dropping hints after he realizes you've been oblivious to his courting and attempts at wooing you. Turns out, offering you a piece of his roasted swamp creature snack isn't the sweetest gesture- cut him some slack, he's still learning. He'll lay compliments on HEAVY, and he's surprisingly keen to most details of you as a person, but also generally of your appearance. Like if you trimmed an inch off your hair, he compliments how much shinier your hair is after the loss of your split ends. Ignoring the fact that it sounds slightly backhanded

New shirt? He wants to know why you got it. He thinks that certain colour brings out the hues of your eyes! (he thinks that with everything you wear. I think he's just in love with your eyes) New tattoo or piercing? He really wants to take a good long look at it, hear your thoughts and what drove you to such artistic choices, and gushes about how much he adores your self expression.

"It is a beautiful thing, how open you are I mean.. It's like you bare a piece of yourself to the world. I really like it."

He is always so incredibly sincere, flustering the second you also get embarrassed by his words. He isn't a poet, you just make him feel profound and beautiful things.

The first time he properly asks you out, he's nothing short of a nervous wreck. With his clammy hands and shifty eyes, quietly asking if you'd like to accompany him to an Outworld festival. The second he hears a yes from your lips, he's brightening like a star and thanking you. he's not sure why, but he just feels so grateful and lucky for such an opportunity!

Th evening is nothing short of perfect, Syzoth glued to your side like a protective force, his tension easing only when you grasp his hand and point excitedly at some merchant stand that's boasting the cutest trinkets ever. He's smiling wide under his mask as you tug him forward, squeezing your hand gently as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. His heart is melting in his chest when you make him try on a hair pin. His hair is much too short to hold it, and it almost clatters to the ground if you two didn't fumble to catch it- it's a pretty ornament, but he ends up getting you a gorgeous hand crafted necklace.

A beautiful white jade circular pendant held to the chain by a silver frame of koi fish. He thinks it's stunning, even more so as you bite your cheek to contain your excited ramblings as the cold metal grazes the skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his careful hands as he fastens it in place <3

Maybe you don't kiss on the first date and that's more than okay, because the mere second you had kissed him for the first time, you swore he turned bright red and looked rather faint... It's probably best to ease him into such affectionate gestures.

☄. *. ⋆

[lazulirus]

Fair Play

• The things you had to do as a law student... for sure you didn’t expect to descend into the infamous Night Raven College to argue with one of their dorm leaders.

• Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x reader (gender-neutral) (not MC) • Genre: fluff • Word Count: 4.6k • Warnings: none • Note: aka Lazu using her dubious law knowledge for fun

It seemed like a law student never had vacations.

Sure, for some being able to go through the historical halls of Night Raven College would be better than a visit to any tropical country or rest in the best hotels. You would probably enjoy it too, if it weren’t for the stressed student leading you through the never-ending corridors, the silly anemone on his head the only colour in the gloomy school. His glances towards you were like spells you could never dream of using - sharing that stress of his with you. But despite that, you gave him a smile every time he looks back; the lawyer should always be levelheaded.

“So… Casey. What does he look like?” The meaningless question was better than the tension created by the silence between you two - the jazz music from the cafe was annoying buzzing rather than a kind distraction. 

“White hair, in a stupid suit like all Octavinelle students, you’ll recognise him by a shit-eating grin.”

“Hm~ You described him so nicer just a few days ago.” 

“Because I didn’t know he was a scammer then!” When a few clients and workers - either wearing distinctive hats or anemones - shot him a glance he got timid, and added in a whisper: “I just now see the red flags, okay? Just, don’t trust his looks.” 

“Eh~? Little fry is late for his shift~!” 

The arguing between Casey and a ridiculously tall man dressed loosely in a suit becomes another background noise. The pleading of being innocent and menacing cackling were drawing the attention of others, but people were quick to look away as if looking at the tall student for too long was like a curse. Maybe it was? You wondered, your gaze jumping from one twin to another - the second one a bit less scary looking - you didn’t know very well how magic worked after all.

“And you have to be our esteemed guest,” This twin, despite face being the same, was way more elegant and with a soothing aura; it was proof of how much a well-kept attire could do. You stealthily take a glance at your clothes, wondering if you were underdressed for the occasion; all of them in suits, maybe Octavinelle being a mafia wasn’t a joke. “I’m Jade Leech and that–” He gestures towards the twin who was dragging your guide towards the kitchen. “–was my brother Floyd.”

You nodded, giving your name that they probably already knew. The eccentric Headmaster you met a day prior promised to give them all the needed information. “Azul is waiting for you in the VIP room. Shall we?” Before you could do anything more than nod, Jade’s hand was between your shoulder blades as he guided you between tables. There was nothing to be scared of, at least you tried to make yourself think that. Azul was around your age, and sure, he was in prestige school with the future to be an outstanding mage, but at the end of the day, he was just a student. It wasn’t like you will compete with him on the ground of magic and spells, you were almost equal! 

Those thoughts quickly left your head as the grand VIP room suffocated you with its brilliance, and Azul overwhelmed you with his mere presence. Calm and collected, already sitting on one of the couches, his presence perfect from the tilt of the hat to the shine of his boots. Meanwhile, you can only clutch onto the strap of your bag; hesitating. 

“Ah, Welcome! I’m Azul Ashengrotto, the dorm leader of Octavinelle, although I’m certain you already knew that.” Like a true gentleman, he stood up to greet you, the light sparkling delicately in his glasses. You no longer were surprised that so many idiots had fallen for his charm, not when such pretty lips were letting out such a smooth, calming voice. 

Your looks were a little plain, but Azul was smarter than to judge a book by its cover - there was a reason why Crowley would allow you to visit Night Raven Collegue outside of events. Especially on such short notice, as only yesterday he was informed about the visit. A noble? An esteemed mage? You weren’t someone who Azul recognised and it only made him more intrigued; the mystery caused fascination and hopefully many opportunities.

Jade leaves you two for a moment, short enough to only allow you to sit on the opposite sides of the table but long enough for him to return with a steaming hot pot of tea. As the butler-like student - you wondered if it was in his nature or was it a role he took in this bizarre place - was pouring it into the cups, Azul spoke up:

“I don’t usually grant wishes for outsiders, but since our kind Headmaster allowed it–”

“Oh, I’m not here for your deals.” You open the laptop on your lap, the white pages of the documents illuminating your face even so slightly. “I’m here to represent my cousin - Casey, first-year student of Heartslabyul, and prove that your contract was unfair; null and void.” 

The tea pours over the cup.

“...Excuse me?” Jade fumbles with the napkins, correcting his mistake as his intrigued gaze jumps from you to dumbfounded Azul. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“No. Mister Crowley didn’t tell you?” It was the only reason why the headmaster allowed you to enter - he believed a student could find a similar language with another student. “Casey gave me all the information he could, although I was disappointed to know you didn’t give him a copy of the contract. It’s a bad practice.” Looking for proper articles would be easier with the contract, but you didn’t have time to demand a rightful copy; you had to work with what you had. ���Which wasn’t much.

“This… this is unacceptable,” He said adjusting his glasses, and there was no longer kindness in his expression, the blues eyes glaring at you. “I should have been informed that it will be this kind of meeting.”

“I think it’s fine. Your clients also came unprepared.”

“We never turned away anyone who came with assistance to understand Azul’s service in a more in-depth manner,” Jade chimed in, standing behind the dorm leader like a shadow, “the fact that no one ever came with such help is a problem beyond our control.”

As you ignore Jade’s comment and kept yourself busy with preparing all the information and opening all needed Codes, Azul was sweating. It wasn’t visible, just a few pearls hidden by the shade of the fedora, but it was there; reminding him of his own anxiety. Way too many students came to his doors full of teeth and claws but always with more bark than bite - only able to scream and moan about how all of it was unfair. But you came silently, sitting in front of him with the calmness of a true outsider; no matter the results, it won’t truly affect you. other students were just crabs and snails, but you were a wave; unaffected by a tiny octopus.

Azul adjust his glasses again, despite them being perfect like everything in his little sand castle - or so he thought as now it felt like a wave was coming. Creeping, inching slowly but quietly, like a silence before a storm.

“The fact that you’re both minors should make this contract null from the beginning,” Azul takes a deep breath and counts to four. “Unless I’m mistaken? Casey said that you’re seventeen.” Five heartbeats before he let out his breath.

“It is true… Although I wouldn’t agree with the former statement.” And there he was, with the voice lacking the grand intonations from the beginning but also not as hasty as the moment before. Calm and collected, making you raise an eyebrow even so slightly; was his nickname of octopus coming from how quickly he changes his act like a camouflage? “It was an agreement that provided him with notes for exams, it’s simply a minor matter of everyday life for a student.”

“Article twenty of Civil Law Code if I remember correctly.” Jade allowed himself to walk behind you, the coach still separating the two of you, but his face was uncomfortably close as his fingers skimmed over your laptop’s keyboard, quickly finding the needed article. “[A person limited in the capacity for legal action may, without the consent of the statutory representative, conclude contracts belonging to contracts commonly concluded in a minor current matter of everyday life.]” From the corner of your eye, you could see eerily close how his lips bend in a delicate smile. 

“However,” You say, your lips trembling to not form into a scoff; you scroll up to reveal another paragraph, Jade’s eyes looking with interest. “[When a person incapable of legal acts has entered into an agreement belonging to the agreements commonly concluded in minor matters of everyday life, such an agreement becomes valid upon its implementation, unless it entails gross detriment to the person incapable of legal acts.] Don’t you think having him work for till he graduates is a bit excessive? I think it’s grossly big punishment that doesn’t suit the crime.” 

“Punishment? Crime? I think you’ve misunderstood something.” Azul said, spreading his hands with a pained expression; as if your words hurt his very pride. “It was a fair agreement. The article you cited - article fourteen I believe? Excuse me for being unsure if it’s the first or second paragraph - only works for a person incapable of legal acts. Given that your dear cousin is seventeen he has limited capacity for legal actions. Thus, he was well in his right to agree to this contract and fully aware of what he was agreeing upon.”

“Still…” You mumbled before taking a sip of the tea; it was better than you expected. “Tilia tea with raspberries, I’m delighted you’re enjoying it.” Azul chimed in with a smile that could almost make you forget how scummy he was… scummy with a good taste, though. It was impressive and a bit unnerving how quickly he saw the change in your expression, despite how soft it was. The clank of porcelain was the only answer Azul got as you put the cup back down.

“Anyway, I still think your contract is unfair.” Azul raises his eyebrow, both surprised and amused by your fighting spirit; with a nod he encourages you to go on. “First of all, let’s make it clear: The first part were you giving study guides in exchange for… talents; magic; something like this. Then the idio– Casey,” Azul chuckles but hides it quickly by coughing into his fist, you don’t even notice as you look through the Code. “I guess we can say that him getting high marks thanks to your guide was like a promotion of the item…" You mumbled the last part more to yourself, but Azul could hear every word. As you go through your notes about the case, Azul couldn’t help but stare a little - what a peculiar case you were yourself. You didn’t come here with empty arguments - like many others, throwing accusations and trying to ‘gotcha’ Azul without a second thought - you were actually thinking. Not only selfishly looking from only your perspective but also his, like just now, already saying argument he had on the back of his tongue. Trying so hard to predict his next move… Oh, what a shame it was you weren’t part of the student body.

 “Since he didn’t fulfil his part of the agreement the punishment was being your slave–”

"No no, they aren't slaves.” Azul said with a chuckle; you didn’t find it funny at all. “I would say they're high-class workers on contract work.”

“They even get employee dinners," Jade commented.

“Contract work requires wages but since they’re working off their debt to you for failing their part of the agreement I won’t even go into that…” Peculiar and intelligent, how refreshing to talk with someone on his level and avoid unnecessary squabble. “But still, since it’s Mutual Agreement, tell me, [The debtor is obliged to repair the damage resulting from lack of service or improper service of the obligation,] how my cousin passing with not enough points was damaging and working to the bone in your cafe is repairing those damages?”

“Well, that’s rather simple. I spent ages creating that guidebook, I also had to sacrifice my time to prepare the contract and make the deal with your cousin. All that time could be used for managing the Monstro Lounge. Since Casey didn’t uphold his part of the agreement, he wasted my time.” Those blue eyes of his became a bit sharper, the smile gaining another layer, more cunning and mocking “And as you said, his results being unimpressive hurts the reputation of my precious guides. If I can’t profit from them, I have to put more work into the cafe. Would you buy a guide if it only guaranteed to pass the exams with mediocre results?”

“If I was desperate, sure. As far as I know, only this type of people came to you.” It earned a chuckle out of Jade, but his gloved hand wasn’t quick enough to cover the sharp teeth peeking out. The predatory feature makes you gulp, wondering if Jade was really needed for the discussion - it was probably fair that he was helping since Azul wasn’t informed, but his creepy behaviour was making you uneasy. His two-coloured eyes catch your gaze and your heart became heavy when he smiles even wider; sharp razor teeth. This for sure was intimidation! 

You still wondered how anyone could fall for such a contract - especially given in such a shady environment and company! Casey praised his ‘secret help’ since the moment he got it, he wouldn’t shut up about it every time you messaged each other. At first, you praised him, proud that he was getting serious about exams for once, but after learning in detail about the contract you didn’t know if you should strangle him or worse. If Azul’s guide was so good, why would he gamble on Casey getting into the top 50 results? He would have to either believe that Casey won’t use it, was too stupid or knew that despite the guide, getting such high marks was… impossible.

“paragraph two of article three hundred eighty-seven… [A party that knew about the impossibility of the service at the time of concluding the contract, and did not correct the other party's wrong assumptions, is obliged to repair the damage that the other party suffered because it concluded the contract without knowing about the impossibility of service.]”

“Oh my, that’s quite the accusation.” His chuckle was irritating, and the smugness was written all over, but the corners of his lips didn’t reach blue eyes showing his disappointment, his opponent turned out to be nothing more than another whining crab. “It’s harsh to say that the conditions I gave to my clients were impossible…” 

“I talked with one of Casey’s friends,” you attack quickly, “Ace, I think? He and his other friends quoted that you had esteemed that with your guide, Ace should get at least 90 points.”

“That’s relatively a lot for someone afraid he won’t pass at all, no? I think it only proves how useful my guide is.”

“He got 92 and despite that failed the contract requirements. So you knew that he won’t be able to archive the goal of being in the top 50.”

“I said that we will get at least, so that means–”

“How many people had your help? Casey said that there were around two hundred students; that’s already quite the competition and to that, we have to count other naturally gifted students. The dorm leaders already take seven spots… To that we can count the vice dorm leaders, I can bet they’re as talented as dorm leaders since they got that title, so it would be 14 spots out of 50… that leaves 36 spots! And that’s not counting other smart students without the titles!” 

“Indeed, the 30 students on top of the list had perfect marks; five hundred points, among them, were dorm leaders: Riddle Rosehearts, Malleus Draconia, Vil Schoenheit or Azul Ashengrotto.” Jade added and even his dorm leader’s glare - one screaming Traitor! - couldn’t shut him up nor make him stop smiling.

You cross your arms. If those with the guides had around 90 points, getting even on the 50th place was impossible - not even a challenge, it was a dream! Not doable, not achievable no matter how hard one would try. “Don’t you think it counts as impossible?”

“Even if…” Azul avoids your gaze, but quickly returns - he would rather look at your alluring confidence than the irritating enjoyment of Jade. “They were aware of the knowledge that dorm leaders have to exhibit. And when it comes to clients, I couldn’t simply inform them of others forming the same contract. Details such as who made and what contract they made with me and why it was made; that's all privileged data, a matter of client confidentiality.” He gains back his confidence, yet he adjusts his glasses once again. “It was written on page 59; details about confidentiality. To put it simply, none of the sides can talk about the details of the contract until it’s finalised. I was simply abiding by the contract for the sake of my clients.”

“So the contract was faulty,” You tilt your head to the side. “No? If you tell them, you break the contract and if you don’t, you break the law. No matter what you do you can’t legally fulfil your obligations.” 

Azul exchanged glances with Jade, the blue gaze was alarmed and didn’t resemble the amusement in mismatched colours. Then, he looks even worse, pale and almost sick when his companion smiles at him, oh so kindly. 

“Oh my, I see that this conversation might go on for a while longer,” he picks up the cold and half-full cups. “I’ll go fetch more tea.” 

“Jade–!” But the door was already closed, leaving the two of you alone. You try to keep yourself busy even though your constant writing was nothing more than nonsense lines of letters. You didn’t want to meet Azul’s glare. It was heavy, annoyed - no, mad, and you couldn’t blame him for that reaction… but also couldn’t spare him. 

“It would be way easier if we had a judge or something…” You mumbled, the clicking of the keyboard filling the room. “Uh, the Heartsbyul has a lot of rules, right? I think their dorm leader would be good to resolve this matter fairly, at least Casey said that he is all about fairness and rules.” 

It was not a good idea. At all. Making it public that his contracts were nothing but perfect and watertight… A cold sweat collected on Azul’s skin. If they learn of it - those fools, idiots that just want to slack and then beg for help - all of them will come back with the same excuse, all of them will think of him as the fool they can screw over. Mockery from Leona, judgment from Riddle… 

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” He said a bit too quickly, and he sees the tower of his sand castle crumbling under the water as you smile at him first time since you came here. It was sickly sweet; pretty. “I cannot release all of my debtors from the contracts due to that, but I can–”

“Nah, I don’t care about that.” You cut him off, shrugging. “I just want my cousin out of this.” You weren’t working pro bono, which came as a surprise, although it shouldn’t. He got so used to everyone in this school having an ulterior motive, a second face that he foolishly thought that outsiders might not be like that - your similarity to him was more prominent than Azul expected, or perhaps selfishness was simply a trait of all land and sea dwellers.

“Then… I release Casey from under the contract and in exchange,” he disregards your scoff with deliberate ignorance, “I would like consultations with you.” You noted already that Azul smiles a lot, no matter if the cards were in his favour or not - whenever he had to fake a good hand or really had it. It was fascinating how such a young man was able to control himself so skillfully, that his words were so soft; innocent; like gentle music but you heard a screech on the melody. 

“What exactly do you mean by that?” And to your surprise, the scummy businessman doesn’t seem annoyed. 

“I want you to look through my next contracts; find any oversights.” A rather easy request, no?

“Only once a week, and I don’t want to rewrite or fix them, just point them out. And I’ll do it with the duty of care expected from a mere student.” Seemingly, yes, but there was so much more. Pointing out that you were a mere student was important – that way Azul couldn’t expect from you the knowledge and skills matching those of a lawyer. Range of your duties, how often and for how long… From the way he was so tight-lipped with those informations, you could guess other students didn’t ask for them, probably. Were all of them all stupid as Casey?

“Hah~ Once a week is for sure a reasonable request, given how busy we are as students.” The light reflects beautifully in Azul’s glasses as he gets up, like a playful wink that would match the self-satisfied smirk; it makes you feel as if you didn’t have the upper hand. The metallic groan of the safe, the clacking of perfectly polished shoes and the view of the white-as-snow glove that contrasted strongly with the golden contract. It all was like a movie experience, way too pristine and perfect, even Azul’s lulling voice:

“Here is Casey’s contract. It will become null the moment we sign ours.” He lays the contract on his desk; enough to be in your view but far away for him to feel safe. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed with your knowledge, no one before fought so well against my contracts.” After a moment of shock, you smile faintly. 

“The feeling is mutual.” Your eyes were focused on putting the laptop into the case, making sure to not scrap it with the zip. “...I kinda admire your work. I mean, it’s not very fair towards others, but it’s just school stuff so… I just want to say I’m impressed with that stun you pulled.” The pen stopped, and Azul’s gaze moved towards you. Sitting behind the great, wooden desk, you felt like a student in front of a teacher; he was perfect just like the moment you first saw him, composed to the point you could think the conversation never occurred, the deal between you was never made. As he doesn’t comment - you’re not sure if Azul even blinked - you started to ramble, flustered. “Just, I’m sure it’s not easy to pull something like this. Over two hundred students? And you actually helped them pass? And it was so hard to find any problem with your contracts! No wonder you get nicknamed an octopus, you’re as smart as one!”

“I am an octopus, though…?” He blurted out.

“What?”

“Have you never heard of mermen?” Your awe-struck face makes Azul chuckle way more honestly than he ever expected himself to do. You were so crafty yet so ignorant about the basic magic part of this world; he would be offended that such a person beat him in his own game if it wasn’t this fascinating. It felt like losing a game of chess to Floyd - unexpected, but only awakening a craving to figure out the bizarre way of thinking of his opponent. “There are a few of us in Night Raven College, me included.” 

The gleam of excitement in your eyes was also Floyd-like - Azul thought before getting back to writing; the first letter, fresh with ink was shaky. “Woah~! Now all of Casey’s rambling make sense.” 

“He also mentioned you.” Azul smiled fondly. “He threatened me with his lawyer cousin and how here I am, regretting I didn’t take him more seriously.” Maybe then he wouldn’t have an upcoming headache from stress, but he also wouldn’t meet such an interesting person. “It’s a shame that person of your talents wasn’t lucky to join us here, you would make a great addition to the Octavinelle.” Such sweet words, made of honey; the sweetness seeping into you, making your heart heavy with pride and cheeks warm. Inviting you to get closer, stand in front of Azul, your hip resting on the side of the desk. 

“Perhaps…” His writing becomes slower, the letter slightly heavier as Azul takes his time writing each of them. “After we’re done with this, I could show you around, the College is pleasingly quiet around this hour.” The way he glances at you, his big eyes barely visible makes your heart skip a beat and your tongue goes limp in your mouth. He wanted to spend more time with you? 

The paper was pushed towards you, but Azul doesn’t lose eye contact, maybe for a moment when he averts his gaze, his smile apologetic. “Although I still have after-class activities… The headmaster should be kind enough to look the other way if you would be willing to join me there, it’s nothing magic-related.” 

There was only a buzz in your head; a mix of excitement and fluster. A tour around the Night Raven, taking part in their activities, even if they weren’t the real classes - it all was unreal, too good to be true someone would say. But when the stress of the encounter left you, leaving only sweet praise and an even sweeter smile from a handsome man, it was hard to not take the pen and the opportunity. 

“No way.” His smile drops and so does all the glow and splendor around him. You barely stop a scowl, unsure if you should even point it at the shady man or the paper. “I’ll be around for the following days. I’ll come to read and sign the contract personally, no need for Casey to be the middle man.” 

“I was only looking out for you.” Azul’s tone was just a bit colder, even though still kind, he no longer was shy or rather no longer acted like it. “No need for you to waste your time on the formalities.” It was said without any malice, you weren’t even sure if you could hear mocking in his voice.

“It is kinda my future job.” You scoffed, no longer able to hide the disgust and your anger grew stronger when Azul didn’t even flinch. “I guess the offer is no longer valid, so–”

“I was serious about showing you around.” Azul cuts in, muffling the noise of crumbling paper, just a flash of disappointment on his face when the unfulfilled scheme goes to the trash. It was a good plan, but perhaps the execution of it wasn’t worth it; now his heart was rowdy, and blood hummed in his ears. “My praise wasn’t a lie. I truly admire your skills.” But the honey no longer allured you, even if looked so well.

“Then you can treat me to some cake when I get back to sign the thing.” You suggested, no, demanded before outreaching your hand with another order. “Your phone.” Azul raised an eyebrow. 

“Is this extortion?”

“It’s writing my number.” You fought yourself to not smile at his completely-lame joke. “Unless you want me to come over every day to check if you’re done?”

His heart skip a beat. 

“Gladly.”

[cor-lapis-candy]

Soooo @teyvatmoon you wanted crusty man Diluc? Let's do that! But what if I make him desperate and pathetic? Like a drowned rat, needy and gross with you while everyone else would think him just some stoic shut in?

I think that works best...

For the second night this week, your flatmate had been making a racket, his music audible through not one but two, semi decent, walls and into your room. Lord knows what the other apartment on the other side of his wall thought of this apartment but enough was enough.

No matter how grumpy he seems during the day, it's ten P.M and after all the shit that had happened between classes and a certain ginger who is all too eager to get in your space, you just wanted some peace, perhaps even some silence and to be able to sleep for more than four hours at a time for once.

There is no point in bothering to fully redress after getting ready for bed, not a thought into how you are only in your underwear and a large shirt as you are storming across the lounge separating your rooms, the rap of your knuckles lost in the music, only too be followed by several slaps of your palm against his door with little success.

The continued racket and clear ignorance of your banging is making you form a scowl and simmers an anger rivalling a toddler scale meltdown, shouldering his door open to start what should have been a one-sided yelling match, your anger is quick to fizzle out at the sight of your roommate.

Of Diluc Ragnvindr, red headed grouch and usually stoneface sociology major stretched out across his bed, face buried in what looks to be one of your gym shirts that went missing like two days ago. One of his hands fisting his cock, clearly chasing what looked like one hell of a high, unaware of your presence in his room, or it seemed like he was unaware like till flicking your eyes up to find him watching you.

Your name is a barely ringing whine from him, nose still buried in that shirt as he cum's.

A mess of cum dripping down across his hand and even onto the half pushed up shirt he wore, the red that colours his face either from the shame of getting caught or from the clear exertion of his little session.

While it may have taken you a moment you're quick to snatch the remote for his sound system, pressing the off button and plunging the room into silence.

"What the actual fuck are you doing. I-Is that...Did you really steal my fucking clothes? Just-just to jack off with?!"

Flicking your eyes around his room your quick to catch sight of other items that had once been yours, a hairbrush that you thought broke, a pair of underwear that had one too many holes in it, and two items that were more personal in nature. A bottle of scented lube that you had only half used, and a small bullet vibe that was a 'gag' gift from another friend of yours.

"Diluc. You have like, ten seconds to explain, or I am going to throttle you and call your nasty ass brother to come get you and your shit."

When you finally look over at the redhead again, he paints an almost desperate picture, sitting up on his knees, your shirt on his lap, hands half stretched out towards you, ignorant of the one still coated in his cum, cheeks still tinted pink with tears gathering in his eyes.

"P-Please it's just. Your so good, so nice. An-and you smell so good, that I know y-you would never go for me. But-" when his hands reach out to grasp your arm, the feeling of his warm skin and now half-dried cum against your skin pulls a shiver from you, "-please, please don't leave or call anyone. I'll. I'll keep out of your way, won't touch any of your things ever again. Just please, don't leave!"

The sight of someone like Diluc, who tends to paint the picture of reserved confidence, begging you not to leave him, tears spilling down his cheeks, skin still flushed pink as he sniffles softly. It's something that sits a certain way in the back of your mind, maybe he would learn his lesson and stop all this weird shit if you kept the threat of calling all of this in over his head.

"Okay, I won't go but you nee-"

"Thank you!" he is quick to lean further into your space, his grip on your arm pulling you slightly down as he does.

"But! We do have to talk about how even when you got caught, you just kept going at it! And not to mention- Really?! Are you that fucking down bad, that even if you just came, the moment you pull me close your hard again? What is wrong with you!"

The sweat of his palm makes where his hand is wrapped around your arm feel just a little bit slimy as the perspiration mixes with his half dried cum, the mixture unsettling to you but for him it was something like a mark of possession, something that would tide him over till you stopped talking and stormed back out, hopefully you would leave his little prizes here and let him have his moments of bliss with your possessions again.

[nahoney22]

OMG HI! 🤩 Are you taking writing commissions?! Can I be added to a commission waiting list if you have one for a soft-pining between Plo-Koon and a Jedi!Reader? I’m talking like fluffiest fluff you can muster! Maybe them being like parents to their battalions! The forbidden attraction because of old Jedi rules 🥺

P.S: You are so right! None of this bs wouldn’t have happed if he didn’t bite the dust 😭

Forbidden

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Plo Koon X GN!JediReader

word count: 2.6k

Both being the greatest Jedi they can be to their Battalion, it’s no surprise that the kindness shared between you both brings you closer and maybe just maybe, makes things a little risky.

warnings: none, fluff! Minor mention of injury & death to Clones, forbidden romance trope, mutual pining. Ngl, not overly proud of this as I feel it’s a little rushed and messy. It was better in my head. I’m losing my touch.

Masterlist

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

The Medbay was often a horrible place for any person or sentient to visit and no matter how many visits General Plo attends, it is never any easier.

The last mission was a success but with so many casualties. His respect for his Battalion grows each passing second and has come to care about each man individually but at what cost? Another win yet it seemed like they were no step closer to beating the Separatist threat.

“I am here for CC-3636.” Plo speaks to one of the droids that maintained care for those who were taken in, hating using his Commander's designated number rather than his preferred name.

“Right this way. His condition is stable.”

Plo stays silent, walking down the painfully white halls of the Kaminoan facility towards one of the bays. Though deep in his thoughts, something stops him.

As if something had shoved on his chest and commanded him to stop, his head turned to look into an empty room. Well, aside from two beings in the right hand corner.

There’s a clone on the bed, no colour to their armor aside from the stark white and shiny new armor and a presence beside them. Their back was to him but he was certain that they were Jedi. That Jedi being you, someone who he still has not been formally introduced to though he had heard things. Many great things in fact.

Slowly, he turns and looks into a room opposite, busier than the others but still no other Jedi present. If he were to hazard a guess, he would confirm that the only two Jedi here were just the pair of you. All these men injured, yet it seemed that only you two had cared.

He sighs to himself, knowing he should not think ill of the other Jedi as he was well aware that most have care for their troops but clearly, maybe just not as much as him and yourself.

“Just this way Master Jedi.” The AZI droid speaks up, snapping Plo out of his doubting thoughts and proceeds to move on along. But as he leaves, you look over your shoulder and feel a shift in the Force. A Jedi was present and although curious to who it could be, you focus on your trooper and wait for him to wake up.

———-

“Anakin is growing stronger and courageous each day though I fear there is conflict within him.” Obi-Wan speaks softly as he walks alongside Plo.

The Kel Dor sensed his friend and colleagues troubles and opted to walk with him and try to clear his mind. “Your padawan is headstrong and a fine Jedi. Little Soka is becoming the ideal Jedi too because of him. Trust in him Obi-Wan and soon you will see everything will play out smoothly.”

Walking out into the courtyard, conversation changing to something more cheerful rather than Obi-Wan’s worrying woes, the two of them took in the calming air.

“Ah, look who is over there.” Kenobi points to the center of the courtyard, over by The Great Tree.

Plo looks in the direction and as if by an instant, he recognised you to be the Jedi on Kamino a few rotations ago. Your robes were breezing around your body, a content expression on your face.

“You haven’t met them yet, have you?” Kenobi asks, already getting ready to walk on over but like before, something pushed against him and his feet find their way walking over to you.

“No.” He answered him.

“Well, let me introduce you.”

Kenobi says your name aloud, catching your attention and as you turn, there’s a strange feeling in the Kel Dor’s stomach. He had not expected you to appear so youthful as you appeared wise beyond your years.

“General, what do I owe the pleasure?” You smile warmly to your friend, eyes flickering between the human male and then to Kel Dor beside him.

“Nothing at all, just thought I would introduce you to Master Plo Koon. I don’t think you two have worked together.”

When you look at him your eyes are full of intrigue and interest as you bore into the mask on his face. “No, I don’t believe we have.” You take a step closer and extend a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

His hands or talons so to speak, reach out to you and gently clutches at the softness of your skin. His touch is surprisingly warm and enough to send chills down your arms but luckily, your robes hid the bumps. When he says your name you feel an odd sensation. A sensation as if you would want him to repeat it over and over again.

“And you. I see you find calmness in The Great Tree?” He pulls his arm back, digits leaving yours and you try to ignore how cold you suddenly felt. What was happening? Were you feeling unwell? You push the thoughts back for the time being and focus back on his question.

“Yes, I find it beautiful.” You say softly, turning to look at the leaves that bristled in the soft wind. “We’re definitely lucky to have one in our midst due to its rarity.”

There was something about you that Plo was fascinated by. Your voice was a soft and calming presence and there seemed to be no heavy grief on your shoulders. He was internally thankful that Kenobi had parted ways with you both and took the opportunity to get to know you more.

Respectfully, he had asked of your homeworld and family and listened with great interest at whatever you had to say. You also made sure to include him too and would ask questions about how the war is fairing for him and if he had any worries which reminded him:

“If you recall, I remember seeing you on Kamino though I didn’t make myself known.” He begins to walk alongside you and as you take small and slow steps, his large ones go down to a minimum.

At least the question in your mind of which Jedi had seen you that day was answered and a small smile crept onto your lips. “I thought I felt a spectre close by. You have a very warm presence in the Force.” Although you spoke calmly, there was no denying that there was a small hesitance in your mind and sincerely hoped you had not said anything too outrageous after just meeting him.

“That is kind of you to say.” He nods, genuinely appreciating your gentle words. “I hope that trooper you were seeing made a full recovery?”

“Oh yes,” you smile softly “Jammy, as I so named him, has made a speedy recovery. He got badly wounded on our last mission and I really thought he wouldn’t make it out this time.”

“This time?”

You roll your eyes a little playfully. “Hence the name. He’s been in that Medbay more times than I can count. He’s a lucky one.”

Plo smiles, noticing how affectionate you are when it comes to talking about the Clones. It was a nice relief to see one having respect for them after all they do for the GAR. It was rather refreshing.

“Who were you going to see?” You turn your head to look up at him. He chuckles softly and tells you about Wolffe, a trust Commander and the name just so happens to ring a bell.

“Wolffe,” you repeat his name, pausing, “I don’t suppose he is the Commander of the 104th? Making you their General?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” He stops with you and you find yourself blushing as you notice just how close he stood beside you, slowly moving to stand in front.

“I believe that I am joining you and your entourage in the next following days, on Aleen?” You ask hopefully and that strange sudden hope that you had was a little dangerous.

He hums a small chuckle but shakes his head. “Not me, but I’m sure my men will be a great addition in my absence.”

You tried to not look disappointed but the way he tilts his head at you makes you think that maybe he knew. “I’ll be happy to work with them, General.”

“Please,” he says softly and with enough grace places a hand to your shoulder, “call me Plo.”

————-

The relationship you had with Plo only grew from then on. Coincidentally (or not) the two of you would often find yourselves walking the halls of the Temple together but there was something not quite right.

Just now, your conversation with Plo was innocent and had you both laughing but as you passed a small group of maybe three members of the order, they were eyeing you both up suspiciously. At first you thought nothing of it but the stares lingered and then whispers would begin. You wondered if Plo had seen it too but for now, he said nothing.

When he walked you to your room, there was a small moment just outside your door. You were wishing him a restful sleep but the Kel Dor, almost unnaturally reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair away from your face. Your eyes widen, a blush creeping up your neck and you thank him quietly. He smiles a little and nods his head. “Sleep well, little one.”

The nickname was new and Maker it made you feel airy and light.

A week or two had passed and your heart that had been so full was heavy. You were back on Kamino and your chest tightened as you watched the AZI droids cover not one, not two but at least seven of your men with white sheets. The mission, although successful, left a sour taste in your mouth as you stayed in the Medbay, overlooking your fallen troops.

When the door behind you hissed open however, just by the thought of being with someone who you knew to be Plo, your emotions took over. You raised a hand to your face and quickly swept away a stray tear, turning to face your friend.

“Afternoon Plo.”

Although you could not see it, there is grief behind the mask as he crosses the threshold to you. “Come, little one… let us find somewhere else to talk.”

The nickname would have been lovely if not for the environment but alas you listened and followed after him with your head bowed. For the first time in a while, you both walked in silence until he found a quiet room for you both to sit in.

He gestures to a spot beside him and as you sit, you let out a heavy sigh.

“Your thoughts are wild and understandably so. Is there anything I can do to give you comfort?” His modulated voice was soft and gentle, just like the man he was. You knew that he knows just how hard losing men can be and it never gets any easier. For you, you make bonds with your men. Attachments so to speak, something forbidden within the Order. The thought of being careless to them made you angry and you knew some Jedi would not bat an eyelid. So as your fists tighten by your sides, there is no surprise that Plo had gently taken one of your hands and whispered, “At ease, they wouldn’t want to see you upset.”

That afternoon, you didn’t say much but you didn’t need to. Plo stayed by your side and as you felt yourself getting weary, he had let you rest upon his shoulder, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Another week passed and another week of your feelings being a mangled mess. It was clear now that feelings had started to bloom between yourself and Plo. On your part, anyway. There is conflict within you and something tells you to back away and get a hold of yourself but that was a little impossible to do when your men had made jokey passing comments to you.

“What was that Trooper?” You turn to him with an amused gleam in your eyes, glad to see how at ease they were with you when he replies if you’re thinking about going to see the ‘Wolfpacks dad’. You snorted, dismissing him playfully but there was something in the back of your mind that was tickling your senses. Was it obvious to them that there was something there? Is that why the Jedi had been keeping a watchful eye on you both. Surely if they knew, Plo would know. This piques your curiosity even more.

That evening, you had decided to stay away from Plo purely because you did not understand these feelings yourself yet. Though, naturally, you both found yourselves in each other’s company.

You’re along one of the balconies back in the Temple when Plo had arrived.

“I didn’t think you would be here.” His voice made you jump a little, your mind so deep in force you didn’t even sense his overpowering presence.

“And why is that?” You poke at his thoughts as he stands beside you, overlooking the city below.

“This is where I often come to ponder my thoughts - something I find myself doing a lot more lately.”

Your body gets tingly at his words, heart racing a little faster. This could either be a good thing, a bad thing, or both. “Something on your mind?”

He stays silent for a few moments, his thoughts conflicted for the first time in a while. He was often quick, wise and brave but he felt the opposite now. Especially with you by his side.

“It is more someone than it is something.”

There it was. You just knew it was about you, or so you certainly had hoped unless he has someone else in his life he has kept quiet about. Words can not even string together but luckily, he does the talking. “My men, they like to talk shall we say about our relationship.”

You freeze. Relationship? Was there even one aside from friendship? “I see.”

Plo looks down at the railing, seeing your hands nervously strum along it and hoping he had read the last few rotations correctly, he quietly placed his hand over yours, talons very gently caressing into your warm skin. “Is this okay little one?” He whispers in your ear and you shudder a small gasp before nodding.

“Plo, what if someone sees us?”

“I must admit I am point the past of caring. I can not help who I admire, and that is you little one.” Plo is watching you carefully but when a small smile flicks onto your lips and your turn to face him, you carefully rest your hand upon his.

“Me too,” you sigh softly, “but I fear this may impact our place in the Order.”

Gently, his other hand comes down to your waist and turns you to face him fully. His hand leaves yours and places it to the side of your face as he looks adoringly into your eyes. “Like I said, I am past the point of caring. I can not stand to believe that we are to shut ourselves out of anything and not be deemed as a Jedi. I trust you feel the same?”

Without hesitation, you fall into his chest. Arms wrapping around his lean and tall frame, Plo wastes no time in reciprocating the gesture. “Of course I feel the same Plo… ever since I met you I could not help but-.”

“Fall for one another.” He finishes off for the both of you.

You’re both elated, glad that the mutual feelings were out in the open but for what is to happen next is uncertain. But what you both did know is that you would both pick one another over any stupid rule. Together, you will treat your own men with the love and dignity they deserve and if yours has to be a secret, so be it.

As long as you’re with him.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Masterlist

tags: @s1st3r @buddee @taskfork-archive @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo o @therealnekomari @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @agenteliix

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden (wc: 9.1k) | masterlist

tw: poorly translated valyrian bc i used a translator online. forgive me.

117 AC

There is a reason why Aegon loves his name day.

People seem to remember him when the Grand Sept’s bells toll to start the one-week celebrations across King’s Landing, as expected of the first son of the King. The gates open to dozens of wheelhouses carrying the high nobles of the realm and the Keep has never been more colourful, housing each intricate combination of hues the Houses bear. Servants scurry among the floors of the castle to make the events as extravagant and fitting for a prince who the King begged the gods for, shipments are received in the docks for the banquet spreads to be laid out for a week, and fittings for new royal clothes are made each passing minute (Aegon wants to barf out his meal just to escape from it because apparently, the girls have their own fittings, so it’s just him, Aether, Aemond, Daemian, and Daeron). Mother won’t be breathing down his neck to pay more attention to his lessons and be more like Aemond, who has expressed a growing interest in history (a boring thing, if you ask him). Father won’t look at him like he is a passing face in the castle; for once, he gets to be a son. 

Excitement ignites each limbal ring of his eyes, mixing in the light of the sun between the tendrils of cornflower blues he possesses, because on his name day, it’s not his half-sister, Rhaenyra, they greet with jovial cheer in the Keep, it’s him.

But his tenth name day is not about the first son of King Viserys.

It unfortunately revolves around a little Prince that isn’t him.

Aesira has been a constant in the life of her first cousin once removed (she’ll call him his nephew anyway for her own sake) ever since he was born.

Jacaerys Velaryon is the name that he carries but his colouring is neither of his parentages, that much is true. Aesira is not blind; she can see that there is no shed of anything Targaryen in that little body of his except for the glint of something purple within his brown eyes when the light touches them perfectly. As a babe, his features hadn’t settled in; but as he reached two name days, the curls of brown framing his face and the button nose adorably sitting on his face is very much a reminder that he is not trueborn like Aesira and her brothers. Yet her cousin, Rhaenyra, looks at him like he is the light of his life — pride in the crinkles around her eyes and love lacing every bit of her smile.

It is also during these times that Aesira feels a palpable emotion that is completely unfamiliar to her.

Among her and her siblings, Aesira is the only one who maintained a connection to the Heir of Uncle Viserys, which lies in affable smiles exchanged in passing, knowing glances whenever someone mentions the paintings and tapestries plastered on the Keep’s walls, and understanding squeezes around smaller hands as a Lord points out how similar the two look in certain angles. How bittersweet it is when this string tying them together stems from something so inevitable and cruel, crafting a masterpiece so beautiful that many people remark it to be as precious as the titles they carry — The Realm’s Delight and The Flower of the Realm. The two are often seen walking together in the labyrinth hedges of the gardens when their schedules are kind enough to allow them, donning contrasting colours on their dresses as if they are from different Houses altogether. It is a sight when they grace the castle with their combined presence — both of which embody the ethereal beauty only Targaryens can achieve.

However, it is during these meetings with Rhaenyra that Aesira sees how much the Heir dislikes anything related to the Queen, the animosity radiating in the slight curl on her top lip when she breathes a word related to the most powerful woman in the realm. When Aesira revealed that the dresses she had in her closet were all commissioned by the Queen, Rhaenyra sent a few of her old dresses, the colouring as bold as her character — all reds and blacks and so Targaryen. When she mentioned a word about her tea sessions with the Queen, her gracious cousin proposed having daily outings of their own in the gardens, promising an abundance of their favourite cakes and more gossip happening around the court. She once shared her observations with Aether and her brother had the gall to laugh it out, comparing it to his petty rivalry with Aegon whenever they had their fights. Now that she sees it from both sides, Aesira surmises that Rhaenyra and the Queen’s indifference and anger at each other aren’t that much different from Aegon and Aether’s dynamic (but the latter pair always goes back to being partners in crime). She is not as clueless as she seems; she can see the longing in the Queen’s eyes when she stares at Rhaenyra too long and the affliction hanging over Rhaenyra’s head when she is around the Queen.

It is one Lady Redwyne who told her that the two women cementing roles in her life held a rare affection for each other while they were in their childhood. A pleasant surprise that sparks Aesira’s interest. Their relationship became strained, according to Lady Redwyne, when Uncle Viserys announced to wed the Queen during a Small Council meeting. It became the thinnest of threads when something scandalous involving someone so roguish happened in the middle of the night. Aesira didn’t have to ask who this someone was when the glares from the other Ladies landed on Lady Redwyne soon after. Of course, he was a part of it. Now, the court Ladies are silently dividing themselves between the Heir and the Queen, gossiping about the next big story and betting on who will win an argument if one ever surfaces. While they giggled behind their decorative fans about the recruits for the City Watch, Aesira was left mulling over the information she just heard, answering questions when they were only addressed to her.

When little Jacaerys was born, a hesitant Queen Alicent went to visit the babe with Aesira in tow, offering their congratulations to the married couple. Aesira held her hand the entire time to prevent her from picking on her nails, a habit that the girl noticed from the moment they had their second tea session. 

That unfamiliar emotion bubbling in her stomach started tickling her insides during this visit.

Rhaenyra, while wearing faux pleasantries upon facing the Queen and her inquiring gaze, looked so different when staring down at Jacaerys. Aesira never imagined her bold older cousin being this soft around someone, especially after hearing her badmouth every single thing she hated in court. She never realised it back then but it was the start of the change happening within Rhaenyra — a change that was dipped in nostalgia. Mother wore that look when gazing at her and Aether. Gone is the Rhaenyra who accompanied her to the gardens and gone are the daily meetups involving cake.

It started bubbling again when she heard the Queen grumble about the defining features morphing Jacaerys into a toddler.

Brown hair and brown eyes and the swish of a gold cloak following Rhaenyra’s every step. Aesira gives it the benefit of the doubt. She knows about the lineage running in Lord Laenor’s blood — parts of Baratheon courtesy of Princess Rhaenys.

But everything seemed to change when she happened to witness Ser Harwin Strong gazing upon Jacaerys with the same love painted in Rhaenyra’s eyes while the toddler stood on wobbly feet during his attempted walks — Rhaenyra’s little group gathering in the gardens for the joyous moment. When the treasonous thought forms in her mind, she took that time to look at Lord Laenor, seeing the exact proud emotion on his face when he cheered for Jacaerys to reach him in his small, baby steps. The sight burned her eyes and throat. That ugly emotion is painting her in the same shade of green the Queen prefers having on her gowns. While not looking like a trueborn Targaryen, Jacaerys has a father that will never leave him and a mother who will never die from childbirth. It’s unfair. Aesira looked down, swallowing the onset of bitterness covering her whole figure, hating the fact that she happened to enter this specific area of the gardens during an intimate moment shared by a family.

“Jace, where are you going, my boy?” Lord Laenor’s voice echoed in Aesira’s ear when she turned around to choose another area of the gardens to read her book. “Can he even walk that fast at this age?”

A small body wrapped around her skirt, stopping her in her tracks.

“Aesira?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aesira slowly looked down at the one responsible for preventing her from getting out of this mess. A gummy smile beamed up at her, little specks of white peeking through the grin. She blinked in place, her hands wringing with the fabric of her skirts. There were bound to have creases after this encounter. The number of times she saw Jacaerys was when he was still swaddled. Now reaching his first name day, the boy was growing into a little boy who would be a menace now that he learned how to walk.

Right when she was about to gently pry Jacaerys’s hands off of her clothes, she heard the smallest, most adorable voice calling for her.

“Thira!” Jacaerys cheered with a pure smile, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

Rhaenyra grunted from the bench, pushing herself to stand while placing a hand on her pregnant belly. “It seems like he adores you.”

“Thira!”

Aesira stared at Rhaenyra for a good minute. The small hands clutching her dress tightened, shaking her to capture her attention from The Realm’s Delight to the babe staring at her like she placed the stars for him to point out. Maybe that was what she looked like to Little Jacaerys’s eyes — a star maiden glowing with the sun’s halo around her head as he stared at her ever so adoringly. Lord Laenor chuckled from his haunched position on the ground, amusement pushing his head to shake from side to side.

She tilted her head, now fully looking at Jacaerys, who seemed to shine brighter now that she did. “Hello,” she greeted.

Jacaerys giggled, an endearing sound that lightened up their area of the gardens. “Hello!”

Masking the unfamiliar feeling and replacing it with polite cheer, Aesira let go of her skirts and turned to the little Prince craning his neck to fully see her in all her glory. She gave the adults behind them a questioning glance. Once she got a smile from Rhaenyra, raised eyebrows from Lord Laenor, and a neutral expression expected from a knight, Aesira picked up Jacaerys off the ground and balanced him on her hips. The babe squealed at the new person carrying him that wasn’t his mother, father, or the sworn sword assigned to protect them. The hesitance in her actions resulted in jerky movements that were unbelievable for someone who started caring for her baby brother when she was a child of five name days. But this babe wasn’t her Daemian. The scent on little Jacaerys was completely different yet so similar to her brother; as well as the feeling of him in her arms contrasted with Daemian’s calm nature. Aesira never realised that she was starting to bounce Jacaerys in her arms until the babe erupted into giggles again. 

“I believe this is the first time we have ever interacted, Lady Aesira,” a deep voice pulled her attention from gazing at Jacaerys’s gummy smile to a man with beautiful dark skin and tight white locks. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing at her by inclining down his chin. “Laenor Velaryon. It is a pleasure to meet the little Lady everyone has been raving about in court.”

Aesira curtsied with Jacaerys in her hold. “It is my pleasure to meet one of the honourable knights who braved through the War for the Stepstones. You did the crown and throne a great service — may the Seven bless you, good Ser.”

Lord Laenor bellowed a hearty laugh. “The Ladies must have been floating in your praises whenever you’re with them, my Lady.”

“I was merely saying the truth, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Lord Laenor hummed. “He has no shed of himself in you, I presume?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra cut in.

“What?” The Velaryon Heir swivelled to give Rhaenyra a look that showed he wasn’t following until the Princess narrowed her eyes at him. His expression didn’t change even after turning around to face Aesira again. She knew better — this man held every right to show contempt for the same person she hated. He was, after all, the brother of the young Lady Daemon has taken away to Essos, never to be seen again by her family and friends. It was almost a tale of romance fit for novels. Aesira had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing from the depth of her thoughts. Lord Laenor shrugged in a nonchalance that was innate to every man hailing from the nobility. Aesira figured this was him trying not to make the situation heavy with the topic he was walking on like a tightrope. “It’s so refreshing to see his child be so different from him. Must be the Arryn in you, huh?” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m going to shut my loose lips before I find myself on the other end of someone’s pregnancy hormones. Forgive me for bringing him up, my Lady. I, myself, have expressed what I felt about him way too many times and all of them were not nice.”

So, she was correct. Lord Laenor didn’t like her father as much as she did. 

“Thira!” Aesira felt her cheeks being patted by smaller hands and pudgy fingers. Jacaerys had his adorable face scrunched up. “Me!”

“Pardon, little Prince,” Aesira murmured, brushing her nose against his, which resulted in another round of pleased giggles. “I’m looking at you now.”

Lord Laenor chuckled at the side. “I believe we are witnessing the start of something remarkable.”

The Lady Targaryen nods her head in agreement. “Yes, seeing Prince Jacaerys walk earlier made me remember the time when my little brother did it for the first time as well. It is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not quite what I mean.”

“Laenor,” came Rhaenyra’s stern voice.

“Sorry, Rhaenyra.” A large grin pulled on Lord Laenor’s face. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

It was at that exact moment that Aesira received a wet kiss on her lips, the giver of the token of affection laughing while clapping his hands. Warmth and nostalgia blanket her in a cocoon existing only to enclose her and Jacaerys in this speck of one’s afternoon. Without her control, Aesira genuinely smiled at the little Prince, even if it was as small as a twitch.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m sorry for having Jace come to you without any warning.” She walked toward Aesira and her son, her hands cradling her belly, and back straight with the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She didn’t forget to give Lord Laenor a look that had the man retreating to where Ser Harwin was stationed with his hawk-like eyes. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate in running her hand over Aesira’s hair, her fingers hitting the butterfly slips nestling on either side of her head, which served as the only ornament and style decorating Aesira’s hair. “Nevertheless, it warms my heart that he has taken a liking to you.”

“I don’t mind it, cousin, and it warms my heart as well that he likes me.”

And during her tea sessions with the Queen, Aesira asked what was bothering her the whole time, “Is it wrong for me to hate a child, Your Grace?”

Alicent looked up from her cup of calming tea. “Little one?”

She remained spaced out, simply staring at a piece of honey cake. “There’s this ugly, unfamiliar emotion brewing inside me whenever I look at Jacaerys. It is mostly when I see him getting love despite not looking like me and my brothers.” Aesira met the Queen’s wide eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Oh, sweetling,” the Queen’s touch is filled with care, “it is normal for children to feel envious of others. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way.” So, it was Envy who was responsible for her feeling mixed emotions around Jacaerys. The Queen was having none of her looking away. She tipped Aesira’s chin to affectionately pinch her cheek. “Don’t ever think that you are lacking love in this lifetime. My existence disproves your negative thoughts.”

Aesira looked down. “But he has a father.”

The Queen’s bottom lip jutted out in that signature pout she carried whenever she was troubled. “A mother’s love equals that of a father’s. What matters most, in the end, is how you will blossom with the love that was given to you when you were young. It is up to you, little one, to decide how you choose to live your precious life.”

So, she douses the small spark of envy in her, and becomes a constant in Jacaerys’s life until more firewood turns it into something bigger and different that she has no choice but to let it burn her from the inside out.

Aesira finally finishes her gift for him — a handkerchief embroidered with a golden dragon, topped off with his name in an elegant cursive that took her an entire day to perfect (and days to practise). Helaena is a blessing to have with her during her sewing lessons with their Septa; the younger girl already mastered looping the needle through thick fabrics with her fixation, boasting pieces that depict the most bizarre and most beautiful insects she discovered in the gardens. It was also she who suggested learning how to sew a dragon, providing no explanation whatsoever except that she saw it in her dreams. Since Helaena knows more than she lets on, Aesira trusts her judgement and finds herself with prickles of blood on her fingertips and nights spent in front of her fireplace to figure out the proper loop making up the dragon’s neck.

And here she is now, carefully running her thumbs over the material, while waiting for her handmaiden to finish styling her hair.

The door opens and the Queen enters in one of her emerald gowns, her crown sparkling in the natural light filtering in Aesira’s solar. “I’ll take it from here, Belinda,” she directs her words to Aesira’s handmaiden.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda curtsies before smiling at Aesira. “My Lady.”

Aesira returns the smile. “Thank you for helping me with the dress, Belinda.”

The handmaiden's lips quiver in a more heartfelt beam. She is replaced by the Queen’s softer hands and brighter disposition. The woman gathers the entirety of her hair and runs her fingers through the waves, smiling at Aesira through the looking glass.

“I always love doing your hair,” the Queen wistfully states, “that and putting clips in Helaena’s.” She chuckles, never looking away from weaving her fingers through Aesira’s tresses; molten white-gold that is almost otherworldly, a piece of molten sunlight on earth. The Queen eyes the various accessories littering the vanity, most probably from Belinda laying everything out before trying a style that will match Aesira’s dress. It is a pale blue piece that is more tulle than anything, the sleeves draping down in a bell shape down to the girl’s elbows. The skin on her wrist is decorated by a couple of bracelets to make up for the lack of an entire sleeve. “Do you want something simple or an updo, little one?”

“I would very much prefer a simple style, Your Grace,” Aesira answers with a smile. “I want Aegon to have his day.”

The Queen squeezes her shoulders, a wordless sign of gratitude, before twisting and pulling out strands of hair from a section she parts. Aesira doesn’t even feel anything while the Queen does her task. The slightest bit of prodding she feels is from when a series of flower pins are inserted into her hair. It’s times like this that Aesira truly feels at ease, her eyelids drooping by the second. With her head slightly tilted down, she lets herself be enveloped by the Queen’s occasional humming.

“Do you like it, little one?” The Queen asks while putting on the finishing touches to her hair — a forehead circlet that falls gently on her skin. It is all she has. While the rest of the royal family bear their tiaras and crowns, Aesira is the only one in her siblings to have jewellery that mimics the diadems commissioned for the princesses and princes of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. The aquamarine gemstone is sparkling with every bit of regality Aesira has. Her hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, with some sections on her head shaped to become small roses, and in between every one of them are accessories that Uncle Viserys gave her — bundles of iridescent flowers in one. The Queen takes her silence as a positive reaction, her shoulders pulling back in pride. “You are a delightful sight, little one — one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the halls.” The woman can’t help herself; she places a small kiss on the crown of Aesira’s hair. Her eyes catch sight of the handkerchief in between a flustered Aesira’s hands. “Is that a present for Aegon?”

Aesira nods after collecting herself. Sometimes, she gets lost every time the Queen gives her affection. “It’s not much but I hope Aegon will like it.”

The Queen makes a noise in her throat that is awfully like a snort. “That boy loves everything involving you. I’d be surprised if he begs for a gift from you. Just your presence might be enough for him to last the entire name day celebrations the King arranged for him.”

“It’s my first time embroidering something this special, you see. There are mistakes like this one right here,” Aesira lifts the handkerchief so that the Queen can see the little tangle between three threads. “Hel helped me through some of the process so I pray to the Seven that he doesn’t see the parts I struggled with.” She looks up to meet the Queen’s pretty brown eyes (she loves looking at them; the shade is very different compared to the usual purples she sees every day from her brothers). “But I highly doubt that my presence is enough of a present for him when he’s always excited for his name day since I knew him. He’s particular with this specific name day compared to the others, though.”

“I think I know the reason why,” the Queen casually says, her head slightly tilting to the side to assess any stray strands in the girl’s hair.

Aesira moves to fully face the Queen, turning her body to do so. “I believe I don’t follow, Your Grace.” She is usually not privy to Aegon’s little secrets (or the secrets that he chooses to share with her) but his vibrating excitement to this name day doesn’t come into light whenever it’s just the two of them; even Aether doesn’t know about why their friend wants to enter into the double-digit number so badly and that’s saying something. The only person who knows about it is Helaena, which is a first. But the girl said Aegon didn’t tell her, with the boy supporting it by saying that the Princess was being weird again. She knew about it because once again, she dreamt it in her deepest slumbers — one of the rare moments where she doesn’t wake up screaming and crying. “He didn’t say anything to me or Aether.”

“You recall what the Septa said about finding eligible brides when you reach a certain age?”

Oh, so, it’s this moment. “Aegon is going to be dancing during the feast to find his potential betrothed. Septa Marlow briefly told us about it.” She remembers the meaningful, levelled look the Septa gave her while she was reciting the words as if they were ingrained in her brain with how many times she has repeated it through the years — Septa Marlow is older than any of her guardians at the moment. “She mentioned that maybe the King might push him to pick a fair maiden to be his first dance for the feast but it should be a calculated choice because the court would start spreading stories about it.”

The Queen appreciates her quick thinking by pinching her chin between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it side by side, and humming under her breath. “We all know who this fair maiden is — the budding Flower of the Realm.”

It was a title said with adoration inside the Keep, rivalling that of the Siren of the Vale who lured men to their deaths. But Aesira is not a lady who men would fight a war for nor is she a woman who will bring men to their knees to get a single drop of her beauty in their palms. The title she is given is not granted to her by male singers commissioned by the royal family to sing occasionally in the halls — it was carefully coined by Ladies who have found her company quite sublime. A little flower, not just because of her blossoming beauty but also because of the way she carries herself at her young age. One of the older Ladies, one Lady Tully, told her that she felt like a consolation to the drabness of the court, that when a certain Lady was feeling a range of emotions, she was there to say the perfect words to make them feel better. And very much like how the realm relied on flowers to convey their thoughts, Aesira does it perfectly, or so the other Ladies claim to the Queen in passing, which reaches her ears since the Queen loves sharing what the Ladies and Lords say about her wards. With the spreading songs, the people of King’s Landing are all excited to see the little Lady away from the castle and in their cobblestone streets; but that will come at a later time.

Aesira slowly traces random patterns on Aegon’s handkerchief with her thumbs. “Aegon is a close friend of mine — it would be an honour if he chooses me to dance with him at the opening feast. Though, I would appreciate it more if he doesn’t kiss my cheek in front of the entire court.”

Queen Alicent lets out a little laugh. “He still does it every time.”

“Yes, as a form of greeting, he says.”

“That sounds very much like our Aegon. I will tell him to aim his kiss at your hand instead.”

Aesira snorts, a very unladylike sound she only does around her family. “Like he will listen.”

“If I add your name to the instruction, he will. Your power over him is akin to territories bending the knee to a conqueror of a foreign land. I wonder how he will fare when he gets older.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles. “I do not wish to imagine it.”

“It is to your demise, little one. Your aversion to it is reasonable.” The air becomes wistful yet again. “It is rare in the realm to have a union built on love.” Aesira is already anticipating it. The court was already crafting the most bizarre theories since a year ago and as she believes, it will be inevitable and hard to avoid now that Aegon has reached ten name days old, which is older than most boys in the realm when they receive word of their first betrothals. “I will tell you this now, sweet flower, that the King is planning on betrothing you to Aegon, the idea was tickling his mind the moment Aegon showed you the flowers in the gardens nearly five years ago. This will not serve as a warning but it is a reminder that your life will possibly change like a snap of someone’s fingers, with your coming role as a Princess of the realm. Again, as someone who cares for you as a mother does, let me see you as my little one for a little while longer.”

Aesira stares into the looking glass. The weight of the forehead circlet is invisible as it is extravagant.

The Queen presses another kiss on Aesira’s head. “Let us go, little one — the people are waiting.”

For once in her life, Aesira has something to ponder that weighs an entire kingdom. In actuality, she doesn’t know what to feel about her possible betrothal to Aegon — she doesn’t particularly hate the thought nor does she appeal to it. At the end of the day, she’s still a child and she has so much she wants to do; finish her tutoring, be a Lady that can travel around the realm and to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea, and have her name remembered as someone true to herself — Aesira wants to be her mother. The late Lady Aellara Targaryen was someone who wore her kindness up her sleeve instead of her emotions. Aesira, to this day, still thinks that her mother might have been the Mother reincarnated and that her strength lies not just in her beauty but in her courageous kindness as well. The people of Dragonstone always seemed to brighten when her mother visited their streets, inquiring about the overall condition of the villages and offering a weekly feast in the main squares, all from the kitchens of the imposing castle in the distance. She was a beacon who shone for those who needed a spark of light in the dead of the night — Aesira wants to be like that to someone.

But then she remembers the person who robbed her mother of the life that could have been the salvation of others. Because it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? The very man who took her flying on Caraxes’s back when she was but a child of two name days. The man who promised his little princess that she would see bigger things and that he would always be there to protect her. He was also the same man who left her twin brother in Maegor’s tunnels. Will her impending marriage with Lord Something be as bad as the marriage shared by her parents? Will she be left on the birthing bed screaming and bloody while her husband flew to some parts of their home island? Will he leave their children behind when the Stranger tucks her last breath in the many last breaths they collected? 

The more Aesira immerses herself in this new life of hers—away from Dragonstone, away from where everything started—he never left.

Now, this fear of her future husband becoming like him starts forming in the pit of her stomach and she wishes she is born like her brothers, a child with a cock swinging between her legs.

Aesira just wishes Aegon won’t be like him.

The first thing she knows that something is wrong is when there is a lack of kisses on her cheek.

Aegon is dismayed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. His lip is quivering in a frown that makes his entire face into an expression of misery without even trying. The Queen is not that different. Both of them are sporting looks of varying distress, with an interlacing sign of anger in the Queen’s Despite his Targaryen colouring, Aegon looks like his mother through and through — the wide eyes that seem to be a mirror of their soul, the jut in their bottom lip when things get frustrated, the jitters in their fingers that urge them to pick on their skin. With that, she places her hand around his to prevent him from damaging his fingers any further. And while the tourney is shedding blood on the grounds below, Aesira is setting her eyes on the boy beside her, both of them not paying attention to the knights roaring their glee after winning another bout.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Egg?”

There is a slight squeeze enveloping her hand.

“What is wrong?” She tries asking again. Where is his excitement? Who dares douse it? It is one thing to be slightly perturbed by his secretive giggles before the celebrations but it is another matter altogether to be worried about what might have silenced it. Her voice is almost a whisper that only they can hear. She does it to not catch her brother’s attention since Aegon looks like he’s about to cry any moment now. Besides, Aether is vibrating in his seat after another round of Ser Criston pulverising his opponent. “Aegon, will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He doesn’t get to answer because the King rises from his seat at the top of their descending balcony to announce, “Gentle people of King’s Landing and those who have journeyed far and wide to be able to experience the revels we have prepared, I have news that I am most happy to share.” He pauses until he makes sure there are no rounds ongoing below and that the nobles of different colours hold out their ears to listen to what he has to say.

Aesira looks over her shoulder to watch the old King as he takes his time enunciating his words over the large tourney court. Everybody bates their breath in anticipation of his next statement. Aesira only turns away from him when Aegon once again squeezes her hand with his. She can’t help but cup her free hand over the one she is holding, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He glances at her from the corners of his eyes, his gratitude forming in a tiny smirk pulling on his lips. He’s about to lean his head on hers, one of the many gestures Aesira receives from Aegon, when the King continues his little speech.

“House Targaryen and dragons have always been set in stone for so many centuries. And today I am proud to say that my grandson, little Jacaerys Velaryon, is a dragonrider! The first Targaryen to have his dragon egg hatch in the Keep after our very own Realm’s Delight many years ago! Let’s be merry for another purpose to enjoy the grand festivities!”

Foolish, foolish King.

The entire arena cheers. The night will be merry indeed; for King Viserys loves nothing more than throwing flamboyant parties and honouring his Heir and her spawns. The only ones who seem to have wilted at the announcement are the Queen and her family. Trueborn Targaryens from the Queen and after ten years, not one of their dragon eggs hatched, with the hurt being carried by her the most. And now this humiliation. After exchanging a concerned glance with her twin brother, Aesira happens to catch Rhaenyra at the worst moment possible. Arrogance and smugness ooze off of her like she is born with a crown on her head. Princess Rhaenyra is the only one with her back straight on the balcony and the only one who has a smile on her face like a radiant beam of sunlight in between thick thunderclouds. Aesira knows that Rhaenyra holds a years-long dispute with the Queen and nothing has been more clear to her than this specific one.

Rhaenyra in black and Aunt Alicent in green.

Rhaenyra in the light and Aunt Alicent always in her shadow.

Rhaenyra the mother of a brown-haired dragonrider and Aunt Alicent with silver-haired dragonless children.

But the one who matters the most is holding back tears gripping her hand like it’s his lifeline.

The firewood inside her chest fuels the fire that’s been put out. Aesira feels her aunt’s shame, her younger cousins’ sorrow, and Aegon’s need to be small. What should be a day for Aegon is a day for someone else instead. She has never felt this anger since the day Aether was found wailing and muddied. She doesn’t realise she has been staring at Rhaenyra and her husband long enough for the older woman to meet her eyes. The surprise on the Heir’s face is apparent, seeing so much emotion and at the same time nothing on her younger cousin. Aesira simply stares and stares, letting Rhaenyra feel the consequences of her actions, for choosing the most inopportune moment to tell the King that Jacaerys’s egg just hatched. Because who does that on someone's name day? It is until Rhaenyra looks away with no hint of remorse for her half-brother, her chin higher in the air with an elegance expected of a Princess, that Aesira sees her in a completely different light.

“Sira,” Aegon finally speaks.

She loses her glare and tilts her head to face Aegon’s lowered one. “Do you want me to call for a maidservant to bring you dark chocolate cake?”

Aegon shakes his head. “Thank you for sitting next to me.”

Before the tourney started, Aegon fought with Aether to have Aesira next to him. On the usual tourneys in King’s Landing, Aesira is seen between her brothers with Aegon next to his siblings but on this specific one, he wanted Aesira beside him. She told her twin brother that this is one of her many gifts for Aegon, which the Prince received only with a small smile on his face — very uncharacteristic of him.

She pulls their hands until they rest on her lap. “Helaena said you will ride a dragon made from the hands of the sun.” He is about to pull his hand away from her but she holds them tighter, which finally makes Aegon look at her. She can feel his eyes even when she’s not looking at him — always. “If you don’t believe it because it came from Helaena, believe it because I’m the one who told you instead.”

“Helaena says the weirdest things sometimes.”

Aesira mindlessly wrote phrases on the back of Aegon’s hand, never noticing the boy’s cheeks reddening at the sensation. “She dreamt of you riding this dragon. You know how I hold Helaena’s words in high regard, Egg.”

Aegon pouts. “I know, Sira.”

“Say, Aegon.”

“Hmm?”

The lilac in her eyes bloom into brilliant gems, Aegon reflected on her pupils. “How about we have a little adventure to the Dragonpit after the tourney? I think it’s about time you officially meet Starfell.”

Starfell is a sight for the most oneiric of dreams.

A lithe body that brings the illusion of a clear spring of water; sharp, slitted eyes bearing the night sky with little pinpricks in the iris that were like charted constellations; ice blue membranes lining up the underside of her white wings; those who have seen her claim to have seen the legendary phenomenon of a fallen star coming to kiss the ground. From the moment the dragonkeepers saw her being guided to the Dragonpit (it was quite the struggle since the little she-dragon barred ferocious bites to those hands who dared to wrap chains around her body in an attempt to detain her), they instantly knew that this specific creature came from the same clutch of eggs Dreamfyre laid all those years ago — Achilles, Aether’s dragon, as well.

Aegon holds his breath when this majestic beast lowers her neck to assess the newcomer her bonded walks in with. He can’t help but flinch at the trills coming from the creature’s long throat. Panic sets in as Aesira leaves his side to walk toward Starfell. “Sira—” His breath catches in his throat at the smile directed at him over her shoulder, the hand reaching for her in the air lowering until they drop to his side. It hurts seeing that the serene smile on her face comes from the one thing he wants the most — a dragon. He feels the envy creeping into his chest, entangling with his veins, while he watches Aesira laugh at every nudge her dragon gives her. Speaking of the dragon, Starfell once again regards him in chilling eyes that sparkle in the dim light of the Dragonpit.

“Lykirī, ñuha gevie riña. Lykirī. Nyke māzigon lēda iā raqiros. Zȳhon brōzi iksis aegon.” (Be calm, my beautiful girl. Be calm. I came with a friend. His name is Aegon.)

Her voice sounds like water, flowing around him in every syllable the Valyrian language has. It sounds prettier than the songs he’s heard from the court bards. It’s a beautiful language as said by Father and by the Maesters he has learned his history from but this is the first time someone has said words coated with such care that it doesn’t sound foreign from the usual common tongue at all. Maybe this is what Aesira has been muttering a lot lately, with him catching her in the library during his daily expeditions around the Keep. He doesn’t understand any word of it, except for one word — lykirī (a dragon command he’s learned while waiting for his dragon egg to hatch), but it doesn’t grate his ears as he expects it to with the way someone should pronounce it.

Aegon doesn’t mind listening to her talk like this all day. 

“W-What did you say?” he asks, still standing in the spot she’s left him on like a lost child. “I’ve only understood one term.”

With her hand still on Starfell’s snout, Aesira giggles under her breath before beckoning Aegon closer to her. “I introduced you to her, Aegon. Come on, take one step at a time. I’m here to placate her if the situation requires it.”

Aegon gives the dragonkeeper stationed to accompany the two of them a glance. The old man nods his head in encouragement, a deep bow that has his chin touching the top of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Aegon follows Aesira’s instructions and takes one step at a time, gauging the dragon’s reactions at every pad of his shoe-clad feet on the ground. The pretty creature doesn’t move an inch from her perch yet her eyes track down his movements. A surge of confidence brings him to make determined steps until he’s found himself beside Aesira, inches away from the opalescent scales of glacial blue. Starfell is even more beautiful up close — a dragon fit for the prettiest girl in all the realm. Aegon cranes his neck to look at Starfell in awe, slightly jumping when a smaller hand covers one of his, directing him to feel the scales underneath his palm.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder because Aesira is so close to him that he can deeply register the scent of expensive lavender oils on her hair and a hint of citrus on her neck. Each individual eyelash covering her eyes acts like little butterfly wings every time she blinks. There is a little constellation of freckles dotting her nose. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural shade of enjoyment brought by the elation of meeting her dragon after a while. Aegon has never seen these features of hers up close since he closes his eyes when he gives her his greetings (cheek kisses). He gets the sudden urge to place a gentle kiss on her plump cheek, right on the apples rising from her never-dimming smile. Aegon slowly leans down, his eyes open this time.

The lilacs she has for her eyes flicker from her dragon to him. He stops at the last second. They’re closer this time. His heart is racing and pounding as if he has run from the Keep to the Dragonpit. He can hear every thump made against the walls of his chest. Can Aesira hear it, too? 

“Egg, Starfell. Starfell, Egg.”

He wears the warmth on his cheek while looking up at the dragon, who lowers her head right in front of him. A couple of wavy locks are pulled toward Starfell, with the dragon inhaling his scent. Aegon says without looking away from Starfell, “How do I say hello in Valyrian?”

“Rytsas.”

Aegon nods. “Rytsas, Starfell.”

Starfell responds through a series of clicking sounds that are very much like the chirping of birds at dawn. 

Laughter dipped in gaiety makes his torso shake. Aegon’s eyes are like the sun, feeling the thrill of having a dragon not bare its teeth at him like every warning he’s received if he’s planning on walking to the Dragonpit with one goal in mind. “She likes me, Sira!” He cheers.

Aesira’s voice contains bewilderment. “That she does.”

He looks back at her, only to find her staring at Starfell with a confused scrunch on her eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

She now narrows her eyes at Starfell. “That is because I am. Did you know that Starfell made it her personal mission to snap at anyone when she first came to King’s Landing?” He fixes her with a questioning look. Aesira answers him by squeezing the hand she’s covering on Starfell’s scales. Once again, he can’t look away from her when pensiveness paints her as if she is a subject in the most important painting in the Keep’s atelier. “She’s always so protective of me back in Dragonstone. We weren’t that much apart when me and my brothers were there, Achilles and Ajax are the same with them. When news of us being warded in King’s Landing by Uncle Viserys, she felt my melancholy that she threatened everyone who took a single step to take her from me; you should’ve seen the way she spread her wings, Egg.” He stiffens at the feeling of her leaning her head on his shoulder. This is uncharted waters. What should he do? Be still, you idiot, says the voice in his head that awfully sounds like a mix of Aether and Aemond. “Ever since she’s in the Dragonpit, she has developed a dislike for any dragonkeeper trying to chain her. She’s probably the freest dragon in here.”

“That’s,” Aegon gulps at the proximity, the scent purely associated with her covering his entire senses, “wonderful. Starfell sounds like she loves you very much.”

Aesira snorts before covering her mouth.

Aegon loses the tension in his shoulder to laugh. “Was that a snort I just heard?”

She looks away from him. “No, you must have heard it wrong. I was merely clearing my throat.”

He grins at her. “Where did my fair maiden go? Who is this imposter with me right now?”

“You’re testing me, Egg.”

Aegon shrugs now that her head isn’t leaning on his shoulder. He can breathe easier now. “I have to say; it sounds adorable. You should lose all your Lady regalia when you’re with me, princess.”

Aesira nudges him with her elbow, making him grunt at the force. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why can’t I when you look like that?” He nods his head to all the accessories still in her hair, especially the forehead circlet that matches his eyes (he likes to think it does match his eyes even when it’s a few shades off). “You even dressed the part.” He chooses to never voice out that he will make her his princess, fearing that voice in his head that sounds like both of his nightmares combined and also her pushing him to the ground. “But truthfully?” Aesira sends him a disbelieving expression. A natural smile tugs on his lips, reaching his eyes in childlike merriment. “You look beautiful, Sira.” His smile grows when Aesira’s eyes widen, her cheeks glowing in a pretty shade of carnation. Maybe he’ll give her a carnation bouquet from the gardens. Though he’ll have to be sly to evade the gardeners who poured their heart out to make the gardens the way it is.

“And will you stop looking at me like that?!”

Aegon sputters, forgetting that they are still in front of Starfell. He takes both of his hands to cover his face from Aesira’s onslaught of painless smacks. “What? I said I speak the truth.” Her face gains another shade of red, probably rose, and Aegon’s grin gets wider. He reaches a hand to pinch her warm cheek, cooing at how soft it is in between his fingers. “Don’t be mad at me, Princess Aesira.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles but it comes out as something warbled from the way Aegon keeps pinching her cheek. “And here I was, thinking of inviting you to ride with me on Starfell once she’s alright to saddle two.”

Every single time spent with Aesira is filled with genuine laughter that Aegon doesn’t realise the time has flown so high over their heads. Starfell has been permitted by the dragonkeepers to roam around the neighbouring islands for her next meal, something that only the she-dragon and her fellow brothers have, which would be the reason behind her larger size for a dragon of nine name days. With Aesira’s hand firmly in his, Aegon wonders if his dragon grows to reach the size of Starfell or Achilles, Aether’s dragon who he saw for brief moments before he took off to the skies to follow his sister. Ser Arryk Cargyll (or is it Erryk) stands tall at the entrance of the Dragonpit, waiting for the two little children so that he can safely escort them back to the Keep.

But then he hears a call — a song pulling him in.

Aegon stops in his tracks, turning to the tunnels underground making up the Dragonpit. For the first time in his short life, he feels a strong sense of purpose — he has to follow where this call will lead him. Never hearing the shouts for his name and the distressed shouts of the Kingsguard sent to fetch them, Aegon runs down to the Dragonpit, letting this song guide him through the tunnels. Left. Right. Straight ahead. There is no light in here, only darkness stretching on for miles on end, almost swallowing him whole with nothing left to salvage. He doesn’t know how much time he’s spent avoiding steep stairs or sleeping dragons but he knows he’s near to the source of the lonely yet beautiful song. Behind him, he can faintly hear the clunking of armour. Ser Cargyll definitely followed him down here. He pays it no mind and focuses on the increasing volume echoing across the walls of the Dragonpit; it’s a surprise that no dragons have heard the call, the hall is silent except for this song. Aegon’s run becomes a slow walk, his head so wrapped up in this amalgamation of notes that has him in a trance, having no care for the safety of his person until he meets the singer. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, eyelids fluttering in trepidation. Whatever is residing a few paces in front of him will be the singer of the ballad pulling on every fibre of his reasoning. It’s becoming louder and louder. 

Gold is the only thing he can see in this darkness.

Aegon releases a shaky breath. “Rytsas.”

The golden raises itself from his position and nears his face to Aegon’s. For some reason, Aegon feels safe. When he tilts his head, the dragon follows suit. A small laugh tickles his chest, “Who are you?” He mutters under his breath. As if the dragon understands him, a large snout is nudged on Aegon’s torso, reminiscent of how Aesira does when he teases her. The dragon now fully stands from lying down and walks with pounding footsteps toward him. Underneath all the gold, there are pink membranes lining his wings. Aegon’s breath is taken away from him. “What do you want me to do?” Common tongue is all he can utter, taking note to himself to ask Aesira to read Valyrian texts to him in addition to all the tutoring and training. The dragon lowers himself in front of Aegon. “What?” 

The dragon makes a clicking noise in his throat, shaking his head a little and flapping his wide wings around.

“D-Do you want me to climb on your back?” Aegon looks around. “But there are no saddles around here.” Another set of clicking sounds. “Alright, alright. Just let me,” he grunts, carefully choosing scaffolds in between the dragon’s wings. He balances himself with both arms spread out on either side of him until he finds himself sitting on the most comfortable area on the dragon’s back, a juncture between his torso and neck. The feeling of powerful muscles underneath him sends a shudder down his spine. Magic thrums with each breath the dragon makes and Aegon thinks that maybe his blood is responding to the ancient ichor running down the large beast’s veins. The moment he is on the dragon’s back, it feels like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria are tying together a string that’s stronger than the pillars holding the Keep together. It sets his entire body on a height of confidence, his posture losing that residue of melancholy that followed him from the tourney. Aegon looks down at the unnamed creature. “Now what?”

The Dragonpit’s walls pass by him in a blur, the dragon’s claws propelling him to run. Aegon doesn’t register that the screams following them are his own. 

“Sunfyre! Dohaerās, lykirī!”

Dragonkeepers keep shouting commands at the dragon but the magnificent beast with gold for his scales bypasses them to the open doors of the giant Dragonpit. Tucking his wings close to his body, Sunfyre twirls his body before opening his gigantic wings again, letting the wind take him higher over King’s Landing.

He opens his eyes and the world is in the palms of his hands. The ocean has never felt this vast and all-consuming. The skies have never felt this near to his fingertips. He keeps clinging onto the dragon’s back and he swears he will never let this moment go. He’s sure that the smallfolk of King’s Landing open their doors to see the new shadow covering their streets, baffled at the intricate colouring his dragon possesses (they’re pointing and gaping with their hands over their mouths), and that they can hear him scream out in pure, unadulterated joy.

The golden Sunfyre has been claimed and it only means one thing.

Aegon Targaryen is a dragonrider — a trueborn Targaryen with magic in his bones and divinity in the threads of his hair.

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[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty-two.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 2981

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Apple Kisses

“P-Perhaps we should talk,” Lucien said quietly, leaning back against the tree. You glanced up at him, hoping.

“Not here,” you said softly. He glanced back down to Tamlin, and nodded in confirmation, holding his hand out to you as he winnowed you away from the party, and away from Tamlin’s watchful eye. You found that you were instead in his room, now on your feet, still smelling of fresh flowers and crisp spring mornings. You glanced around the room; the one and only time you had been in there before, it had been dark, and mostly had been out of sight and hidden in shadows, but you were now able to see it properly. The walls were a rich hue of sunset orange, and the sheets of the four-poster bed were a bright red. A table was pushed into the corner that held weapons of all varieties, sharp and glinting. There was a dark under the window that looked out onto the South grounds, and through it you could still see the bunting and maypole from the party in the distance. There was that mirror leaning against the wall, the frame a glorious brass that reminded you of the mask he had once been forced to wear. Everything was a dazzling shade of autumn, and you couldn’t help but feel homey there. Your own room was light and breezy and airy, pastel colours and light woods, but this room was cosy and warm. Like listening to rain patter against the window as you warm yourself on the fire. Like Lucien.

You saw him behind you, in the reflection of the mirror as you once had before, open his mouth as if to say something and then close it again. You turned slowly to face him, blinking up at him expectantly, but you didn’t say anything; you would let him speak first. He groaned and pulled at the roots of his hair in frustration, before finally asking the question that you suspected he had wanted to know the answer to for a long time. “Why did you sleep with Rhysand?”

You swallowed your dry throat. “Because I was lonely.”

“So you slept with the enemy?” He asked, and you wined.

“He may be your enemy, but he has never been mine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady and calm. “He has helped me more times than I can count-”

“And I haven’t?” He blurted, and you froze, staring up into those eyes of his, mismatched but gleaming all the same, with anger, with pain, and if you weren’t mistaken, with jealousy. “Have I not been there every time you have needed someone?”

“B-But you rejected me,” you said quietly. “I needed someone then, and you weren’t there.”

“So you chose Rhysand.” He spat the name as if it was poisoned.

“He was there, and he was just as lonely as I was,” you stuttered. “And you didn’t want me.”

“Want you?” He asked incredulously, whirling around to look at you, taking a step toward you, hands clenched at his sides. “Of course I want you! Cauldron boil me, you’re the only thing I want! I can’t sleep without seeing your face, I fear I’ll go mad whenever you’re not with me, I forget how to breathe when you walk into a room! I’d give you anything you ever asked me for - I’d give you a beam of sunlight or the moon on a string, just to see you smile! You’re all I want!”

The breath hitched in your throat, your hands becoming clammy as you stared up at him, at his feral gaze on you. “You said you just wanted some fun,” he continued, voice quieter now, eyes drooping slightly. “And I couldn’t be just that for you.”

“I lied,” you huffed out as though it should have been obvious. “I just want…I just want you, in a way that you will give me. But I cannot come second to someone else, someone who is probably beautiful and ethereal and worthy of you. What am I, after all, if not just a whore?”

He looked as if he wanted to reach out and touch you, but thought better of it. “You,” he whispered. “Are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

You scoffed, turning away from him and sniffling back the tears that were threatening to spill. “And yet, you still have Jesminda, and I will always be nothing to you.”

“Jesminda is dead.”

The words hung in the air, almost echoing through the silence as he turned to you fully then. “My father had her killed when he found out we were…together,” he explained quietly. “All because she wasn’t High Fae, because she wasn’t faerie nobility, so that meant that she was less than him. Less than me. She wasn’t. She was perfect.”

You opened your mouth as if to speak, but no word came out. You were stunned. Jesminda was dead. Lucien did not have a lover that he had kept from you, and you had punished him for it. The guilt rose up through you like a wave, pulling at every vessel, every bone and muscle in your body. You had punished him for mourning someone that he had loved and cherished, and that had been ripped away from him. Perhaps you were a monster after all.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?” He asked, taking a step toward you finally, closing the gap between you and letting his hands fall to your elbows. “I made peace with Jesmina’s loss a long time ago, but I have never found it in myself to forgive him, or my brothers who stood by and let it happen, who made me watch.”

You swallowed again, heart beating faster than was likely healthy. He had seen it happen, had watched as she had been killed. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense, to fall into place. No wonder Helion hadn’t wanted to tell you. No wonder Lucien had rejected you.

“They killed Jesminda - murdered her - because of her bloodline,” he whispered, barely able to meet your eye. “What do you think would happen if they found out about you? Someone who used to be mortal? If they found out that you are the most important person I have ever met? I could never put you in that situation. It’s too dangerous.”

The most important person he had ever met. A shiver slithered itself up your spine.

His hand slid down your arms to grab your own, running his thumbs over your knuckles; his skin was warm and soft, despite the roughness of his fingertips, and they left goosebumps in their wake that washed over your skin and tingled under the surface, like little sparks left by his each and every touch.

“I can’t go through that again,” he almost whimpered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “Because I need you to be safe. You’re the only reason this stubborn heart is still beating. But how could I, in good conscience, let you be put in that position, always wondering if you have a target on your back?”

“Do you think they would come after me?” You asked, letting your hands trail up his strong forearms, brushing over the auburn hair there. You closed your eyes and breathed him in, slowly and with intent; you wanted to smell every morsel of his scent.

“I think they would try,” he sighed. “Anything to add another nail into my coffin.”

Your bottom lip trembled as you tore your hand away from his and reached up, cupping his face. “I do not care about your family, Lucien,” you said softly, running the pad of your thumb over the bumps of his scar. His eyelids fluttered closed at the action and he shuddered, leaning into your touch. “I would face them, and one thousand other enemies - I would go through everything again, all of the fear, and the pain and the hurt we experienced Under that Mountain - if it meant that I could be with you, by your side. You are worth one hundred targets on my back.”

His shoulder shook slightly, and you wondered how long it had been since anyone had told him he was worth something like that. When he looked back at you, you couldn’t miss the tears glinting in his eyes as he reached up and tucked a curl of your hair behind your ear, fingers brushing warm against your cheek. “But I cannot protect you from them, I don’t know how. I cannot lose you-”

“You will not lose me,” you said softly, planting a gentle finger against his lips. “And you do not need to protect me. Whatever comes our way, we will face it together, as we always have. No more pushing me away.”

“You would really risk it? For me?” He asked slowly, cupping your face with his warm palm, and your heart almost shattered. “I cannot ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me,” I smiled. “I’m telling you. For you, I would do anything.”

And that was the truth.

Even if you knew every word in every language ever spoken you would still have been unable to describe the smile that pulled at his sharp yet delicate features in that moment. His thumbs caressed your cheeks a moment longer, and then he was leaning in, and his lips were on mine, and you were finally tasting him. To your surprise, it was not only apple that you tasted on his lips as you had expected, but also warm honey, and sweet tea, and pumpkin like the soup that you had eaten the day that you were freed, and those subtle spices that felt so much like home.

His lips moved over yours with such tenderness, such love. When he finally pulled away, tears were glinting on his cheeks, and you knew that your own were falling from your eyes too. Because you had waited so long, and he was finally here, looking at you with such adoration, such love. He pulled you closer again, lips on yours, arms wrapping tightly around you, pressing you close to him. His hands ran up and down your spine, along your arms, and yours wrapped around his neck, curling into the locks of his long hair. It grew more passionate, more longing, so many things that had gone unsaid being aired in that kiss, until he eventually pulled away, panting and with flushed cheeks. He still held you close, and planted a gentle kiss to your hairline.

“If we don’t stop now then I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself,” he whispered against your hair.

“Then don’t stop,” you chuckled into his chest. You felt his shoulders shake as he laughed, pulling away from you and letting his hand fall to wrap around yours.

“There’s a whole party waiting for us, and I don’t think Tamlin would like to think that we had disappeared someone together in secret,” he chuckled.

“Ah, yes we’ll have to sort that out too,” you huffed. He squeezed your hand, once, twice, three times.

“Later,” he said softly, smiling. “Come on, we suddenly have something real to celebrate.”

The party was still raging when the pair of you returned, although everyone seemed much more drunk and a lot merrier as you wandered over the peak of the hill and down into the meadow, Lucien’s arm wrapped around your shoulder. You let him lead you down into the festivities, past the dancers who called for you to join, and past the drunken sentinels that lounged in the grass. He led you first to the refreshments table, muttering something about needing wine.

The table was laden with various foods, platters piled high with special festival delicacies that you didn’t recognise. Lucien began piling a plate high for you, and when he was finished, he handed it over with a smug grin. You picked at a cake - sweet and airy - and tried a pastry roll that somehow tasted even better than the cake. It was then that you found a small tart hidden beneath, a pastry bottom filled with a stark purple berry jam, and a pastry flower on the top.

“What’s this?” You asked, not recognising the type of berry. It certainly didn’t look that blueberry or blackberry. Lucien looked up from where he was pouring wine for the both of you and smiled.

“Just try it,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him and bit your lip, but eventually shrugged and took a large bite. It was tarte and bitter, yet sugary and syrupy, rich and light and just lovely. You dipped your head back, and groaned in appreciation, and Lucien simply chuckled. “That’s witchberry tart,” he explained with a smirk. “Best berries in Prythian, and they’ll make you feel better than even faerie wine. Like it?”

“Mm, delicious,” you mumbled through your full mouth. He laughed again, and you watched as he grabbed another plate and piled four more tarts on it. A moment later a glass of faerie wine was thrust into your hand, and Lucien’s arm was slid around your shoulders once more. Alis was right about the faerie wine, richer and sweeter than any wine you had ever tasted. He led you over to where the sentinels were sitting, and you found that every footstep you took felt lighter, as if you were floating on a cloud with only Lucien’s arm around you to ground you.

“That would be the witchberry,” Lucien chuckled as you beamed dreamily up at him. He helped you sit down with the sentinels, and Silas was quick to join you, leaning back on his arm and stretching his legs out. You ate and drank and ate and drank, and Lucien whispered sweet nothings into your hair and held your hand tightly, his other arm leaned just behind you protectively.

“Lucien,” Silas said eventually, glancing over at you and the emissary. “How did you enjoy that sandwich today?”

Lucien frowned, cocking his head as he narrowed his eyes at the sentinel. You could hear the laughter of the other sentinels and guards from behind you. “What did you do to it?”

“Well,” Silas said, trying to hide a chuckle. “You didn’t look much in a party mood this morning, so me and the boys thought we’d amend that.”

“What did you put in the sandwich, Silas?” Lucien asked firmly, although you could hear the humour in his voice.

“Carline Mushrooms,” Silas finally said, and burst into a howl of laughter. There was a flash of something over Lucien’s features, understanding perhaps, but then his features contorted in feigned anger, and he grabbed one of the witchberry tarts, and with perfect aim, tossed it through the air and hit Silas directly in the forehead. That only made the sentinels laugh more, and you and Lucien couldn’t help but join in.

A few glasses of faerie wine later and you were certainly feeling it, even when Lucien rose to his feet and offered you his hand, the other tucked behind his back as he bowed low and said, “Would the lady care to dance?”

You could do naught but giggle and take his hand, letting him pull you from the ground and lead you to the maypole. The ribbons had already been done early that morning, but that didn’t stop the faeries from dancing, twirling and whirling around the maypole, laughing gleefully. Lucien came to a stop, glancing over his shoulder, likely checking for any sign of Tamlin, but your brother was nowhere in sight, likely gone off somewhere with Feyre, and so Lucien placed his hand gently on your waist and the other wrapped around your own hand. He held you close, and as the song began to crescendo, he began to move. You were wavy and hazy from the wine and witchberries, and you didn’t know the steps to the dance, but Lucien guided you in the movements, holding you close. 

He spun you in circles as you laughed and danced and jumped and sang with the other faeries. Your hair was flying around your faces, your own mingling with his red locks, just like Autumn. Lucien kept his hand on your waist, and a smile brighter than even the Spring sun above you was planted firmly on his lips.

You danced and danced, the sweat dripping down your necks and backs, and didn’t stop until you had grown so dizzy that you could barely stand, until you had laughed so hard that your lungs hurt, until most of the other party guests had already returned home, and the sun had set, the night sky blanketing over the Spring Court.

He led you up that hill to the very top and pulled you down to the grass, wrapped an arm around you and pulled your head onto his chest, letting out a satisfied sigh as you listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart.

“Lucien,” you whispered, and he hummed in response, although neither of you looked away from the stars that glimmered in the sky above you. “I’m very glad that I met you.”

He chuckled, reaching down and grasping your chin in his fingers to bring you up to look at him. He leaned in and brushed his lips against yours, kissing you under those twinkling stars, sweet and long and soft and passionate. “Me too.”

He walked you back to the manor not long after that and he walked you to your room, kissing you again in the doorway, and not arguing when you dragged him inside and pulled the door shut behind him. You curled up in his arms, cuddled against his warm chest, and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly at peace.

[nonbinaryeye]

Regrets we make along the way

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 4 - Regrets

Elias always brings one too many philosophical questions into their conversation. Peter to his own surprise sometimes does not completely hate talking to his fiancé. They also both have a cup of coffee.

Read on AO3

...

It is a lovely autumn afternoon in London. Sun is shining through colourful leaves that are slowly exchanging fresh summer green into warmer coulours. It is not fully cold yet and the nice weather is tempting people into leaving their jackets at home. Chilly breeze that appears out of nowhere from time to time makes those who give into temptation regret it.

There are two men sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. One is a bit taller with an untidy beard while the other looks like a model from some magazine cover. Maybe they might look a bit like an unlikely pair but one thing is certain. They are in love, there is no doubt about it. They stare into each dreamily, the smaller one says something to which the taller one laughs at and then he caresses the face of his lover before he pulls him into a slow and romantic kiss. What a lovely picture their young love paints, some people walking by them might think.

There is also an older man sitting alone just two benches away from them with a frown on his face. He has an awkward presence about himself and is dressed in a much warmer coat than the pleasant autumn weather would require. As if he were dressed to battle a cold morning at sea and not a sunny London afternoon. He has been staring at their vague direction for a while. Somehow, they did not notice his focused stare. Even people walking by him seem to pass him without notice, quickly making their way around without giving him a second look. Most of the people at least…

“Feeling all Lonely, admiring young love and dedicated partnership or looking for a new victim?” Elias Bouchard, a well dressed gentleman with a never fully genuine smile on his face sits on the bench next to the frowning man, Peter Lukas, and also looks at the young couple nearby. He seems to be in quite a cheerful mood which means his comapny will be quite insufferable. Not that Elias could ever have a mood that Peter would not describe as insufferable.

“You are late,” Peter says to his partner instead of a greeting. He has not checked the time but he knows that Elias must be late because he arrived as always – with half an hour delay. Unfortunately, his husband seemed to be prepared for it. No, not husband, fiancé. Probably. It is hard to keep track. But Peter is quite certain he has been talking a lot about their next wedding yesterday. Not even in any vague terms, he spent a lot of time comparing fonts to put on the invitations and colours of ribbons to tie wedding bouquets with.

“Stop staring, Peter, or they will think you are homophobic.”

“They cannot see me,” Peter shrugs. What a weird weather phenomena that on such a sunny day there appears to be a spot of fog in the middle of Hyde Park.

“I could have either been on time or I could bring you coffee,” Elias hands Peter his vanilla frappuccino with extra syrup and Peter hates how well his partner knows his order. “I planned to arrive on time. I usually do, as you of course cannot fully know and appreciate, as you apparently still haven’t fully grasped the concept of time or being on time. Anyway the waiting line there was awful. People and their complicated orders… Well, it could have been worse though, the line was even longer when I was leaving.” Elias takes a sip of coffee from his large cup filled to a brim with espresso shots. Peter wonders if he only pretends lack of awareness of being the culprit of holding the line or if he genuinely does not consider his order a bit unconventional. Of course Peter cannot be bothered to actually ask.

“Hmh…” he turns his sight towards his cup knowing very well that his husband-to-be does not really need him for a conversation.

 “They are not actually as happy as they seem. Quite the opposite.” Peter raises his head confused. It takes him a few seconds to realise Elias’ ever wandering mind and gaze that never stops watching has turnt back again to the couple from before.

“It would please me not to know anything about them the most.” Peter might have better chances at persuading the water to stop being wet than at persuading his partner to stop Knowing and sharing said knowledge when he puts his mind to it.

“You see the handsome one cuddling so lovingly to his amore? He was fired yesterday. And he was always bad with money so he does not really have much in savings. He will need quite some financial help from his partner. He is still trying to muster up courage to tell him that… I wonder what his lover’s answer will be. You see he’s been cheating on his boyfriend for a while and the guilt is eating him up. He wanted to stop the affair but his side piece started to threaten to expose the truth to everyone if he stopped seeing them. So, really they could not be further for an idyllic couple in love. Maybe you would even lift some ease from their shoulders if you made one of them disappear,” Elias smiles with satisfaction one tends to have after a filling meal and lifts the coffee to his lips again.

Peter sighs. All interest he had in strangers in love is lost now. There is no satisfaction now feeding them to the Forsaken when he knows so much about them. Tearing his eyes away he aims all his focus on his drink sweet enough to pierce the numbness of Lonely wrapped about his tastebuds as much as around every other aspect of him. Little indulgence.

They sit next to each other in silence for a while. Their meeting really has no deeper point. A date his partner demanded before Peter leaves. He cannot even recall if Elias won some bet or if Peter decided to agree to this just because. It does not really matter now anyway. Just finish the coffee and leave, that is his plan. When Peter dares to look into the direction of his companion he notices his eyes are closed. Something must have caught his attention, something far away to watch. Peter is blessed with a few minutes of peace where he could almost ignore his presence if it was not for the warmth of another person's body so close to him, he could almost call this moment pleasant.

“What do you regret the most in life?” Elias asks him out of the blue. Unprompted. It could not surprise Peter any less. He likes to get philosophical sometimes and he never bothers to explain where his new chain of thoughts came from. Which is good. Peter would hate to know.

“That I met you.”

Elias laughs. “You know, I think I might actually trust you.” Of course, that he would. Elias does not care whether Peter loves him or hates him. He just wants Peter to feel strongly about him. It is a satisfaction Peter hates giving him. And the worst thing is that even though Peter answered the first thing that came to his mind in hopes of annoying Elias, it might really rather be an honest answer.

What could be worse for a servant of the Lonely than to create a connection, no matter how fickle and shallow it is. That is why he hates reflecting on his life. He hates learning things about himself almost as much as he hates getting known. He furrows his brows and takes a rather large sip of his drink. Syrup and ice and whipped cream all slide to his throat without being tasted properly.

“I suppose there is no point waiting for you to ask ‘and what is your greatest regret?’, is there?” He does not need to look at Elias to know he looks smug right now. He loves annoying him.

“My second biggest regret is that this conversation seems to be continuing.”

“What do you think that I will claim to regret the most?” Despite all his flaws, Peter cannot help himself but finds the way Elias is able to completely and utterly ignore him quite lovely. He does not really need him to participate in the conversation. No one was able to do it like him… Peter is just a prob to him. He is allowed to say his lines but if he stayed silent nothing would change. Elias can converse all the same  with him as with that silly skull of his. (And claim it is a better conversational partner.)

“I do my best not to know anything about you. How should I know?”

“You are no fun. Just take a guess.”

“If you are feeling romantic, you might say ‘marrying me’.” Peter decides to indulge him. This conversation might be over quicker that way.

“Depends which marriage you mean,” smirk appears on his face. Peter is joking of course. He very well knows Elias enjoys their little game of domesticity and connection. Peter suppose there is some charm to it as well. Because it is all so empty and fake.

“So… how long do you plan to torture me…?”

“You cannot even be bothered to guess twice?” he sighs dramatically and Peter braces himself for his next physical monologue, because of course he will force him to listen to his self-reflection and he will also add some story from his past and… “Well, what can be done. I think I feel generous today and therefore I will not answer.”

That sounds uncharacteristically polite. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh and here I was afraid you will claim you do not regret anything. Or that you have too many regrets and you will start listing them alphabetically to me…”

A sleek well manicured fingers gently grab his beard and force him to turn toward his partner. He is watching him curiously. Old but still so very bright grey eyes somehow not fully fitting his face meeting his. It has been a while since Peter looked at him, actually fully looked at him. He does not like the stare, even though he can feel Elias is holding back the full power of his gaze. The gentle fog hanging around starts getting thicker.

“Do not tempt me, Peter, I could.” Elias gently brushes his facial hair and slides his palm on his cheek, caressing it in a similar gesture like the one performed by the lovers they were observing before. His palm is awfully warm.

“Go ahead then.” Peter covers Elias’ hand with his.

“Do you wish to know me, my love?” Elias leans closer and gone is the sunny afternoon, gone is the park. His look is intense and they are fully surrounded by fog. There is tension between them. And Peter hates being so close to someone, to be having conversations such as this, to have someone looking at him at all, let alone so intensely. And yet… Yet it is an indulgence same as the sugary drink. He feels something and he is not sure what but it is an intense feeling nonetheless. He knows it will be his death one day. This man, his greatest mistake he can never learn from.

“Unfortunately, I do know way too many things about you.” Peter pushes his hand away. Elias takes the clue and leans back. Remembers to blink. “And one of them is that you would never reveal such a weakness to me. Whatever answer you would give me, it would be a lie.” Elias chuckles and finally turns his gaze away. The layer of whiteness starts to disperse.

“Unless I would tell you the truth assuming you will consider it a lie…”

“No. I am not letting you drag me into any more of your word plays or imaginary scenarios.” Peter finishes his drink, chews the ice at the bottom of his cup. He indulged him enough. This date needs to continue no longer. He gets up and Elias follows.

“I am shocked. From time to time you can be surprisingly interesting conversation partner Peter.” Elias finishes his drink as well. Then he turns his cheek to him. It takes a few moments before Peter remembers the script and gives him a quick kiss. Their date is done and surprisingly with no victims except for a few bits of his sanity. He grins.

“Ah well… I am always happy to hear you say that you don’t know me that well after all.” 

[raziraphale]

I've learned not to trust my memory, so I wanted to make a note for myself of some things I enjoyed from the Neptune production of RAGAD before it all leaks out my ears. It's mostly for me but thought I'd post it here in case it's interesting to anyone else.

Note for people that aren't me: this is the only production of RAGAD I've seen live. I've seen the movie and the 2017 NTL recording as of writing this, for reference. So, forgive me if I gush about elements/choices that are common to RAGAD productions and not unique to this one lol. Also I was an English major but not a theatre guy outside some Shakespeare, so also bear with me if I'm lacking some specific terms.

Performances:

I feel like this almost goes without saying but Boyd and Monaghan are excellent as Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. Their chemistry is great. There was an excellent rhythm to their dialogue together that was really fast-paced without feeling artificial (imo there is a certain point where performers talk so fast it can only feel fake. They were all believable enthusiam).

I particularly liked Monaghan's Rosencrantz! like there was just something so earnest about him. He had this character tic of chewing on his finger most of the time out of anxiety or inattention and that stuck out for me for some reason. It was endearing. Also the line "I wanted to make you happy" made the whole theatre let out a wounded animal noise.

Also Boyd's Guildenstern really did a good job of projecting an aura of "person trying really hard to appear in control but may also snap any moment". Control freak recognizing control freak o7

The Player (Michael Blake) was amazing. He had such huge stage presence that you really believed the character was a seasoned performer. I fully believe this man could successfully sell me snake oil with the power of his presence alone.

Personal note but I was jazzed to see Drew Douris-O'Hara as Alfred. I'm not a regular Neptune patron so I don't know how often he appears in their productions, but I have seen many a Shakespeare By The Sea show in my time so he's a very familiar face. Always a really fun presence.

I also feel like I have to mention Ophelia (Helen Belay) even though she obviously doesn't get much to do here. The actress really sold every small appearance though like my heart broke a little every time I saw her in anticipation for her off-stage fate. Less important but have you ever seen a woman so beautiful you started crying?

Costumes:

I really liked Ros and Guil's tattered suits. They looked like they were dragged behind a horse. These are the clothes of two guys that have been trapped in a play for like 50 years, truly.

They also had an inverted colour scheme (Ros had a blue suit with a green waistcoat, Guil had a green suit with blue waistcoat) that really emphasized the two-sides-of-the-same-coin/ yin & yang vibe. Also the colours weren't really shared by the rest of the cast much (they tended to be a bit more muted) so it made them stand out as separate from the rest of what was happening.

Also personal note but I was enchanted by Monaghan's slightly stupid-looking grown-out fauxhawk. He basically had a lesbian mullet haircut. That combined with his single dangly earring was a Look.

The Player's coat was gorgeous. It felt grand but also appropriately dated/worn. It wasn't fully a feather jacket, but it had a smattering of large feathers that got more dense as it went down. It kind of reminded me of a vulture, honestly, which I think is fitting, with him being an opportunist that loves some corpses.

Script:

Misc. Stage Stuff:

Unless I'm really mistaken, I think they cut/modified the few lines with some outdated racial terms (I have two specifically in mind, referring to Chinese and Inuit people). So unless I just somehow missed hearing those, that's nice.

Just a note to say that the line about who the English King is will depend on when they get to England got a huge laugh. Thank you to King Charles' cancer for making everything funnier

The lighting !!! It really did a lot to separate the scenes from Hamlet from the rest of it. The stage was dark for most of it, with cool lighting (like a blue darkness). For the Hamlet portions, though, the lights were suddenly bright and warm yellow. That combined with the differences in the performances gave a strong impression that the curtain had just suddenly risen on a more traditional production of Hamlet right in the middle of Ros and Guil just doing whatever.

I really liked how they used the two risers on wheels they had (not sure if that's the right word -- they were those three-tiered platforms I remember from doing choir in school. Kind of like bleachers). They looked like they belonged on an empty stage and also gave the actors something interesting to climb on. They were able to reposition them pretty easily with the wheels, which really worked for the portions on the boat tbh. They just pushed them together so that the lower tiers touched to create a half-pipe-shaped skeletal "boat". They could climb "above deck", or even go below while still being fully visible from whatever angle. The whole thing was spun around a lot during the pirate attack, which was fun.

The risers also separated the stage really well in the first two acts. For most of it, there was one on the left side facing the audience, for characters to sit on, and one on the right facing backwards and partially obscured by the curtain they had covering that side of the stage. The curtain was backlit, so you could see the silhouettes of anything behind it. At some points, you could actually see shadows of events in Hamlet happening in the background while Ros and Guil were doing their thing in the foreground. Unfortunately I didn't get the best look at them, bc I was sitting at far right of my row, so the far right of the stage was partially out of my sight line. Still a really cool effect!

They did turn the risers fully around to face the back during the players' performance of The Murder of Gonzago, with the curtain pulled across. You saw the shadow of the king standing up and storming out.

For the final scene, they did the expected thing, where Ros and Guil are alone in the dark, illuminated by a single narrow spotlight each. The spotlight goes out when each of them die and they disappear from view. The detail that made me insane though is that each time a spotlight went out, they played the sound of a flipped coin hitting the stage and the audience was so quiet it felt like a gunshot both times.

After all the deaths they had Rosencrantz and Guildenstern start from the opening scene again tossing coins for a bit before the final curtain. They did not escape the narrative 😔

Will add more if anything else comes to mind?

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Mirror monster thoughts wha t do you have

Crawls on the cielinh so I can grab your head and shake out all the thought

MASTERPOST

Randy you know better than to give me such freedom... I'm gonna be talking for a whole longass post now because I do have so many thoughts about the Mirror Monster.

The thing about the comic characters in this franchise is that they stick with you once you find out they exist. This is because they are so unique when compared to the rest that it's almost hard to believe they could even co-exist. Less so the Ferryman, with Mirror Monster being an in-between to his "normalcy" and North Wind's complete shattering of the unspoken rules that usually build a LN antagonist. Congrats to your babygirl for being a wildcard I suppose

The Mirror Man Lore Dump

As discussed previously, the canonicity of Mirror Man is up to debate: however, because of his presence as a jack-in-the-box in VLN, we'll assume he still exists (or has existed) in the universe.

Considering all other rooms have some semblance of imagery leading back to the character residing in them, this one probably follows the same principle.

Taking into account what Mirror Man does, it becomes clear that the paper planes are meant to rappresent his victims. Frail and easy to maneuver, they easily fall into his trap. What's interesting to note is the fact that those who end up falling over on the other side are not crumpled or ruined: they seem to be stored somewhere. Intact, but still trapped on the other side.

It's also important to note that the net doesn't necessarely move or do anything to attract its preys: it stands still, awaiting, knowing that someone will eventually come and get stuck. There are a few exceptions, such as the planes that ended up flying in other directions, and even a piece of paper who, in spite of being stranded away from its place, is not folded as a paper plane. This may rappresent those people who come in contact with the Mirror Monster but have no interest in what he has to offer - such as the Humpback Girl.

(Funnily enough, this is not the first time people are rappresented as pieces of paper in the jack-in-the-boxes rooms. There would be another very enlightening room that follows the same principle --)

(-- But I digress.)

With a Nome standing on the pile of paper, I believe it may not be a stretch to assume that Mirror Man, like many others, would primarily target children. They're easy prey for a reason. However, it's clear that he may not necessarely have limitations considering... the Lady ordeal... though she still doesn't seem to fit the (hypothetic) criteria to be considered part of his hunting grounds.

Going back to the room before moving onward: after combining my braincells to the ones of the peeps in the Box server, we figured out that the piece of machinery in the room could be an old boat engine.

They do share some similarities, but we haven't been able to figure it out for certain... so we'll leave it at that.

However I will say that Mirror Man's fit here greatly resembles the one the man in this painting is wearing, along with the pose being the exact same.

This always struck me as odd because his design in the comic has a completely different colour palette, as you can see on the picture on the right, so I'm wondering if the comics got his coloring wrong somehow... or if they simply changed it overtime.

Here's two pictures for comparison.

Moving on to his comic appearences, Mirror Man is implied to be regarded as some sort of an urban legend in the Humback Girl's hometown -- unlike the previous issue's antagonist, the North Wind, who is instead said to be more of a malevolent spirit. You could say the Mirror Man is... a boogie man of sorts. It is also worth mentioning that none of the children in the Humpback's girl group seem to know who the Mirror Man is before entering the building - only that the place itself is dangerous.

(Thinking about it now, this creates a very interesting parallel with Thin Man as he also operates in a near identical way. Mh. Moving on.)

As mentioned earlier, the Mirror Man waits for his prey to wander in. He doesn't make his presence known immediately, choosing to wait until his victims are instead relaxed and content with their new appearence. He's able to give them what they want and does so only to catch them by surprise afterwards. Cruel.

His powers are tied to the ability of changing people's outward appearences - be it in a way they like or dislike. This happens respectively to the friends of the Humpback Girl, and to the girl herself after she looks into the shattered mirror.

A plausible theory regarding his origin is that he was summoned by the arrival of Humpback Girl, and while I think that is a possibility, I don,'t necessarely think that's the case. I believe that, because her only wish was to leave - something that has nothing to do with what's in the Mirror Man's power capabilities - she was able to see him coming before the others. You can see him lurk behind her shoulder, preparing to attack -- but then he moves quickly behind a different mirror.

I do think her shift in appearence was his direct doing, because it only happens after she looks at the shards of the mirror.

This is what has me believe that Mirror Man did not perish here and simply moved (forcibly?) to another mirror, with Humpback's girl transformation being his petty farewell.

(Diverting from the original point a second, I find it especially cruel how the entire Humpback Girl's situation was nearly a set up if you think about the story's progression. She starts off as being ridiculed and called a coward by her peers, she proves her bravery by fighting to save them only to have this backfire horribly as the others abandon her there. It's terribly upsetting.)

Canonical Mirror Man lore unfortunately ends here... and it genuinely saddens me that such an interesting concept for a character was never brought back again for something. He, the Ferryman and the North Wind were truly done a disservice. I want them back.

Now, when it comes to hypothesis... you know I am a huge enjoyer of the Mirror Man/Lady enemyship. I have many thoughts on the two of them, but because it's something purely hypothetical backed up by nearly nothing, I will not be expanding on it as of now.

Thank you a lot for the ask :]

[celestialholz]

Welcome to Art (7).

Thank you for meeting me here today, friends, for our special extra credit class, 'The Art of Gay Lore'! Now, if you'll all follow me to the art room...

Now, Professor Hassel may or may not know we're here, so everyone keep this on the down-low k? It's a weekend, we'll be fine... everyone participating today will be wired some totally legitimate LP in thanks, which... well, maybe don't mention that to Professor Hassel either? He does work for the League after all...

Anyway, I'm Professor Mini Holz, and today's special class is on the topic of the classroom itself! Now, would anyone like to hazard a guess as to why this classroom is particularly important on our journey into deeper homosexual lore?

A) Art is especially gay in Paldea

B) There's some interesting shit going on here

C) Everything Hassel does and is connects to his own homosexual love story and general softness

Correct, random guy at the back there! That's right folks, there's no true answer, because the answer is yes. (Though you can have extra extra credit for C, you've clearly read my metas.)

Now, let's start over on the left, shall we? Your eyeballs are mine, caught in my meta web...

We start with several colour charts, which is fairly standard for an art room.

What's fun here is that this is the RGB colour wheel, which is not used really in art theory, but more to determine how colour is viewed in digital mediums. If you mix blue and yellow paint, you get green, not cyan. Likewise, the triple diagram beside it is for printing colours - cyan, magenta, and yellow. It's also the exact colour scheme of one of The Harvests in Artazon.

... Now, imagine a world where colour is used on a digital platform to create alternate meanings to those in standard colour theory, such as, oh I don't know, POKEMON TYPES. And then, imagine a scenario where a local and well-known artist does exactly that in his sculptures. What a wild world that would be, right? Insane...

Also, these are rainbow colours. Professor Hassel has two rainbow posters in his classroom. Let's carry on, it's too early in the class to lose my mind...

And as we move to the centre of our classroom, I need you to all just stand back for a second. That's right, against that wall over there...

The seats, guys. Those seats we sit on for every class are Grass, Dragon and Electric-coloured, much like that one Harvest that symbolises the unity between Professor Hassel, gym leader Brassius, and an Arboliva.

If you look closely and count, friends, you'll see that there's also six of each of them if we count the two Electric ones off to the left, which is how many olives orbit The Harvest. Fascinating isn't it, that there's such a clear reference to the harmony of Professor Hassel and his husband in the middle of our classroom, specifically where we're meant to relax? Almost as though he finds deep comfort in his marriage...

It's not the only thing evocative of those types in this room, though. If you turn to your right for me, and check out that curious little piece in the corner...

Mmm. A very familiar colour palette, I think we can all agree. Thank you to my colleague @spiritofstars for showing me this - she's already taken extra credit. This appears to be a kabocha, a certain type of squash, which a little research explains nicely:

... Well. Now, who could we possibly know who has been 'deathly ill', and who Professor Hassel might wish to see safely through the winter? Ah yes, that's right - Brassius, that same one who told us that very thing in Art (4). This is reinforced by the presence of blue cineraria flowers beneath the painting, which as my other colleague @someguynamededdie pointed out in its recent flower meta, mean something super cute:

You see how the Dragon blue is the background colour, the 'protector' of the kabocha? We live in a society, and that society is so gay dear Arceus. My dear little bro also notes that orange poppies, the flowers next to the blue cinerarias, symbolise health and regeneration, so...

So, what does all of that together mean?

A) Professor Hassel is a goddamn sap

B) Professor Hassel is soft and protective and he makes me want to sob

C) Professor Hassel is completely enamoured with his windmill-jumping husband

Mmm, yes, correct! It's any and all of them, thank you for listening. We have this concept of 'protector' also summed up nicely in the top right corner of the room:

Here we find a Jigglypuff - a Fairy type, something Professor Hassel's Pokemon are weak to. And in the middle, we find a mannequin - a model, directly in front of a piece about a man being haunted by his past - look very closely, and you'll see the ghost in the distant window, looming over the more confident man at the forefront. And it's beside the Grass-type seats. But you'll note the Dragon-type coloured lamp on the same desk.

Here, we see a man who could be weakened, who could allow himself to fall victim to the ghosts of his past, the family he ran from - but because of the Grass, because of his own light, he doesn't. He stays here, and teaches us, and loves his husband.

Perhaps Professor Hassel isn't the only protective one, and perhaps Brassius isn't the only one who finds hope and salvation in his love. It's very interesting, isn't it class?

And Brassius, despite being a very prominent figure in the narrative of this room, isn't the only person being referenced here. If we move to the centre of the room, we of course find this:

There's a whole narrative here about 'flying free' - if we look at Professor's Jacq's Pokedex entry for Staraptor, we see that:

That's exactly what Professor Hassel did, left his family because they were terrible! It's crazy, really, because as a protector, he must also be very sturdy! Trust me, I've defeated him in the Elite Test - he calls himself 'the dragon guarding the final fortess', and he means it. We also see Brassius fly free - quite literally as he jumps off windmills, but he's been freed from his own awful past, too... by Professor Hassel.

And who must a Staraptor remind us of? Well, gym leader Larry of course, Professor Hassel's friend and fellow Elite Four member... much like those poppies over there, which bring to mind our good little Steel-type sister in Arceus, Poppy. In fact, I think she might well be responsible for some of these drawings...

Note the Phanpy, there, which could represent Rika as a little Ground-type cutie. But what's fascinating about this wall is the selection of Pokemon here.

Gyrados is a big, scary Water type which people often confuse for a dragon... Ditto can be anything, but adapts to its surroundings, always keeping its own stats intact... Eevee can one be one of eight different Pokemon one day, and its evolution is a joint decision between trainer and Pokemon... Cacnea is a small, cheerful, spikey Grass-type, which reminds me an awful lot of a certain gym leader, and Dedenne - well, Dedenne doesn't evolve, and yet we have a larger, rounder one, and a littler, happier one.

... Huh. They're all relevant, aren't they? Dragons being confused by their own paths; Eevee, its own fate undecided as a youngster; Ditto, who shows us that however much we change, we're still the same within; our pair of Dedennes, representing size and shape and happiness, and a little Grass guy who looks like Brassius, all smiles and victory - he even has a little crown!

... Wow. Even I wasn't expecting to discover this much! I hope you're taking notes... now, I don't know if Poppy did draw these lovely pictures, but there's one here that show a pair of Rookidee, and she has a Corviknight. I reckon that if nothing else, she definitely is responsible for this one, and that's adorable. The one on the right even looks unimpressed, which might have had something to do with it worrying about the future of that Tinkatink she also used to have...

But I'd like to leave you today, class, with a final painting, this one right here in fact, with the colourful squares.

Now, this is right next to the colour charts we looked at earlier, but - well, when someone has no colour, all they are is white. And from nothing grows identity - Grass, Electric, Fire, Steel, Water, Dragon, if we follow the colours of types. And so we have Brassius - from a small boy who doesn't yet know himself, to a Grass-type trainer, to one bursting with the creative sparks of Electric and the passion of Fire, to one who must 'steel' himself against the hardships of life... through Water-y tears, and to Dragon. And if we do a little more research into squares...

... Well, class. Isn't that enlightening. A journey to trust and stability, showcased in art. You could even view it the other way around - if this is about Professor Hassel, he starts as a Dragon, and he dissolves into tears... he 'steels' himself to live alone, away from a family who doesn't understand him... he embraces passion in Fire, makes music and art... until he finds his 'spark' in teaching, in the Elite Four, through the Grass-type trainer. And white, of course, is not just absence - white is what happens when all the colours blend together.

Well, I do hope you've enjoyed extra credit! Expect that LP as soon as I can get hold of Pen - wait, Sir?

How long have you been standing here? Have you been here the whole time? What do you mean I ignored you because I was too obsessed with lore?!

Look, I can explain - guys, book it!

[l-u-c-i-i-e]

"Rêve" de la nuit du 23.8

0. a long corridor, a maze of rooms in a row. everything is made of wood. parquet, walls, ceiling. new wood but of a strange, indefinable color tending towards gray. 1st meeting : a lady of a certain age, but with beautiful black hair that falls to her shoulders, as if permed, she is sitting in front of a table and behind a glass case, she is facing us who are on the other side, she is knitting, she is weaving, or maybe it is a cross stitch, but I do not have the exact details, she is very enthusiastic, her smile and her laughter echo in the corridor, she wishes us good luck, a nice walk.

I am already with one of them. They are my height or a little smaller (but at the same time they seem taller than me), slender, thin, often long hair, their clothes are in pale tones, gray, blue, beige, brown.

there is S.'s father who appears. (I don't make the connection at the time, the dream tosses me around from beginning to end like a straw. Nevertheless, S's father is one of the archetypal doors that assures me that I am with Them). It is him without being him, but he is more of the human class because he has short hair. He is looking for a shower that works. (?!?) We go in search of this in the large corridor and try several shower mixers that do not work.

Everything seems to be confused, badly arranged, not in its place, nothing is really in its place, everything is in motion, each object, each room, each thing has a deep purpose that is not yet accomplished, we are constantly in the in-between, everything seems disturbed, it is quite difficult to bear for me, it tires me a lot..

There are humans and those who belong to the Others, sometimes who cross the corridor, or some of the rooms, all are dressed in light colours, very sloppily, a bed sheet over their shoulder, half-on Bermuda shorts, everyone seems to have just come out of a night of partying or going back to one? I am still looking for a working shower for S's father. My own father passes by, half-dressed with a sheet on his legs and takes a staircase that goes up while pointing at me; I have the impression that he is fleeing my presence but it doesn't matter, nothing is really serious or important, he does what he wants. I see other humans on the ground, a bit like piles of branches, pieces of wood placed there and they are sobering up from some drunken evening, they are barely conscious.

I suddenly cross a huge room, very bright, as big as a ballroom. Tables are set up as if for a big meal, but there is no one and only remains of food on the table. I hear raised voices on the left. I see people getting ready, smiling, to clean the room. Everyone is in a very good mood all the time. My guide tells me that the banquet has already taken place and that they had the idea of ​​putting all the leftovers on the floor so that they could pick it all up faster. I agree.

I will go back to this room later. Still very bright. Always the same people getting ready, laughing and joking among themselves, on my left. This time there is nothing left on the tables, everything is on the floor. I walk in socks because I think my shoes are wet. I tell myself that the banquet must not have taken place. I tell myself that I am getting my feet dirty.

Going down the large corridor there are 3 rooms in which I know I am stopping. The first two look similar, I remember one of them very badly, but they are very similar. I am sure that the Spirit of the first one has already shown itself in a previous dream and is waiting for its time to reveal itself to me.

In this room, everything is darker, like in black tones, but warm, as if black could be warm. There is a middle-aged woman, very well dressed, elegant, but in black, with some highlights of red and purple on her outfit, she is wearing a very beautiful hat, she is really very elegant. The room is simple, also made of wood, with a table in the middle, it looks a bit like a family kitchen. The other person is her daughter, and I know that we are waiting for the twin of this child, that we are in contact with, etc. Her daughter is very elegant too, she is dressed in black too, her hair is a flaming red, cut in a short bob with a cute little beret on her head. She knows me. We know each other. We have already seen each other many times in dreams. The twins. I am happy to find her. I ask for news of her Other. She tells me that she will find him soon.

Suddenly my attention turns to the woman who is with her and who seems to me to be her mother. My eyes see her hat, which was like a fly agaric hat, (I had noticed it when I entered the room, finding it very elegant and original xD), her hat begins to transform and become something else, like a living thing that takes her hair at the same time and starts to play with it to make magical and superb shapes to see, kinds of plants, little animals, ivy, etc., everything is really very beautiful, it's full of colours, I am fascinated.

But my companion tells me that we have to go.

I finally find myself in a large room, at the end of this large wooden corridor, a room in which people are still sleeping, who seem to have been partying all night, others wake up, others leave, no one is dressed any more than before, but none of that bothers me. We settle into bed, start talking, I'm not with the "same one" anymore, it's the same from the Little People, they look a lot alike but not exactly. I don't know what he's saying to me. He's not malicious, I feel a kind of inextinguishable desire when I look at him, I'd like to never leave him, it's not really a desire for him but a desire for "that", it's a very strong and vain feeling, I've felt it before. We lie on the bed and suddenly I find myself sliding all the way to the end on the right side, I hold on to the uprights and look, the bed has tipped over on its side, as if lifted by something heavier from below, it's almost vertical on its side and my companion is balanced on it like on a wave. He smiles and slides towards me. We're wet as if we'd had coffee and water on us. I'm sure I have this thought of coffee. I'm sure my companion is telling me about coffee. That's when we go back up the corridor in the other direction.

there are always so many people leaving, coming and going, I don't know where. They never finish what they were doing, they are never in anything other than a transit, an in-between.

That's when we go back into the big ballroom and I walk through it in my socks.

Arriving again at the beginning of the corridor, I see the window of the lady and her black hair perm, and everything is on fire, everything is burning, but the lady is still behind this window and she doesn't seem particularly stressed by what is happening. The flames are between her and the window, on the table where her work was resting, I think she is asking for help, but without much conviction. I know that the flames will go out soon. she fears nothing, maybe she is even the one who created these flames. - I suddenly wake up, exhausted.