#I think I would rather live my life without this

[jaehaeryshater]

The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed

art by : @shripscapi

Look at my King dawg we’re definitely getting through the Wall!!!

For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, I’m not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. He’s not very connected with the South and I don’t feel that it’s his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).

The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesn’t really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. It’s not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Night’s Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. He’s always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. He’s wanted Winterfell, though he didn’t want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But he’s known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. He’s seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jon’s feelings when Ned allows him to join the Night’s Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but it’s unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that don’t care that he’s a bastard, don’t see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesn’t hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.

We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lord’s keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in King’s Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it can’t be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more “open” and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didn’t want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously that’s House Stark’s color. Jon’s clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Night’s Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because I’m sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). There’s a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as it’s for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. She’s not very good at the craft!

As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritte’s crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldn’t be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to “tell the future” not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so I’m just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jon’s crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Bran’s weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like it’s different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. There’s also some ivy to parallel with Ygritte’s holly.

The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isn’t just about Lyanna. It’s also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe it’s real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfell’s only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Bael’s child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritte’s idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the story’s premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfell’s daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and “stealing her”, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didn’t like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didn’t see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jon’s cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jon’s whole look is to look fearsome.

I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then I’d be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that don’t enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully I’ve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!

Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves:

[qu0thther4ven]

Shifting Success ♡

Last night before going to bed I did a meditation on youtube and felt pretty good about it. I had tried it once the night before and it gave me crazy dreams which I associate positively with shifting. Last night I had another crazy dream. At some point during the dream I became lucid, however because the dream was so scary I didn't want to try to shift through it so I just woke up instead.

Scary dreams tend to stay in my mind, but lucid dreams always make me feel really powerful so after lucid dreaming I decided I would shift. I was sort of half asleep at the time but felt very confident that I could do it, so I just decided I would, said so, and went back to sleep.

The bad thing is that I didn't really decide where I wanted to shift to and instead because I had been thinking about that bizzare dream I had just before I wound up becoming aware of this strange reality that was like sort of related to the dream that I had just had.

Because I had lucid dreamt just before shifting I can say with complete certainty that they are entirely different things. They felt so so different, my dreams can get pretty realistic too but it's not like actual living. However shifting very much is actually living. It was such an odd experience honestly.

I woke up and I knew that I was like actually awake and not just in a dream again. I was in a bedroom that I knew distinctly was mine but was nothing like my cr room. Two of my siblings were in the room and they were the same age as me which was super weird since in my cr we are all pretty scattered age wise.

Some of the things that really confirmed it for me were my memories, comfort, and perspective. When I looked around the room I remembered random things about the items in there just like I would in my cr. The best example was when I was talking to my siblings and gathering clothes to change out of my pajamas and I distinctly remember looking through the underwear drawer of all places and looking for one of those pairs with like the day of the week on it of all things.

The fact that I not only knew that I had those without ever seeing them but also that while I was looking my mind wandered to a memory of when I went shopping with my friends and we all thought it would be funny to buy those and so we did. My mind wandering like that is something that happens to me a lot in my cr but never in my dreams.

Another thing that really struck me was the perspective. Real life as we know it is lived through first person on a day to day basis. Often in my dreams the perspective will shift rather like a tv show or movie. I can't remember a dream that I have ever had, lucid or not, where the perspective didn't shift or things didn't distort oddly. But that didn't happen to me at all, it was all real and tangible and first person the whole time.

Anyway this is getting way too long but I hope it's helped someone. After almost five years of trying (i know crazy right) I have shifted. Was it to where I wanted? no. Did I decide to come back as soon as I recognized what was going on cause I got scared? yes! but I still did it. And now I know that I am capable, and that's all I really need.

[izzy02soph]

Heart of the arena

Just a little something I put together after seeing a TikTok

GIFs made by me 😌👀

______

In ancient Rome, the emperor's daughter, secretly in in love with the barbarian gladiator, Hanno (but she knows him as Lucius). Despite their forbidden love, they meet in secret, not just to be together, but to plot against her tyrannical father. Their hidden romance fuels their rebellion, as they dream of a future free from his oppressive rule.

______

Y/N slipped quietly into Lucius cell, her heart heavy with the weight of their secret. The dim light cast shadows over his weary face, where he sits on his cot. His eyes, though tired, softened when they met hers.

"Lucius, we can't keep meeting like this. It's tearing me apart to see you in cell. We must overthrow my father. If we succeed, we can finally be together, and you’ll be a free man"

"Your father is a tyrant, Y/N. Overthrowing him is a near-impossible task. I would face any danger, even if it means losing myself in the process. But I don’t think I can bear losing you too" He rubbed his hand up and down his face, the weariness evident in his movements

Y/n sighed before walking over and getting down on her knees in front of Lucius, grabbing his hands in the process

"It's not just about us, Lucius. Rome is crumbling under his tyranny. We need to save our people, just like your father Maximus did all those years ago. We owe it to him, and to ourselves."

"Maximus fought for justice and for Rome. I want to fight for us. It would and will be dangerous Y/N." Lucius said slightly raising his voice

“I would rather face danger with you than live a life of safety without you. Together, we can bring hope back to Rome. We have to try, even if it means risking everything.”

Lucius took her hand, his grip strong but trembling with the weight of their shared burden.

"Then we fight. For Rome, for us, and for our future, where we can be together. We will succeed where Maximus could not. We will bring down your father and restore peace to our land."

“For you, I would defy the emperor”

Y/n looked at Lucius, tears pooling in her eyes, not out of sadness but out of the pure sheer devotion she had for Lucius.

Their hearts aching with the knowledge of the path ahead, but also burning with the fierce determination of their love and the hope for a brighter future for both their love and their beloved Rome.

______

Okkkkkkk How was it?? I know it was kind of repetitive but I’m trying to learn how to write this kind of stuff, but I hope y’all liked it? Luv y’all baddies 🩷

[prettybiching]

Okay. Okay.

*deep breaths*

Girl (gn), the gasp I just let out terrified the ghosts in my room.

First and foremost, I love love loveeeee her scenes with the Cargyll brothers always. The way we always see her as *herself*, beyond her ailment, beyond her concerns of putting up an act, both as a Hightower daughter and/or a Targaryen wife. She's just herself, without being worried that she's disappointing Otto or Daemon.

And the way she's so playful with Erryk 😭😭 it made me sob because it was probably the first time in a long time that she was able to be that happy and cheerful, pulling pranks on a friend that sees her for who she is! (I don't even want to think about the fact that the last time she experienced something like this was probably in old town w gwayne when they were children)

I love the way you portray Otto's relationship with the reader because he's not black and white with his motives, only using his daughter to raise his House's standing. Rather, he's a complex character with layers, he's still a father - albeit a shitty one at that.

He loves his daughter, in his own twisted way. How he ensures that she's not having a fit before dropping the baby bomb on her. He worries for her, knows her ticks. But it's the way he uses his love and knowledge regarding her to get his own way and to get the reaction he wants out of her that's the most twisted.

Also, I love how we're seeing mc slowly but surely starting to stand up for herself. WE LOVE GROWTH IM SO PROUD OF HER, I COULD CRY.

Day 173822 of begging daemon to just be normal for once in his life.

Honestly speaking, I was one of the few that voted for reader to prioritise herself and not go after either gwayne or daemon but ohh!!! I loved loved loved this scene.

Her realising that she's going to have to get used to not having gwayne at every turn and stopping herself. Ugh, my heart hurts.

ALSO DAEMON YOU LITTLE RAT, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT BEING MAD AT MY GIRL FOR NOT BEING THERE WHEN YOU DEGRADED HER THE LAST TIME AND NOT IN THE SEXY WAY!!!!

Her telling him to speak what he wants and not twist his words is soooo real. YES GIRLL SET IT STRAIGHT WE DONT WANT EXTRA HEADACHES IN OUR LIVES!!

I just remembered that she still thinks that night was a dream and I'm heartbroken again </3

Pls daemon why do you have to choose aggression and rage every fucking time. Just be cute for once ugghhh.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

prettybiching.exe has stopped responding. Please try again later.

Nahhh I can't do this fam, good bye. I'm going to touch some grass.

Good night. Au revoir. Author, I love you. Thank you for blessing me with your brain and words. Please never stop <3

(ps I'd love to be added to the taglist, please and thanks!)

Tormented Spirit | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (cunnilingus, piv, choking, degradation, slight sadism), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: again the high valyrian is internet translated so lol. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. might make another poll for next chapter stay tuned. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

Taking you to the hidden stream was simultaneously the best and worst decision Erryk's ever made in his life. The look of you was holy. His intense focus on your form was to ensure your safety, but, by the gods, it felt sinful to behold your dark hair and light fabric ebbing in the water.

He had hoped a swim would lift your spirits, just as flower picking did, but he did not know it would draw such a tempest out of you. It was as though you were reborn. You plunged into the water and shed all your inhibitions. Your voice became brighter, as did your eyes. You were flooded with more than a dozen memories of you and your twin swimming in the river near your home in Oldtown, and you recounted all of them so excitedly to Erryk.

"Oh!' you exclaim, flipping in the water to get to your feet. You point to something behind your ward, making him turn around. In that split second, you hold in your laughter and grab something from the mossy rocks. Innocently, you say, "that reminds me of something."

Erryk turns back to you, brows knit in confusion. When you you make your way towards him, he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. The shift you were swimming in was stuck flush on your body, leaving little to his imagination. He was glad to have the foresight to bring you a change of clothes and a towel, and, my, was the pattern on the said towel so very interesting.

"What is a frogs favorite game?" you ask so suddenly.

Erryk turns to you, brows furrowing, "pardon?"

"Tell me the frogs' favorite game, ser," you repeat as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Frogs favored game?" he repeats slowly, realizing now that your expression was mockingly innocent. He hums, "I cannot say I-"

"HOPSCOTCH!"

A frog comes leaping into Erryk's face, nearly causing him to topple as he dodges it. He's so flabbergasted by the turn of events, he calls out your name in offence. He is doubly offended by your laughter. His eyes go wide as you hunch forward, leaning on your knees.

"Villain," your ward mutters, scoffing far too many times.

You can barely catch your breath. You fan your face, "frog-ive me."

Erryk's face only contorts further.

"I could not-" you gasp for air, "could not help it."

In truth, if it was any other who did such a childish thing, he'd have shoved them in the water. Alas, you appeared only more beauteous as you made him a fool.

"Forgive me," you repeat in more serious manner, "Gwayne used to scare me this way often. I wished only to know how it felt, and now..." you giggle, "I can't say I blame my brother for constantly pulling tricks on me."

He huffs and shakes his head, "well. I'm glad to have pleased you, my ever-so-kind princess."

You offer him a guilty smile, "apologies."

Erryk shakes his head, "no. Truly. I am glad to see you in such a state."

You fidget with your fingers as a shiver runs down your spine.

He is quick to unravel your towel. He places it on your shoulders, "perhaps we should go back. The sunset is nigh."

You nod, taking your change of clothes from him next.

He turns around offering you your privacy. It takes a while, but you manage to dress yourself. Once you had your shoes on, you dry your hair with your towel and take his arm, "would you please lace up my dress?"

He nods, avoiding your gaze as he feels his face burn. He quickly laces you up then you return to the Keep.

You both had been laughing, up until you made it past the castle gates, promptly being silenced by the loud shout, "PRINCESS!"

Arryk runs over, charging for his brother. Their steel plates collide as Arryk yanks his twin, "where in gods name did you take her?"

Erryk furrows his brows, "we visited a stream-"

"The Keep is in disarray!" Arryk grits his teeth, hissing under his breath, "everyone's looking for her. Everyone."

You watch the twins huddle close and bicker. As it escalates, you try try to come between them, "Arryk. I was the one who asked him to take me outside the keep."

Arryk does not hear you at first, dead set on arguing with his twin. When you repeat your words the second time however, he turns to you, face softening a fraction. He knits his brows turning back to this brother, whispering something that makes Erryk turn to you with wide eyes, "fuck."

"Why?" you look at them in concern, "what it is?"

Arryk opens his mouth, but Erryk grabs his arm and says, "wait."

"There's no other way to say it," Arryk snaps, ripping his arm out his grip.

"Say what?" you knit your brows.

Arryk turns back to you, then lowers his gaze, "the queen... the queen has passed."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. Your hand immediately covers your mouth. The three of you do not speak for a prolonged moment.

You feel your stomach roll, "w-what happened?"

"She could not deliver the babe herself. The maesters... had to intervene."

Intervene? You could not possibly understand what that could mean, and you find that you do not want to. You shake your head, "and her babe? Is- is her babe well at least?"

Arryk clenches his jaw, "she sired a prince named Baelon... he apparently grows weaker by the hour."

You feel bile rise up your throat.

"Your father and your siblings have been looking for you since news broke."

You shake your head, and gather your skirts.

"As has the prince."

Your face twitches at the thought. You do not delay and make your way inside the Keep.

As you tread the halls, you think about what the queen told you just mere hours ago. There is a sharp twinge in your belly as simultaneously remember how Aemma told you to go cheer for Daemon at the tourney and realize you will never hear a word from her ever again. The thought washes over you like water on the beach, sobering but thankfully not overwhelming.

You hadn't realized you had your head bowed until you hear your name called. You still as you look up, the twins halt behind you.

Otto marches over, brows and jaw tight as ever, "where in gods name have you been?"

You straighten your back as he stops before you, "I-"

"Your wards are double," he turns to the kingsguards, "and doubly useless, it seems."

"Father," you step into his line of sight, "do relieve your rage on them."

Your father turns back to you, expression softening a fraction at your referral. You had not called him father since your argument in the maester's office. He looks at you— takes a good look at you and your sad eyes, your knit brows, your frowning lips. Your hair was darker than it was normally, and as he reaches out for it, he found it was, in fact, damp, "where have you been?"

"I..." you gulp and take a deep breath, "went swimming."

He releases your hair, tilting his head, "with whom? Gwayne has gone."

You pull your head back, "G-Gwayne's gone?"

"The tourney is over. The road is long. He has no reason to stay," Otto says.

Your brows tighten as you shake your head, "he... he didn't... wait for me?"

Otto watches your lips quiver. He watches your nose twitch. When your chest begins to visibly rise and fall, he shakes his head, "what did I tell you?"

You stare blankly at him.

He takes your hands, "what is it I always tell you?"

You clench your jaw and huff through your nostrils, "do not waste your tears on things you cannot change."

Otto rubs your knuckles as he shakes his head again. He gives the Cargyll brothers a look before walking off with you. They make sure to keep their distance before following after.

You turn to your father as he links your arm into his. You are certain, with how he cannot look at you, that he means to tell you something grave. You look front and mimic his demeanor— distant, cold. You are his daughter, face and temperance.

"You enjoyed your swim at least?" he starts, "you are calm?"

You gulp, mentally preparing yourself for what will surely come next. Your voice still falters though, "ye-s."

Otto nods, still not turning to you, "many has occurred since your marriage to Daemon. You admitted you did not consummate your marriage on your wedding night and I was deeply concerned you would fail your duties in producing heirs, especially if your husband was not interested in you."

Your jaw clenches.

"But with the apparent... change of heart your husband has shown, you should know I've had the maesters closely monitor your state."

You knit your brows at that, "you mean my affliction?"

He speaks your name slowly before continuing, "as of yesterday, they have confirmed to me that you are with child."

You whip your head to him and pull away.

Otto does not look at you with the same sense of urgency.

"W-what?"

He sees the fear on your features. He offers a solemn expression and takes your cheeks when your eyes water, "this is good. You should delight, not tremble."

You try to speak but nothing coherent comes out.

"The Queen is dead. Go to your husband and comfort him with this news."

Your mouth goes dry and your father wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. He your name softly. Your sad face looks the exact same it did when his wife died. My baby is having a baby. He frowns and pulls away.

You try to take his hand, but he slips away.

"See her off," the Hand instructs your wards.

Erryk is quick to go to your side, whereas Arryk stares at the back of Otto's head, his lips curling as he did.

"Princess," Erryk says, cautiously reaching your arm.

You turn to him with wide eyes before scratching your tears away, "I-"

"Perhaps you should sit down first."

You pull away from him before he can touch you. The action makes Erryk pull back, an unsavory sensation spreading in his mouth and belly.

"I want to- I—" you take a breath, "I need to find-" you shake your head and begin speeding down the hall.

You were nearly about to break into a sprint, and your wards had to jog up to your side to keep up with you. You don't really know where you're going, but you're getting there, fast.

"Princess, please, slow down," one says.

You can feel your breath and your pulse in your ears.

"Princess."

You find yourself in the halls near one of the gate of the keep. The only reason why you stop is because you hear the voice of your twin. Your breath catches as you lurch towards the window. Gwayne was laughing with one of the guards, already on his horse. Your brows furrow, he couldn't possibly be well enough to be riding on horseback.

You realize quickly this is your last opportunity to go be with your brother, to pull him into an embrace, to worry on him, to tell him your worries, to kiss him goodbye. You know you have to act now and swiftly, but you cannot seem to move.

Your mind is heavy as you think about how your brother is set to leave regardless of your desire to keep close; he said it himself, his place can never be at your side. Though he is the only person who've ever relied on, you know now— you rub your belly, that can no longer be the case. There is only one person you can rely on now... yourself.

It is painful to pull away from the window, but you do, clenching your hands into fists before walking away.

You don't really walk away however, because then, you're frozen in place at the sight of your husband standing a few paces away from you, "Daemon."

He stares at you wordlessly.

You walk towards him, careful as you drag your feet.

He tilts his head and clenches his jaw, "he's leaving any moment now."

You nod, "I know."

"Go to him," he says softly.

"I-"

"Go to him!" he snaps.

You stiffen at his expression. You were adept with anger but he did not look angry. You stop in your tracks, trying to make sense of his restless figure.

Daemon watches you fidget with your fingers.

"If it is your command, I shall obey."

He chuckles dryly, pacing around his spot. He wipes his mouth then charges over, stopping just in front of you. He scoffs when you do not flinch, in disbelief of your constitution. His nostrils flare, "you know my feelings towards your twin."

You slowly shrug, "then you'll be glad to know I came looking for you."

Daemon does not move.

"You know how I feel about my brother..." you mutter, "but..." you lower your gaze, "I'm coming to terms with the fact I can no longer rely on him... it will be better this way."

It takes a moment, but Daemon chuckles. When you look up and his smirk fades. Your beady eyes make it hard to find satisfaction. "So, you will not go to him?" he asks.

You stare.

"You do not want to go to him?"

Your lips part.

He raises his brows.

"I... I do."

Anger rises up his belly, but as if on cue, the sound of horses and carriages moving is heard. You clench your jaw and lower you gaze to prevent yourself from looking back at the window. The prince cannot seem to win, for he should be pleased you did not see your brother off, and yet your sadness leaves sour jealousy in his mouth— he was your husband.

The Cargyll twins look upon you both, appalled by the cruelty of the prince to keep you here as Gwayne leaves for good. Erryk in particular feels restless, unable to stop shifting and fidgeting with his scabbard.

"Shall... shall we go?" you mutter, slowly looking up.

Daemon watches you place a hand on his bicep. He responds only by following you after giving your wards a dismissive look.

The brothers turn to each other, each as unwilling as the other to leave you, but they do anyway.

Daemon is acutely aware of the warmth of your cheek against his arm as you tread down the halls. When, you arrive at your marriage chambers, Daemon opens the door and you notice the bandage wrapped around his hand. He struggles because of this. Once you're inside, you take his arm, eyes trained on his injury, "what happened to your hand?"

Daemon's eyes are fixed on the line between your brows.

"Did you break it?" you turn to him with furrowed eyes.

He pulls away slowly. He wants to know what you'd do next.

"Did you wrap it yourself? It's badly done."

He faintly snorts, "it's on my right hand."

"I'll do it for you," you say, walking towards the vanity.

Daemon follows, watching you procure scissors and vials and other things. You turn to him, motioning to the chair. He sits down, gaze fixed upon you as you take his arm again.

Your eyes are focused on undoing his wrap, "tell me if it hurts,"

His are fixed on your focused expression, "you should sit down."

"I'm fine."

"I want you to sit down," he uses his other hand to grab your wrist.

You stop and turn to him. You turn to the chair across the room but Daemon prevents you from doing so and simply spreads legs, pulling you between his thighs. Quickly, you are sat on his lap and tense look at him. He offers you his injured hand again as his other goes around you, clinging to your hip. He pulls you in, leaning his head against yours to say, "it's a cut, by the way."

You furrow your brows at his admission. You allow yourself a moment to relax before continuing your task. You find it is, in fact, a cut, deep and ugly, "did your lance splinter very badly?"

"No."

You furrow your brows deeper as you turn to him,

"This is glass."

"Glass?" you brow raise, "how did you hurt your hand with glass?"

Daemon licks his lips as he looks at yours. He shrugs, "I broke a bottle."

You pull your head back, "on accident?"

"On purpose," he tilts his head.

You huff and start cleaning his wound, "was the violence in the tourney insufficient?"

He chuckles through his nostrils, "I did not fucking win."

You smear balm on his wound. You do not reply.

It makes him clench his jaw, "and you..."

"..."

"You were not there."

You do not tear your gaze from his injury.

He grumbles, "did you even hear me?"

You lift your gaze then raise brow at him, "you did not want me there. Do you not recall how you cursed at me?"

Your gall makes anger rise up his throat.

You continue wrapping up his hand.

"Well, you were being a bitch," he snaps.

"Why?"

His brows furrow.

"Why was I being a bitch?"

"..."

You spare him a quick glace.

He pulls his head back, "... what?"

"Did I not do my duty?" you turn to him, face blank, "I followed you, congratulated you, inquired of your injuries. I submitted to your desires. Where did I err?" You ask in earnest, "what do you want from me?"

His face contorts. Now that he was faced with such an opportunity, he finds himself unable to speak. What did he want from you?

You wait for him to reply. You prepare yourself for preposterous requirements but you are met only his silence. In that moment, you remember he was just a man. Many a man enjoyed making women suffer. You gulp, thinking about your father.

Perhaps your father was lying. Perhaps he wants you to believe you are with child to get even. After all, Daemon never... finished in you. How then could you be with child?

You secure the binding on his hand, "it is finished."

Daemon does not bother looking at his hand.

"How do you feel?"

He feels a strong urge to shake you... to pull you close.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your cousin."

He freezes. Right. The queen was dead. He lowers his gaze.

You frown and reach for his cheek. You second guess however and bring your palm to his shoulder instead, "I am here for you, my prince."

His eyes meet yours.

"I am here to care and comfort you."

He leans back, taken by the thought.

You drink in his demeanor, the softness in his eyes, the tension that falls of his shoulders. You release a breath, "if that is what you desire, speak plainly, and do not repel me. Do not ask me to leave if, in fact, you want me to stay."

His throat tightens. He feels like he is ensnared in a bear trap. He rips at his collar, "I... I have other injuries." He pushes you off and paces around as he undoes his top. It is a struggle for him, but he cannot stop or stay still, "cuts and bruises."

You watch as he fidgets and slowly walk over.

"I don't-"

"Daemon."

He stills.

You come in front of him and undo his top yourself. You drop it mindlessly, and once he is bare, he feels conscious under your scrutiny for some reason. You brush your fingers on his ribs, making goosebumps form on his skin. He can't say that that has ever happened to him before. You notice and rub his arms, eyes locked on his torso.

He feels himself getting hard.

"Did you tend to these yourself as well?" you brush over a cut on his hip.

Oh. You were still examining him. He only hums in response.

You frown, "did no maester come to your tent?"

"I..." he starts.

You circle around him, inspecting for other injuries.

"...wanted you to come to my tent."

You come to his side. He finds the frown on your face. You take a moment before saying, "you tended to your wounds well at least."

"I want you."

You nod, "I will tend to you—"

Daemon takes your nape, lowering his head to kiss your lips. It takes a moment for you to relax, and his belly burns at the sound you make when you do. Your hands come to his sides and your nails graze faintly into his flesh.

He pushes you back until your laid on the bed beneath him. His kisses trail down your skin as he works to get you naked. He kisses your shoulder, then your sternum. He makes sure to lick your breast and leave a mark on your rib before peppering kisses down your belly.

Your breath grows heavy when he lingers by your womb, sucking kisses on your skin. Your throat tightens think of your father's words again. It makes you tense, and Daemon feels it. Of course, he doesn't know about your conversation with Otto, and thinks your tension comes from your self-consciousness.

You lift your head, pulling a pillow beneath it, and look down at your husband. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, "Daemon."

He hums, nipping your flesh in response.

You try to sit up, "D-Daemon, I-"

He shushes you, pushing down on your hip bone. He looks up at you, muttering something in High Valyrian.

"Please, Daemon, wait-"

"Be still," he says, violet eyes hooded, "do I not take care of you?"

Your breath hitches as he sinks down.

"Do you not enjoy my mouth?"

"I- that's not-"

"Do you or do you not?"

"I... I do—"

You are not able to speak after he buries his face between your thighs. You are reduced to breathy cries and a twisting spine. Daemon, though he continues to hold you down, relishes every second of it and feasts more ardently. He sighs, securing your thighs on his shoulders, nudging his face deeper into you, his nose brushing against your pearl.

He relishes how quickly your wetness builds, and soon, he feels your arousal dribbling down his chin. He moans, nails biting crescent moons into your skin. Your belly rises and falls in sync with the crescendo of your mewls. At this point, both your hands are tangled into his hair, and your pulling and scratching only further inspires his tongue.

You call out his name, screwing your eyes shut as you throw your head back and arch your body. Quickly, your belly tightens and you sequentially dig your heels into his shoulder blades. He squeezes your thighs enough to make them bruise, and yet the pain is what pushes you into orgasm, garnering a lewd and loud sound from your mouth.

Daemon hums, lifting his face just enough to see yours as he brings you to peak. He moans at your expression, grinding his hips into the cushion, desperate for friction.

Your body trembles, unable to settle as his burning mouth persists on your molten mound. You begin to squeak and he catches the moment you open your eyes to look at him all teary. It drives him mad. With a deep inhale, he pulls away, wiping his chin before he undoes his breeches.

You relax and catch your breath, hands dropping to your sides.

Daemon watches you, your trembling legs glistening with the pleasure he's drawn out. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants. You watch as he hastily frees himself. Though your head was hazy and your body was tried, your belly burned at sight of the sticky liquid dripping down your husband's neck.

"Fuck, Daemon," you reach for his belly. You trace his defined muscles with your finger tips. He snatches your hands when he finally pushes his pants down.

You squeak when he pushes you to your side, one hand on your shoulder, another hiking your leg up by the knee. You whine as he folds you into the sheets just before sliding his hardened cock in your wet cunt.

He hisses, leaning down to your neck. His words are hot against your skin, but you understand nothing.

Whatever tenderness he had before was gone, now he was just fucking you like a rabid animal. Daemon could not help himself, he loved how supple and pliable you were, and twists you into a form that keeps you prone. When the bed begins to creak because of his thrusts, he holds you down where your neck and collarbone meet. He puts enough pressure to restrict your breathing, but not enough to choke out your pretty noises.

At some point, he decides your leg is getting in the way and pushes you flat on your chest. He then gathers you by the hip, hiking you up enough to fuck you nicely from behind.

His thrusts are more intense now. You scream into the cushion as you find your elbows. Before you can prop yourself up though, he's pinning you down by the shoulder, saying something in High Valyrian again.

"D-Daemon," you whine, left cheek smushed against your pillow. You could feel your next climax building quickly.

He responds by rubbing your clit, drawing tears and another scream out of you because of your sensitivity.

You feel yourself helplessly clenching and unclenching around him, absolutely boneless under his vigorous intrusion. You could feel your knees slipping but Daemon's grip on you would not see you move from your position. Your toes curl. Saliva drips out your open mouth.

"Māzigon va, riña," he snorts, "sepār mirrī angotan tolī." Come on, girl. Just a little bit more."

You do not understand, so you only whine out, "Daemon."

Daemon growls and rubs one side of your ass, "you're doing so good for me."

He spanks you, but that's not what makes your eyes open.

"Milk my cock with your tight cunny, come slut."

You begin to grit your teeth.

"I want to see my seed dripping down your thighs," he groans, mind unable to focus on anything but the hot, wet slapping of your skin.

It's unsurprising that you come first, as Daemon always assures you do to underscore his control and dominance over you. He yelps out a sharp fuck, nearly coming in your cunt because of how your body seizes up around him. Your orgasm overwhelming, yet your eyes water for more than this reason. His words make you aware your husband sees you nothing more as a vessel for pleasure, and your pleasure is regretfully cut short because of how sharply he pulls out, his load spraying on your already dripping labia and pubic hair.

He strokes himself a few times, feeling his cock twitch in his hand as he watches your mixed come trickle down your legs. He sighs, "fuck," then scoops the cream in two fingers, plunging it in and out your still spasming cunt.

You squeal when he finger fucks you, body unable to remain upright. You are grateful he loses interest rather quickly and crumble into the bed as he stands.

You watch him walk over to the drawer, where he then pours himself some wine. You gulp, remembering your dream from last night. It sobers you out your high. You clench your jaw and roll over to clean yourself up. You head to your vanity and wipe yourself down, grabbing your robe was you do.

Daemon, whose thirst was now quenched, turns back to you with a towel. He is confused to see you standing. He watches you flip your hair behind you, pulling it out of your robe, which you then secure around yourself. He knits his brows as he walks over, "what are you doing?"

You turn to him, sitting on the vanity chair, "getting ready for bed."

Daemon stares, and you take his prolonged silence as an indication to proceed with your nightly routine.

The prince squeezes the damp towel in his hand as he watches you brush your hair. You catch his stillness from the mirror and turn back to him, "oh."

You drop your brush and take the towel from him, "I'll help you clean up."

Normally, he enjoyed this, but right now, he can't. He is offended when you begin to pick up his clothes, so much that he scoffs, "the fuck are you doing?"

You halt midway picking up his trousers. You stand and turn to the closet, "ah. Did you want new clothes?"

He pulls his head back, no longer offended, but hurt, "you want me to leave?"

You are caught off guard by his question. You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. You could not identify his expression, so you did not know if you tell him the truth. You would not survive being berated after confessing you wanted to sleep with him. You dodge the answer altogether, "weren't you leaving anyway?"

Daemon's cheeks tense. He huffs, stepping forward, yanking his clothes out of your hands, "no."

You are bewildered by his actions, for to you, his actions are sudden. You are petrified in fear, which is why you instinctively begin to apologize, "f-forgive me, I-I-"

His nostrils flare and his jaw sets.

"I-" you motion with a hand, "- you always leave."

His clenches his jaw, "do you want me to leave?"

"I—" your throat tightens and soon you can no longer look at him. You want to beg him to stay, but you recall how you did that with your father, and your mother, and your brother— begging does not make people stay. You whisper, "I... I'm terrified."

When you lift your gaze, Daemon shirks and decided to dress. He gulps as he pulls his trousers up, turning back to you. He clenches his fist before reaching out for you.

Your heart races as he takes your hand.

"You've served me well. If you are terrified... I'll leave you."

You whimper when he pulls away, holding him tighter than he did before your hands part. Your lips quiver. He knits his brows. You shake your head, "I- I... I do not want you to go."

He is taken off guard by how you suddenly embrace him.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

He turned to stone. He cannot seem to move at all but your arms are determined to stay around him. You begin to weep against his skin and he can feel your breath grow ragged. Only then does he manage to return your affection.

He brushes your dark hair away from your face and cradles you against him.

"Daemon."

He leans into you, enough to be able to brush his cheek against yours, "kesan umbagon." I will stay.

You sniffle then sigh. After a while, you ask, "what does that mean?"

"I will stay."

You sigh again, pulling away to look at him. You offer him a sad smile, "thank you."

He frowns, wiping your tears.

When you go back to bed, you offer him space in case you've made him uncomfortable. He stares at you, awaiting your embrace. You are mere inches apart but it feels like yards and yards.

"Good night, husband," you say before turning over.

He chuckles dryly, staring at your dark hair. He turns to the ceiling, "good night."

[ranticore]

answering all my asks in a big bunch

@help-system

it's kind of cool to think about actually & something i didn't consider (re: the implications for future generations). the reason he has to stay in a town flock isn't just because he's formed attachments there, but because he is vision-impaired and his feathers are fucked from lack of structural pigment and would struggle to live without the support system (for lack of a better term) of the town around him. his survival depends on living in a society. that also means he'll survive to pass on this trait when otherwise he would not. it's recessive so yeah could definitely be passed on!

@focshi

Oh habitat & life habits change the look of the nests completely. for the ama plains eagle harpies I was imagining a kind of gourd-shaped woven bower.. sortaaa like this as the eastern edge of the plains (where they live) has emergent columnar basalt and it's on these big stone stacks where they make their nests. use rope and picks to secure the bowers to the columns and the king's eyrie (the tallest one naturally) is built around a log tied upright with guy-ropes driven into the stone. they are all flexible enough that they blow around a lot in the wind without suffering much damage (see pic below)

in between them are net-like rope platforms and ladders as well as more 'spires' which are the trees propped upright on the columns. solid stone is the only safe 'ground' material to build nests on.

@gardenergulfie many of the monsters were bound by additional magical rules on top of the "you are twisted into a monstrous form" main thing. i hadn't thought of many tbh but i believe sphinxes were more strictly bound by their riddle names rather than just doing it playfully by choice, i know there was more but it escapes me. i'll have to think of some!

wyrms are cursed with immortality in a very classical sense so it would be impossible for Revelation not to be around in Cuinn's time. but ah... i wouldn't say it's in a good state

wildfire unfortunately is no longer with us. in mind & spirit anyway.

For eagle harpies, baby-rearing is not communal. The parents swap brooding/hunting roles (one broods/warms the young, the other hunts, they barely get time to sleep). Once baby is old enough to fly it hops out and joins the other fledglings in their eyrie. Parents rarely have anything to do with them after that but they will occasionally stop by to deliver discipline if they feel their offspring isn't behaving properly.

Partnerships are monogamous (but if the king wants your girl then that's his girl for the night) and last as long as any relationships might; could be many years, could barely last a season. there's a stigma against breaking up while tending a nest so some harpies with relationship problems tough it out for the sake of the kids (this never works)

The king does not care about his offspring as people, only as tokens of his virility and strength. Kings often boast of how many offspring they have (and the All-King can have hundreds) but do they know all (or even any of) their kids' names? of course not

Regular cobs do most of the fathering because most flocks don't have a king and they have to reproduce somehow. There's no visible difference between the offspring of a king vs the offspring of a cob. eggs is eggs

Eagle harpy pens can lay up to 4 eggs in one nesting season. Sibling aggression is common in the early days and if unsupervised they can kill one another but that's seen as a sign of lazy and inattentive parenting UNLESS the baby being picked on was kinda runty and then it's their own fault for being a whimp and they should toughen up. Parents can lay unfertilised eggs but rarely do, it's similar to a false pregnancy. Unfertilised eggs are eaten. Harpies of different species base cannot interbreed, but bear in mind that harpy species diversity is overall much lower than birds.

Eagle harpies are VERY protective of their eggs. It's not unheard of for other harpies of the same eyrie to steal their neighbours' eggs for various reasons (you can gain favour if you have one of the king's offspring in your nest....). many predators also might want to take some as well (sphinxes are... very ferocious predators of harpies, but also you gotta watch out for that little human who might have ambitions of being a falconer). parents will guard their eggs viciously.

I don't think it's unreasonable to imagine such a scam tbh... yeah sure take this egg it'll tooootally hatch into a big strong harpy. human falconers probably candle their eggs frequently to monitor them so i think they would catch on very quickly though hehe

[ushsblog]

now your turn to give us some greylock headcanons

or cedric headcanons

or cedlock headcanons

🤲 <- put them right here for us to look at and go wow wait fr?

Here is my essay.

I have many more, but this list would be excessive (if it isn't already). Some of these headcanons overlap because they complement each other. I've also included some Cedlock headcanons derived from the individual ones.

My Greylock Headcanons

1. He likes music and knows how to play several instruments.

This headcanon is partly borrowed from the Waltz for Cedric fanfic, but I find it very fitting for Greylock. I can imagine him playing an accordion while dancing, or even being part of a one-man band.

1g Cedlock: Greylock plays for Cedric and has composed musical arrangements for him.

2. He enjoys dancing.

I feel like Greylock would dance for fun, but he’s not particularly skilled—at least not with ballroom dancing.

2g Cedlock: Greylock once asked Cedric to teach him ballroom dancing and pretended to be clumsier than he actually was just to spend more time dancing with him.

3. He’s the kind of person who can strike up a conversation with anyone.

I like to think that Greylock is very charismatic, someone who is “friends with everyone,” so to speak. At the very least, a lot of people know him.

At Hexley Hall he was change sit so he couldn't talk to his friends and would just make friends with the new person next to him.

4. Greylock used to play pranks on Slickwell and actually liked him (somewhat).

I imagine they didn’t have a close friendship but weren’t outright enemies either, something like Cedric and Baileywick. Greylock often played pranks on Slickwell, knowing how easily he’d lose his temper, and he found it amusing.

Slickwell frequently tried to report him to Magnus, but by the time Magnus returned, Greylock had already cleaned up any mess with his magic, leaving Slickwell without proof. Like Candace trying to bust Phineas and Ferb.

5. Greylock likes fish and owns a goldfish.

There’s not much to explain here; I just think Greylock is the type to enjoy fish and would have a goldfish living in a little castle tank.

6. Greylock wasn’t born into nobility, and his magical talents came from recessive genes.

My headcanon is that Greylock was born into a non-magical merchant family. His gift for magic came from recessive traits in his lineage. His parents did everything they could to send him to good schools, such as Hexley Hall, so he could maximize his potential. His family loves him, and he loves them.

7. Marshak taught Greylock the hand spell.

Personally, I prefer to believe that Marshak isn’t Greylock’s relative but rather a retired Hexley Hall teacher who mentored him for most of his time there. Many of the spells Greylock knows were taught to him by Marshak.

8. Greylock wishes his role as Royal Sorcerer were different.

While he doesn’t hate his job, he wishes it came with less pressure. Greylock feels burdened by Magnus’s impossible expectations and is annoyed that Magnus flaunts him, not as a recognition of his skills but as a possession to bolster his own image. Greylock resents being treated like a tool and just wants to enjoy life and explore what his magic can do without having to fulfill Magnus’s excessive (and often exhausting) demands.

9. Greylock was fine after the events of "Day of Sorcerers."

My main headcanon about the conclusion of Rudistan and Greylock’s story is this:

After Cedric betrayed Grimtix, many of the Order’s allies began to fall to the good sorcerers. With Enchancia and other kingdoms liberated from the order's control, reinforcements were sent to confront Greylock at Rudistan.

However, Magnus’s fall from power revealed the vast number of opponents to his rule, sparking a civil war that pulled Greylock into its center. While Greylock aimed to overthrow Magnus, he hadn’t anticipated the implications, and becoming the face of a movement overwhelmed him.

Rudistan was divided: some were loyal to Magnus, others wanted to end the old regime altogether (I headcanon that Magnus’s entire dynasty wasn’t particularly benevolent). Foreign intervention was blocked by Rudistan’s own people, who, realizing Magnus wasn’t as invincible as he seemed (an idea fostered by Greylock), finally acted against him.

This essentially led to a civil war lasting several years. Communication between Rudistan and other kingdoms became minimal, if not nonexistent. Greylock used his magic to help the people and the opposition of Magnus, becoming a prominent figure of the movement, though the pressure weighed heavily on him. He felt that the rebellion used him just as much as Magnus had.

Eventually, Magnus’s opposition won, and he was overthrown again. Someone else was chosen as king since Greylock refused the role. In the end, Greylock decided to leave Rudistan to live a quieter life elsewhere. He was pardoned, at least by Rudistan, for his crimes against the crown.

3g Cedlock: As soon as he was able, Greylock began sending letters to Cedric to check on him and share what had happened in his own life. Over time, they reunited and ended up together. Greylock eventually moved to Enchancia. (In my headcanon, the other kingdoms didn’t care much about Magnus losing his throne as long as the new ruler upheld previous agreements. Roland simply didn’t mind, and though the idea of sorcerers overthrowing kings unnerved him a bit, he ultimately accepted Greylock’s presence.)

And they lived happily ever after, and all that.

10. Away from Rudistan, Greylock started dressing more freely.

Greylock enjoys experimenting with different patterns, textures, and colors, though he doesn’t always know how to match them well.

11. Greylock once got a hernia after spending all day fulfilling Magnus’s whims.

(I know that’s not how hernias work, shhh.) In general, I headcanon that Greylock can’t stand Magnus (like most characters), but I find it amusing to think that tolerating him has led to similar mishaps. Every day he grows a little crazier.

12. Greylock sleeps in underwear.

No further explanation needed.

4g Cedlock: Greylock started wearing shorts to bed after Cedric told him he didn’t want him sleeping in just underwear when they were together. Not sitting on the things in his workshop in his underwear either.

My Cedric Headcanons

1. He’s obsessed with birds, especially corvids, and knows everything about them.

I like to think Cedric has a fascination with birds and how they manage to fly, applying that knowledge to his inventions. His interest in corvids began as a way to take better care of Wormwood when he was young.

2. Cedric is an excellent dancer and took lessons as a child.

Since he had to attend royal balls, Goodwyn made him take ballroom dancing lessons. Cedric actually enjoys dancing, although he was embarrassed about it during his teenage years and part of his adulthood. (He had intrusive thoughts about being mocked and a mild phobia of balls because the incident.)

5c Cedlock: Once he regained his confidence, Cedric began dancing with Greylock at parties.

3. Cedric’s handwriting is gothic-style with elongated strokes.

I imagine Goodwyn had high expectations for Cedric in almost everything, including formal handwriting lessons. Cedric developed very elegant penmanship, though it can be hard to read due to his elongated strokes and the speed at which he writes.

6c Cedlock: Greylock sometimes struggles to read parts of Cedric’s handwriting in letters, just as Cedric occasionally struggles with Greylock’s. Both pretend they understand everything. (In reality, some parts are illegible.)

4. Cedric is some what cold-blooded and sleeps in a onesie with a sleeping cap.

On the rare occasions he actually goes to bed properly, Cedric bundles up excessively with warm clothes and blankets.

5. Cedric frequently uses spells to dress and clean himself.

I can totally see Cedric using magic to get dressed or bathe, saving time with spells instead of doing things manually. After all, if there are spells for ironing clothes (as Cordelia mentions), why wouldn’t there be spells for other tasks?

6. Cedric likes sweet things and eats candy or desserts when he’s sad.

He associates sweets with the comfort Winnifred gave him as a child. I imagine Winnifred would soothe him with desserts in addition to her other comforting gestures. Because of this, Cedric now associates sweets with emotional support.

I headcanon that his favorite treats include flycakes and blueberry desserts (inspired by the "Mystic Meadows" episode).

7. Cedric’s hair is slightly curly when grown out.

This is based on his teenage bangs and the slightly wavy hair of Cordelia and Winnifred.

8. Cedric is well-known in the village, and some people are excited to see him.

In "The Baker King", one villager mentions how the royal sorcerer made an entire orchard grow with his magic dust (something like that). This made me think it would be fun if some villagers were actually amazed by Cedric’s magical abilities and enjoyed seeing his tricks. However, Cedric’s constant bad mood when he’s out prevents him from noticing. It’s a bit like the dynamic in Cedric Be Good.

9. He secretly loves jewelry.

Although he’d never admit it, Cedric enjoys rings, necklaces, and anything shiny. He likes the luxury of wearing them. (I just enjoy imagining Cedric with jewelry.)

10. Cedric is a natural healer.

This one doesn't have a real reason, I just love the idea. It would explain why Cedric rarely gets hurt despite all the chaotic events he experiences, like his body magically heals itself.

11. Cedric still has nightmares about the Day of the Sorcerers and what could have happened if Sofia hadn’t intervened.

He has certain triggers and gets uncomfortable with specific topics, even though no one holds a grudge anymore. At some point after the series finale, he worked hard to rebuild his reputation but pushed himself so much that he fainted from exhaustion. Baileywick had a long talk with him about it. Still, Cedric occasionally has intrusive thoughts whenever something related is mentioned.

12. Cedric and Gwen will cause the EverRealm’s equivalent of an industrial revolution.

This could be considered a “crack” headcanon, but I think it’s possible. Just look at their flying cars! I also like to think the car Roland uses in the vacation episode is one of Cedric’s creations.

13. Cedric loves reading and is a huge fan of history.

He might not remember exact dates and names, but he retains everything else about historical events.

14. Cedric knows about botany and enjoys gardening.

He keeps plants in the upper part of his tower and likes taking care of them, though some occasionally die when he forgets to water them. (He revives them with magic anyway.)

My Cedlock Headcanons

These are a bit more scattered since they are imagined in various contexts and times within the series.

7. Wormwood doesn’t like Greylock.

Basically, I think Wormwood would tease Greylock when Cedric isn’t looking. Greylock doesn’t want to say anything to Cedric because he knows Wormwood is important to him. (And because he's a little terrified of Wormwood)

Eventually Wormwood stopped bothering him.

8. Greylock got into trouble to be with Cedric in detention.

Back in Hexley Hall, when Cedric was sent to detention for some disaster he caused, Greylock would find a way to get detention too, just to spend time with him.

9. Introducing him to the family

Greylock’s family is full of pranksters and somewhat rude humor, so Greylock threatened them all not to make any jokes when he brought Cedric to meet them. When he finally introduced them, they all made him feel welcome. Greylock’s family gets along well with Cedric and always tries to include him.

When Cedric introduced Greylock to his family (though it wasn’t necessary since Goodwyn and Winnifred had already investigated Greylock like the FBI), he warned them not to say anything rude about him (mainly Goodwyn).

Overall, they get along well with Greylock, but Goodwyn is a bit tougher and colder toward him. Eventually, he warmed up to Greylock when he realized he was a highly skilled sorcerer, though he still finds him a bit "not serious and unprofessional".

10. Cedric tries to learn the language of Rudistan for Greylock.

(Yes, I stole this from the Swanoverse universe, okay, leave me alone—it's a wonderful fanfic.)

11. About kisses.

Greylock was the one who initiated their kisses at first, but later, Cedric started seeking them out, though he didn’t know how to ask for them. I feel like their first kisses were a bit awkward because Cedric wasn’t sure what to do, and he was terrified of kissing in public.

And that's all because this is way too long

[k5ashe]

promising forever

I broke up with my boyfriend so time for some angst

She stayed quiet for a while, thinking. Then it hit her, and she sighed

"I can hide. We don't have to break up."

For the first time in a long time, he hesitates.

"Hide? What do you mean? Hide where? How?"

He takes a step closer to her, studying her expression. His gray eyes betray a mixture of frustration and a hint of sadness.

"This is because of those men, right? You think they will come after me." She spoke, looking at him with a nervous expression.

"Of course it's those fucking Dragons!" He snaps, his frustration evident. "If those bastards find out about you, they'll do anything to screw with me using you. I'm not going to let them hurt you." He runs his hand through his hair, sighing deeply as he lowers his eyes. "You don't know what they are capable of. Trust me, please. You don't want to be involved in all of this."

"I'll wait. I'll wait for you." She said, grabbing his coat, pulling him closer to her trembling form. ''I'll wait, so--.. Don't break up with me. Please.''

God-fucking-damnit, he can never say no. He's not strong enough. He looks at you for a long moment, searching for the strength to push you away.

"...I-" his voice catches, the words dying in his throat as he tries to break your hopes, but his arms, moving on his own, wrap around you in a tight embrace."No. You can't. Please. You deserve better than me."

He murmurs as he holds you against his chest, one hand caressing your hair. "You're so sweet and innocent. I am darkness and violence. I live for fighting, for the chase. You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can love you truly. Who can give you a safe life. I can't do that for you. You know I can't."

"I'll die without you". She screamed, voice trembling. "Please don't leave me. I'll wait-.. So please."

There are few things in the world more painful for him than seeing you cry. His heart feels like it's been stabbed as a tight knot forms in his chest. His eyes are also glassy with tears, but he doesn't shed them. Him, being an extremely stoic and closed-off man, would rather cut open his veins than show his tears. It's a weakness he refuses to show.

"Love. Lov-" he whispers, his voice strained, his fingers digging into your waist. He shakes his head, swallowing hard. His heart is breaking, he's unable to see you cry. Unable to hear you beg. He's is losing his composure as the knot in his chest tightens further. He wants to fight it, fight his feelings, but he cannot. His arms tighten around you.

"Alright. Please, please stop crying. I won't." He whispers in a cracked voice, pressing your face against his chest. "I won't break up, my love. I'm here, I-I'm here." His voice falters, barely audible. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice low as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. His fingers press into your skin, needing to feel you close. To have you near.

His eyes are closed, tears welling up and he hates himself for being so weak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He can hear his father's disapproving voice in his head, telling him that he shouldn't be crying. That he should be strong. That a man should never cry.

Without a word, she sat beside him and placed a hand on his back. He flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. She began rubbing slow, soothing circles, waiting for him to speak, but he stayed silent.

“Hey,” she said gently, her voice a soft melody in the silence. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.”

He shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap as he wiped at his eyes hastily. “I shouldn’t be like this,” he said, his voice raw and barely audible. She knelt in front of him, her hands gently cupping his tear-streaked face. Her voice trembled, raw with emotion, but her words were steady.

“I’ll wait, okay?” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered there, as though trying to pour all her strength into him. “For days. Months. Years. I don’t care how long it takes—I'll be here, waiting for you to find your way back.”

She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her gaze fierce, unwavering. “But don’t you dare die on me. Don’t even think about it. I swear, if you try to leave me, I’ll follow you. To the ends of the earth, to the edge of whatever comes after this life—I’ll chase you, and I’ll bring you back.” Her voice cracked, but her grip on his face tightened. “You can’t escape me. You don’t get to leave me here, not like this. Not ever.”

[writing-for-life]

@embervoices , I had to put this in a reblog because it got too long for the comments (brevity is not my forte 🤣):

Yes yes yes! I’ve got several metas that riff on exactly the points you mention, also Desire not being the straightforward villain so many think they are; you’ll find them all in my meta-library:

(please don’t feel you need to read them though)

Or rather: If we look at the Endless conceptually instead of seeing them solely as, well, “not human but still people”, we get to a deeper meaning that will otherwise stay inaccessible. It starts with *when* Desire and Despair first enter the scene in the main run (right after The Sound of her Wings, when Dream… well, hears the sound of her wings 😩). The “big sister sets his head straight” is a valid surface reading of #8, but it’s also just that—a surface reading.

You can’t love and be close to Death if you don’t feel drawn to death.

Death can’t advise you without also being her function. She *is* death. The literal thing. And I’ll never tire of saying it, because every time he listens to her in the whole run, he gets closer to her in the real sense.

And another unpopular opinion: When NG coined the pithy phrase that one must change or die, and that Morpheus made his choice, he didn’t mean he just chose death (even if a felt 80% of people seem to read it like that, but that might just be what I see on my feed—other people’s mileage might vary). They were never to be read as mutually exclusive—it was always both. Because metaphorically, something needs to die to change—a viewpoint, a habit, a set of beliefs. And yet, it doesn’t entirely disappear. That’s exactly what happens—omnia mutantur, nihil interit. And Dream is the Prince of Stories—of course he relates to everything via a narrative *he* spins (he can deny it all he wants).

And yes, you can absolutely desire death—it’s so poignant that we meet Desire and Despair for the first time in #10, and also that they show as the twins on this occasion.

And then there is Brief Lives, when Desire (which is *also* a life force, and that’s important contextually in several arcs) actively pulls out of the scheming in more than one way: Dream even says, verbatim, he has no desire to “do this”, when he usually avoids even the word like the plague (and if he hadn’t done it, the ending might have been different, but that would have also been totally past the point). But the influence of his other siblings, or rather how he relates to them, is far more devastating in that moment. And while they all try as siblings, they are also their function. And in their function, they are NOT helping—again, it’s so obvious if we just look at when and how they show up for him:

Delirium made him go on the trip to find Destruction, Death told him off and made him change his mind when he had already abandoned the plan, Destiny advised him but also didn’t because he is what *must* happen either way, and Despair only showed up for him after Orpheus’ death.

Funnily enough, Desire, despite all their scheming, was always the only one who saved his ass (maybe not always for the most unselfish reasons, but they did it anyway). Not just once. Several times over. Overture is all I’ll say (during the actual events of Overture, but also in the flashback to Alianora’s story).

It’s all incredibly clever and heartbreaking at once…

”But He Loved, He Should Have Been Forgiven”

About Free Will, Responsibility and Agency: Lucifer and Dream as Foils

Did I finally jump on the Lucidream/Dreamingstar bandwagon? No, don’t panic (or be eternally disappointed 🤣), because that quote is actually from “Murder Mysteries”, a short story that also exists in comic form (drawn by P. Craig Russell). And while it isn’t officially part of the Sandman Universe (or even DC), I always saw it as somewhat of a blueprint of how NG (re)imagined Lucifer’s Fall. There is enough in Lucifer’s characterisation in the Sandman that makes it quite plausible as a sort of backstory, especially since it was written when the Sandman was still in full swing. But more about that later…

I’ve long wanted to write a meta about Lucifer and Dream as narrative foils, and since I’ve finally started clearing out my drafts, this was a good one to do right now because we are currently discussing “A Hope in Hell” in our community (join us!). Although I have to admit that this one is rather about what transpires when Lucifer decides to abandon their realm in Season of Mists...

When Lucifer learns of Dream's impending return to Hell to finally release Nada, it solidifies their own resolve to leave (I use they/them pronouns because of the show although comics!Lucifer is male presenting apart from the plumbing and also referred to as he/him). By the time Dream arrives, Hell is nearly deserted, with Lucifer basically expelling its last inhabitants. Lucifer tells Dream they rebelled long ago, and that they are not willing to “pay for that one action” anymore. And the most profound truth they share with Dream is the nature of ultimate freedom—the freedom to leave. This is also brought up many issues later, when Lucifer says to Delirium, "I told him, you know. I told him years ago… I told him that I owed him much for having given me the impetus to go. I told him there was always freedom, even the ultimate freedom. The freedom to leave. You don't have to stay anywhere forever.”

And that’s just… ouch. Not just because it so clearly shows that Morpheus also could have left had he just chosen to (then again, he wouldn’t be Morpheus if he had, and even more “then again”: he did in certain ways), but also because we generally see Lucifer as an antagonistic force. But here, they express something akin to gratefulness. And maybe even a hint of regret that Morpheus didn’t also choose the same way. They feel almost sorry for him (my guess is they actually do, and I can never forget their face at The Wake). But what do you do if even freedom feels like a cage?

All of this ties in neatly with the crucial truth about Hell Lucifer reveals: People are there because they choose to be (and that Hell doesn’t need to be a physical place: We can make our own—any place, even in our own minds).

...this is where you wanted to be.

Lucifer explains to Dream:

"Why do they blame me for all their little failings? They use my name as if I spend my entire day sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commit acts they would otherwise find repulsive. 'The Devil made me do it.' I have never made one of them do anything. Never. They live their own tiny lives. I do not live their lives for them.”

He continues, “and then they die, and they come here (having transgressed against what they believed to be right), and expect us to fulfil their desire for pain and retribution. I don't make them come here. They talk of me going around and buying souls, like a fishwife come market day, never stopping to ask themselves why. I need no souls. And how can anyone own a soul? No.

They belong to themselves… they just hate to face up to it.”

Which brings me to one of the most important messages (one of many) of the Sandman: People must take responsibility (and in this particular case not only for their lives but also for their afterlives, which is also a recurring theme). Each person's soul is their own, and no one can take that away. Paradoxically (or maybe not), as Lucifer abandons their own responsibilities, they urge people to take responsibility for themselves: You can drop said responsibilities, with all that entails, as long as you also take responsibility for the fallout.

So what about the wider question of free will then?

Let’s look at Lucifer's rebellion and fall for that, because both raise a lot of questions. Dream tells Lucifer that he remembers them as passionate, and Lucifer responds, “I cared about so many things. I suppose that was why everything began to go wrong. You know… I still wonder how much of it He planned. How much of it He knew in advance. I thought I was rebelling. I thought I was defying His rule. No… I was merely fulfilling another tiny segment of His great and powerful plan.”

And this brings me right to NG’s short story “Murder Mysteries”, which isn’t really officially part of the Sandman Universe, but also… it totally is 🤣. In it, pre-fall Lucifer witnesses the destruction of an angel who killed another angel they loved. Raguel (the angel formerly tasked with said destruction who now walks on earth, coincidentally mentioned in the panel above as one who might also have rebelled) narrates, “‘That was not right. That was not just.’ Perhaps Saraquael was the first to love, but Lucifer was the first to shed tears."

Later, it is revealed that God orchestrated this situation to push Lucifer towards rebellion. God needed an adversary to run Hell and says, “Lucifer must brood on the unfairness of Saraquael's destruction. And that—amongst other things—will precipitate him into certain actions. Poor sweet Lucifer. His way will be the hardest of all my children; for there is a part he must play in the drama that is to come, and it is a grand role.”

Lucifer was basically set up by God, and this somewhat revisionist interpretation of their rebellion and fall opens up larger questions about free will, agency and destiny.

Because although Lucifer's actions were influenced by God, they still carried them out and are therefore fully responsible for them. And by choosing to abandon Hell, Lucifer was taking responsibility for their own life. They faced a choice: remain in Hell as a shadow of their former self, or move on and make peace.

This fragile peace is illustrated at the end of "A Season of Mists," when Lucifer and an old man are conversing on a beach. The old man, despite having lost everyone he loved, remarks that any God who can create such beautiful sunsets couldn't be all bad. After the man leaves, Lucifer admits (basically to God), “He's got a point. The sunsets are bloody marvelous, you old bastard. Satisfied?”

And in a way, even Lucifer comes to terms with their past once they take responsibility for it.

In a way, this mirrors Dream’s arc to a tee. One could certainly argue that he was set on his path by forces outwith his control: Whatever had to happen in cosmic terms was always bigger than Dream. The Fates also held a grudge against him and Orpheus, for more than one reason. Orpheus did make the Furies cry, and they never forgave him for that. Crucially though, he was also responsible for his own actions and carried them out. Only that Dream’s choice was ultimately a different one—or was it truly? Because what is the exact definition of “walking away”? He certainly did not abandon his realm like Lucifer because he ensured it was taken care of. There is no devil-may-care (no pun intended) attitude, because even when choosing death, Morpheus does care about his realm and the dreamers. Deeply.

It is the sole reason why the ending we get is the ending we get, and why we have Daniel as Dream in the end. And while Lucifer takes responsibility for their own life, Morpheus takes responsibility for his own death. But both Lucifer and Morpheus faced a choice: remain on their paths as shadows of their former selves, or move on and make peace. And both chose the latter.

And one takeaway for us, as the readers, might be that if we find ourselves in an intolerable situation, we can always walk away, even if the price may be high. This brings us back to the theme of freedom:

The price of freedom is taking responsibility for our lives, even if we haven't been fully in control of them. The freedom to walk away might not be the ultimate freedom, as Lucifer suggests, but it is significant.

Free will in the Sandman is a topic of debate, and I tangentially wrote about it before:

Destiny carries a book that contains everything that will happen to us, all there was, is and will be. Most of all though, it contains what must happen. One could say that in this universe, there is a strong element of predestination involved. However, complaining about a lack of free will and just pointing towards Destiny’s book also misses the point:

In the end, our lives are always our own (which is mentioned several times, directly or in a roundabout way: in Façade, in Song of Orpheus, in Brief Lives, in The Kindly Ones, in The Wake).

Your life and your death are your own

Some of us might have more to overcome than others, but the sooner we accept our unique challenges (which is not the same as being passive), the more we will focus on what we can change—or what we can meet with forgiveness and (self-)compassion.

Destiny and freedom as opposite sides of the coin matter far less than what we do with them…

[echoesofadream]

taecho a/b/o au where I am an alpha taehyung is omega and he is making me go like this

with his perfect perfect perfect lean toned long fleshy smooth silky soft perfect perfect body he probably smells like earth and ocean and honey and musk and strawberry and caramel and vanilla and my alpha needs to claim him so bad im going to bite him not just his neck I need to bite his thighs and arms but I will bite his neck and give him my mark and I will.breed him

military wife alpha era

[skunkes]

can i ask why ur getting the surgery? /gen curious /no hate

i am getting a bi(lateral)salp(ingectomy) bc i never want to be pregnant or be a parent!

Even if i do change my mind later about the parent thing (not super likely but things can change, sure) theres noooo shortage of single parents lmao

And even if I never End Up In The Circumstance(s) Where I COULD Become Pregnant in my life, I'd want the peace of mind anyway...

I've always felt disgusted that this is something my body is capable of. I want it to be MY body and not a site and vessel for potential tragedy in any direction. And I want it to be something permanent and not dependent on access to services/medicines or even laws!!! Dis is a gender affirming surgery for me honestly...

[girlmadeofclockwork]

I think the potential hilarity of Durge/Karlach is not capitalized on enough, cause imagine being Gortash, the subordinate you sold to the devil ten years ago is back foiling your methodically laid out plans and out to kill you in vengeance for what you did, and then just to add insult to injury she stole your murder-girlfriend as well. L’s up on L’s for this man.

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

"Takeomi is Sanzu&Senju's half-brother" headcanon, sure

But is the Akashi grandmother biologically related to him or not... Hm....

[dvasva]

Edit: more thought out ideas in reblogs!

something i think i dont necessarily agree with in mdzs discussionnis the idea that 'jiang cheng sacrificed his golden core for wei wuxian' which, while technically true, kinda wasnt jiang chengs intention.

jiang cheng intended to die.

like, think about it. he had just lost his family and clan, he was basically incapable of taking care of himself due to grief and anger, and wwx had to find them food and keep them moving, and wwx had the legitimate fear that jc would go back to lotus pier. jiang cheng ran out, yes with the intention to save wwx, but also knowing he was trying to die. he didnt trade his golden core for wwx, he tried to trade his life and ended up losing the golden core which is more unbearable to him than death.

thats why hes so shocked and upset about wei wuxian giving him his golden core. because giving someone your life is one thing, but purposefully choosing to live without a golden core is unthinkable to him. imo, jc doesnt tell wwx about saving him for two reasons at two times. the first, directly post war, because jc sees his sacrifice as more than he intended to give and therefore too much to bring up especially since wwx seemingly gave jc a wish to get it back making them even, and then after the golden core reveal, he sees his intended sacrifice as too little, something not worth mentioning in the scale of exchange. he intended to give his life, unintentionally lost something more valuable, then instead was intentionally and knowingly given something he was unwilling to live without.

[hecatesbroom]

Apparently, today's brainrot of choice is a Golden Girls Sound of Music AU where Rose is Maria, Dorothy's the Captain, and Blanche is the Baroness, only that one scene where the Baroness visits Maria in her bedroom ends very differently & they end up in a polycule

[nururu]

wowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow

[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne