#So many words

[emeryhall]

Thank you @run-for-chamo-miles for the tag!

In 2024, I posted 9 fics totaling 339,207 words, which is fucking batshit even if some of those words were written in 2023. My most popular fic in terms of kudos is arsonist Baz and firefighter Simon 🔥. But in terms of bookmarks, it's Blood Sugar Sex Moony (wolfstar), which includes my favorite bookmark ever ⬇️

Fics listed below the cut, plus a heartfelt PSA ❤️

January

Blood Sugar Sex Moony (wolfstar, E, 63.6K)

A vengeance-fueled, Buffy-inspired, 90s high school AU with a 17-person body count, featuring amazing art by @spikesteaseasalt.

A Little Bit Deadly (snowbaz, E, 48.9K)

New York City firefighter Simon Snow mistakenly downloads Grindr instead of Tinder and falls for British arsonist Baz Pitch. Featuring DEREK JETER and the most heart-warming art by @letraspal.

March

The Tale of a Magic-Sucking Hoover and a Rat-Drinking Monster (snowbaz, E, 38.7K)

Ghost mums, sentient buildings, and sex toys. Oh my!

June

Only Creatures (snowbaz, E, 88K)

Sad poet Baz Pitch and dragon camboy Simon Snow. Featuring Baz's beard, the hybrid-creatures camming site, OnlyCreatures, and a cameo by Taylor Swift, as well as absolutely gorgeous art by @artsyunderstudy.

October

Sidney Snow Grimm-Pitch (snowbaz, M, 43.7K)

My delightful collaboration with @artsyunderstudy, and a gift for @cutestkilla whose fic What's Left inspired this getting together later in life mpreg. Yes, mpreg.

whatever beats beneath (firstprince, E, 5.1K)

My foray into the RWRB fandom, when I thought I was writing an omarashi fic for a Kinktober prompt, but instead wrote an exploration of grief.

November

Pink Salt (Saltburn, E, 23.1K)

Sometimes the greatest love story is between an undead baker and the man who didn't realize he was a necromancer when he fucked his grave.

Bound Together in Five Dimensions (snowbaz, E, WIP, 4.7K and growing)

My CORB collab with @stardustasincocaine! I won't say anymore because we're posting the next chapter very, very soon 🩷

December

Out of the Game (firstprince, E, WIP, 23.9K and growing)

Another RWRB, this time scratching my itch to write in the detective/spy thriller genre. In the spirit of the Will Darling Adventures, and featuring truly inspired literary works by Henry, and an Alex who is perhaps not to be trusted. But then again, maybe Henry needs a little chaos in his life.

And finally, a PSA, written as much as a reminder to myself, as to anyone else who feels like their writing doesn't quite fit anywhere:

When I posted my first fanfic (wolfstar), no one read me. We’re talking like four kudos in a fandom where fics go viral. And at some point I thought, maybe I should attempt to write things that people actually want to read? 

I love writing deeply romantic stories, but I love stories like True Romance or The Shape of Water. Two people who are perfect for each other, but one is mute and the other is a fish god from Brazil. One stabs Tony Soprano in the foot with a corkscrew and the other communicates with an hallucination of Elvis. 

Finally, I found the Carry On fandom who enthusiastically embraced my Baz who excelled "at both deep-throating cock and scorching motherfuckers like a vengeance demon in floral Tom Ford." And then finally, finally, almost a year after it posted, people in the wolfstar fandom started reading Blood Sugar Sex Moony. Now, almost every day, I get kudos and (sometimes delightfully unhinged) comments on my wolfstar too. 

I don’t imagine I’ll ever be really, really popular, but I’ve found a group of readers — or they’ve found me — who appreciate the way my brain works, and little old high school me, who always believed that the best love stories are the strangest ones, knows that they are not alone. 

So my PSA to everyone out there who feels like Nora Ephron trapped in David Lynch trapped in Wes Craven — or whatever your unmarketable combo may be — keep on doing you. One day you will find your people 🩷

Also, thank you to everyone who read, kudos-ed, and commented on my fics, and a special shout out to all of the wonderful friends I've made in the Carry On fandom. Y'all have brightened my 2024.

And now, tags!

@bookish-bogwitch @monbons @roomwithanopenfire @fiend-for-culture @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@thewholelemon @mooncello @iamamythologicalcreature @rimeswithpurple @orange-peony

@messofthejess @alexalexinii @best--dress @ileadacharmedlife @ic3que3n

@hushed-chorus @rbkzz @noblecorgi @facewithoutheart @larkral

@euripidestrousers @r33sespieces @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @letraspal

Plus anyone who wants to play. (I imagine this can be done for art too. Or dolls!)

[falklore]

I’m gonna need 3-5 business weeks to form an opinion on this album

[monbons]

Stitches and Sentences

Thanks for the tags @roomwithanopenfire and @leithillustration and good morning all. This is less an in-progress post than a roundup because there has been so much great content out there between CO AU Fest, EGF, and Baz's birthday that you may have missed one or all of my posts. So, helpfully, I am here to share again!

STITCHES I stumbled upon the perfect fabric for floral suit Baz six months ago, but I finally made him a reality just this past week! Here is a bonus video (in case you don't currently follow me on Instagram) that really zooms in on his amazing details.

As an aside: I am returning to my fanart for fanfic roots for the foreseeable future and have already started working on my next doll for an in-progress WIP. This doll is going to be a VISION of pink and *sparkle*. I cannot wait!

SENTENCES I posted my EGF collaboration with @rimeswithpurple on Baz's birthday. It was such a labor of love for the both of us, and like it's title, the art and fic really are very beautiful. To entice you to read Beautiful Things, here are some comments readers have already left:

"This was exquisite!"

"Arianna!! The art for this is STUNNING!"

"I know you said healing, but I wasn’t anticipating such beautiful tenderness. The way you both make them is simply stunning and as a fandom we thank you for it."

"This is my favorite kind of smut!!"

I also just posted a gift fic yesterday, Better Than This, for @thewholelemon. Is it her birthday? No. But it is our friendship's birthday, so I plan to celebrate all week by posting a new chapter every other day until I can hug her in person this Friday. Here are a few lines from chapter 1 of the fluffiest thing I have ever written.

Simon scrunched his brows and picked up the recipe, eyes scanning the paper suspiciously. This was not the reaction for which Baz had hoped. He had planned on an enthusiastic hug. Perhaps a kiss on the cheek. At the very least a thank you for all the time and effort he’d spent.  Instead, Simon scratched his head and said, “I assumed these were made with magick.” Baz sighed. They were. (That was step 9, conveniently left out.) “The magick is love,” Baz replied, and then cringed internally at his own sentimentality.

GO READ MY FICS. They are so good. Seriously. Go. If you are still here, you are missing out.

Until next time.

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy

@best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch,

@confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart

@harrie-leithillustration, @hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife

@katatsumuli, @larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @messofthejess

@mooncello, @noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee

@rbkzz, @rimeswithpurple, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt

@skeedelvee, @stitchyqueer, @supercutedinosaurs, @talentpiper11, @technetiumai

@the-beard-of-edward-teach, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon, @valeffelees

@whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

[onthewaytosomewhere]

thanks for the tags @cha-melodius @eusuntgratie, @kiwiana-writes, @firenati0n, @run-for-chamo-miles

(snatching the open tags from @caterpills, & @alasse9 while i'm at it)

your girl wrote so much this year ... 349 K words in 58 fics and 14 collections of ficlet friday ficlets (some of which have or are in the process of becoming actual full fics lolz) and a bunch more words in WIPs (40 or so in the folder) that are still waiting for me to just finish them (or come back to them) already! lolz - I wrote in 3 fandoms and 15 different pairings that have been posted this year and a couple others that didn't get there quite yet) - i've officially posted the last of my fics for the year so here we go

so this is a lot of fic listed here so we're gonna so put it behind a cut

JANUARY

Ring on His Finger, Putty in His Hands (RWRB, firstprince, 2.9k, E) - engaged boys that i had so planned to make a series and the rest of the ideas are still sitting in my WIP folder lolz

FEBRUARY

the second hand unwinds (RWRB, firstprince, 3.6k, G) - girldads fic for Hey Sweetheart challenge

i've got you acting like you want more (RWRB, firstprince, 3.3k, E) - brownstone era pre-engagement - the boys re-uniting after a week apart fic also for the Hey Sweetheart challenge

- like the way you work it - (RWRB, firstprince, 3.4k, E) - smut where Henry takes care of Alex

Setting The Bar High (RWRB, firstprince, 2.3k, E) - the boys celebrate their first birthdays in Texas (Becz bday fic)

MARCH

gotta sign 'em all (RWRB, firstprince, 6k, T) - fic inspired by TZP and his fascination with a lil pink book and the way he's so damn ACD-coded

APRIL

Something in your mouth (RWRB, fristprince, 3.7k, E) - fic inspired by the Nickelback song - Alex sees Henry at a party with a sucker in his mouth and needs to experience that mouth

baby just say yes (RWRB, fristprince, 20.6k, E) TSwift fairytale done for the brownstone's eras tour challenge (this was my first firstprince fairytale but i have plans for different one lolz - have a desire to do it better lolz)

MAY

Makin' memories I might remember (RWRB, firstprince, 7k, E) - the first of my not-so-much one night stands fics - this one has alive arthur and has the boys falling in luv with their one night stands

just a bit of fun (RWRB, firstprince, 2.7k, fic for Adina's bday - this all started from a silly convo and then became fic lolz

JUNE

and fight the break of dawn (RWRB, liam/pez, 6.6K, E) a southern philanthropy not-so-much one night stand fic (2nd in series)

JULY

2 is better than 1 - 3 is better than 2 (when we’re back at 2 wanna stay there with u) (RWRB, alex/henry/pip & firstprince, 19.5K, E) this is that alex/henry/pip (fristprinceS) incest-y fic i wrote for Tiff

my slutty royal (RWRB, firstprince, 1.1K, E) this was an inspired by art fic - strawberry helados by papiercranes

nights at the moonlight coffee shop (RWRB, firstprince, 15.1k, E) my werepire all-night coffee shop au for ficwip dark & cozy challenge

AUGUST

in the kitchen, at kensington, with those threadbare pajama pants (RWRB, alex/shaan, 1.2K, E) first in the shaan srivastava is too hot for his own good series - alex "beats it" to thoughts of shaan and his sexy pajama pants

bringing home silver (RWRB, fristprince, 7.7K, E) alex/henry olympics engagement fic (w/a side of southern philanthropy)

I'm gonna be a mighty king … (RWRB, firstprince, 878 words, T) just a silly fic inspired by a QOTD from a discord group

seeking the (sex) services of a witch (RWRB, firstprince, 4.5K, M) fic for ficwip 5K challenge - witch Henry helps out an Alex that may have been cursed

SEPTEMBER

a hug in clothing form (RWRB, firstprince, 3.2K, E) Oodie fic inspired by art - this lovely piece by Ash

in my dreams, at oxford, still with those damn pajama pants (RWRB, firstprince & henry/shaan, 3.6K, E) fic for the shaan srivastava is too hot for his own good series - henry tells alex about some dreams he had and that time he drunkenly hit on shaan - alex seduces it out of him

it's times like these you learn to live again (9-1-1, buddie (at the end), 4.4K, M) streetfigher!Buck buddie fic - came from combining 2 ficlet friday prompts

What if I say I love you (RWRB & 9-1-1, alex/buck, 2.8K, T) firstfire fic - meet the 'rents and "launching their relationship publicly"

on the kiss cam with you (RWRB, firstprince, 1.6k, T) another fic inspired by art - this comic piece by firstprnnce

thoroughly appreciated (RWRB, firstptince, 1K, M) a fic for the brownstone's firstprince week prompt “Did you get my note?” & secrets

help me forget for just a bit... (RWRB, firstprince, 1.2K, E) fic for the brownstone's firstprince week prompt silver & hurt/comfort - alex comforts henry with his mouth after he's had a rough day

you're still written in the scars on my heart (RWRB, firstprince, 2K, T) fic for the brownstone's firstprince week prompt “I can’t do this again” & hot or cold

OCTOBER

soulmates, star wars, and insufferable aresholes (RWRB, firstprince, 1.8k, M) soulmates fic where alex spoiled the death of han solo in his first words to henry - firstprince week fic

love & family is all we need ... (RWRB, firstprince, 953 words, G) Alex helps Henry through a memorial service for Arthur Fox - fox family feels abound - firstprince week fic

Schlorp of True Love, a Fairytale (RWRB, firstprince, 6.3K, E) a crackfic co-write with Mags and Tiff - this is what comes from when we put late night rambles into a doc lolz (soulmates but make it enormous dicks and stretchy holes)

But the words that he was whispering I couldn't stop from listening (RWRB, liam/pez, 4.7K, E) oh what is that i wrote another southern philanthropy - yes, of course! - another installment of my not-so-much one night stands series

these go in the keep pile (911, bucktommy, 1.8k, E) buck finds his old cowboy hat and puts it to good use OR my save horse ride a cowboy bucktommy fic

just a bit of full moon fun (RWRB, firstprince, 9.2K, E) werepire full moon sexin' - sequel to nights at the moonlight coffee shop fic

it takes everything i have not to melt (RWRB, firstprince, 1.4K, T) a first date college au firstprince fic for all-ships ship week

not because of some grand romantic declaration but because it feels right (RWRB, liam/pez, 1.2K, T) a southern philanthropy fic about a quiet night in and liam's feels

how meaningful the silences (RWRB, liam/pez, 1.2K, T) pez's pov of that domestic southern philanthropy

is this décor or a sex toy? (RWRB, firstprince, 2.8K, E) a silly lil fic that starts with pez sending the boys things for their new house and ends with them in bed (of course)

she has feelings about this, complicated ones (RWRB, junora, 1.8K, T) ooops! there's just one bed for all-ships ship week

not just a possibility, not just a dream (RWRB, firstprince, 5.1K, M) part 3 of werepire firstprince - this one with an adorable shifter kit that they adopt

NOVEMBER

I hope that someone gets my… (RWRB, firstprince, 12.9K, M) my AWY submission - message in a bottle fic

leaving no doubt that he owns this moment (RWRB, firstprince, 2.9K, M) alex lures henry to a victoria secret show and surprises him (inspired by a tumblr post that i rambled in tags on)

"Wanna get out of here?” (RWRB, alex/pez, 7.5K. E) a pez/alex college au bar hookup

Say that again (RWRB RPF, TZP/Clifton, 1.3K, E) so ... i ventured back into RPF as happens sometimes lolz - just pure smut

souls are not bound by simple explanations (RWRB, fristprince, 8.8K, T) A platonic soulmate fic where Philip is a good brother and Alex and Henry slow burn their way to a relationship. Told from Philip's POV

let me take care of you (RWRB, alex/pez, 6.6K, E) Pez being the great friend he is takes the very best care of an in heat Alex when Henry's out of town

gonna need you to tell me what you want to happen here (RWRB, firstprince & alex/pip, 7.8K, E) Pip reminisces, and Alex reveals something he'd neglected to tell Henry - pip had alex first

DECEMBER

born to ride (RWRB, firstprince, 3.6K, E)  trampstamp cowboy ACD (as this was called on my doc) meets and rides Henry fic that was of course inspired by a tumblr post and rambling in tags (also Leeks bday fic)

made for moments like this (RWRB, firstprince, 931 words, G) this is just Henry being sappy about his little family around the holidays

decorations and family lore (RWRB, firstprince, 905 words, G) Alex and the Fox siblings decorating a tree while they reminisce for rwrb festive fan fest

this year feels different (RWRB, firstprince, 1.3K, E) southern philanthropy soft holiday fic for the rwrb festive fan fest

Punch him with your mouth? (RWRB & 9111, firstprince, buddie, 1K, G) alex and buck are stranded at a hotel due to inclement weather and bond over missed food and feels for the boys in their lives (rwrb fff)

a lifeline through the holiday chaos (RWRB, junora, 1K,M) junora cuddling while watching a holiday movie for the rwrb fff (and Morgan's bday)

underneath the christmas tree (RWRB, firstprince & alex/pip, 7K, E) sequel to 3some fic where martha arranges a gift for pip under the xmas tree for rwrb fff (& tiff - cuz well she get all the sequels lolz)

bonding with his 'sisters'  (RWRB, firstprince, gen, 5.5K, T) Bea recruits Alex to help her and Martha find a gift for Henry and they enjoy a little bit of pampering. Alex bonds with his "fox sisters"

definitely taking a turn for the better (RWRB, alex/liam/pez with some fristprince and southern philanthropy at the end, 2.1K, E) pez brings the boys home from a party and when alex is on his way out he meets henry and well numbers might be exchanged my last fic for rwrbfff

everything he'll ever want (RWRB, liam/pez/spencer, 1.9k, M) a lil bit of holiday tranquility, softness and luv written for The Curio Cabinet rare pair exchange

Lights, Camera, Holliday Luv (RWRB, firstprince, 52K, E) pornstar alex and former boybander henry make a holiday movie and probably fall in luv (my big dec fic - my first multichapter posted chapter by chapter)

as near to peace as he ever gets (RWRB, henry/shaan, 804 words, M) in what has become a tradition when he's sloshed henry rubs off one shaan's thigh, oxford slut phase henry, written from a prompt for the Curio Cabinet that didn't make the cut for the exchange

a moment to savor (RWRB, oscar/raf, 845 words M) bb's first oscar/raf - some kissing on the couch that raf has some thoughts and feels about, also wriitten from a Curio Cabinet prompt

okay no pressure tag ur it to @adreamareads @basil-bird @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517

@stnichols @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @dreamtigress @emmalostinwonderland

@england-would-fall @everwitch-magiks @firstprincehornyramblings @firstsprinces @forever-fixating

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @jmagnabo92 @judasofsuburbia

@mikibwrites @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts

@orchidscript @piratefalls @porcelainmortal @priincebutt

@seths-rogens @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow

@stratocumulusperlucidus @suseagull5914 @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @thedramasummer

@thinkof-england @typicalopposite @thesleepyskipper @thighzp

@tinyarmedtrex @zwiazdziarka

[formlessvoidbeast]

definitely feeling some sort of way about the fact that I'm going to have a full Two Million Words on AO3 when I post this coming friday's chapter

[cokoweee]

Heyyyyy buddy got a few questions for ya

Can I just tag you instead of sending asks for fics? I can format it a lot easier when it’s not on the ask thing but I don’t wanna be a bother if tagging will annoy you

Also can you show a picture of your sona in color but also as the big one? I feel a tad bad for freaking up the little one so we makin it up with a better one that’s acceptable

Gah this is so stupid and I’m cringing but me and my friends are entered in a film contest. The film is about a girl struggling with a mental disorder and it’s really uncomfortable and unsettling and some parts. So to lighten it up we’re putting in little references. I was gonna do the ninja turtles but quickly realized that when I think of them I mostly just think of your AUs.

I’m banging my head against the wall as I type this, but do you wanna be in it? Not as acting or anything but like as a reference? Whatever you wish we’ll do. (Except swear coz I have to present it to the university and I’m frightened) but yeah. I speak Spanish semi-decently if you wanna like choose something for the main character to say at some point. Or like your sona can randomly be on the wall or somethin. You can say no ofc, but if you’re up to it I’ll tag you when I post it sometime next year so you can get credit for your ref. Or you can stay anonymous whatever’s more comfy for you. I just don’t wanna reference ur stuff without permission

AUGHAHSJ IM SORRY FOR SPEAKING SO MANY WORDS AT YOU

-Writing anon 🪱

FEAR FEAR FEAR SO MUCH FEAR RN

Oh yu hgo ahead an tag. If it makes it easier for you then 100% just do that lol

theres this doodle Mobii did that has the colors , this one's of the big one. These links better work i swear

aannnddd go ahead, use my lil sona guy lol. whatever versions chill i dont mind it

[paynomindtotheinsanity]

Chapter 19: Spaces Between

[bigalockwood]

Apparently I’ve uploaded exactly 268.000 words to AO3. Sorry to report there’s more coming your way 💜

[nanomooselet]

Little but Fierce VI

She winds up… there's the pitch…

Poor Nick. It never stops being funny. I'd feel sorrier that this happened to him but he's such a bastard in his introductory episode. It's like karma in advance.

Heheh. Kar-ma.

Meryl and Wolfwood behave very much like siblings to each other, while Vash and Roberto treat them like their awful terrible kids. Roberto does actually try reach out to Vash as a mentor once or twice, but of course Vash is fuck-off old and doesn't need that kind of assistance, so he's gently deflected. Roberto is old and wise enough to keep his distance. Nick, for his part, enjoys pissing Roberto off, and Roberto is for his part duly pissed off.

Still, Vash is the reason they're all even there in the first place and Meryl shows him concern. And Vash, in his way, fusses over Nick the way Roberto feels responsible for Meryl. A lot of what Vash does, he's doing pretty much solely for Wolfwood's benefit. I mean, look at this pathetic wet kitten of a man - you can't tell me he doesn't need it.

I've already talked at some length about why exactly Vash is like he is about Wolfwood, but what's he like about Meryl?

Pretty much exactly as fond. He's just quieter about it. To my read, he's confident she and Roberto can look after themselves and each other. That's really endearing to him, but not something he has to do anything about. And Meryl's not suffering the same kind of identity crisis as the Punisher/Wolfwood/Nico. Meryl knows exactly who she is, she's just trying to get everyone else to acknowledge it, and Vash does so from the first - she's never anything but "Meryl" to him, not "newbie" or "little lady". She never has to demand that of him.

Nor is she in directly a victim of his godawful brother, which thankfully means she isn't his responsibility to help - or at least, no more so than any given human. Also, it's Vash. What's that? Someone is invested in his well-being? Golly, that sounds suspiciously like he's being cared for (which of course he doesn't deserve), or (more reasonably) like someone vulnerable to being caught up in Knives's manipulations. Or just someone vulnerable to Knives period. Stampede out!

I though you guys were buddies./I thought you three had something special. 

No way./Yeah, not really.

Too bad for him, he's met his match in Meryl Stryfe.

In direct contrast to every other character around Vash, she's only one there not because she has to be, or because she needs or wants something from him, but because she decided to be. She's one of the only characters with agency, after all.

Real people aren't monsters like that./He's a man, not a monster.

But I won't give up, no matter how unreasonable the assignment!/I won't abandon an assignment just because it's silly.

We can't just leave him hanging here./No way. We can't just leave him here.

And she's also decided he needs help. So come hell or high water, this man is getting helped.

It's her knack for finding the truth without quite knowing the reasoning behind it. In physical terms Vash really, really doesn't need help, and it's the mistake Knives always makes; that because Vash ostensibly doesn't have powers like him, he's in need of a defender. (And because this is Knives, that means it's up to him personally, and he's entitled to Vash and his exclusive love/loyalty/devotion in return. Any protests Vash makes are clearly just human corruption.) But what Vash actually needs is something his brother has never, in any version of the story, demonstrated the capacity to give him. Even sensitive little boy Knives back in Maximum relied on others for reassurance up until the moment he decided he couldn't.

Vash is more inclined to be someone others rely on, to the point of being maladaptive. It's being unable to help that gets to him, especially when he's held responsible.

What he needs is emotional support. Or, well... faith.

Wolfwood gives that to him eventually, but it takes some serious work, and it comes with its own attendant difficulties, like the fact that Nick's not in a position to extend Vash help himself no matter how much he might want to. Nick is, like Rosa and like Vash, a pragmatist. Do what you have to do.

Meryl has never needed that kind of direct demonstration. To her, Vash is a person, and people always need help, and she's not going to be prevented giving it. End of discussion. And despite being mistaken on some particulars, on this point she's more right than even she knows.

The contrast with Wolfwood is incidentally why Meryl hitting Woofwoof with the truck isn't just fucking funny, it's the perfect way for him to be introduced. He can't catch the same bus as Vash by happenstance because this time Vash is his actual target. He can't have Angelina II because personal transport is autonomy he's not permitted to have.

Instead, Meryl's own autonomy and narrative significance had her run the plot right into him, completely ruining whatever plans were laid for his entrance. Notice Roberto tries to steer Meryl away from the collision course they're on, to no avail, and Vash winds up flipped over. Fantastic.

Wolfwood is getting dragged around; Meryl is the one doing the dragging. When she discovers Vash's secrets, she works to accept them and integrate them into her worldview - which means that the moment she learns he's a Plant, she doesn't reject him or become fearful of him. She instantly accepts that must mean the Plants are also people. That gives her a fuller understanding of the conflict, and especially Vash's view of it, than most. It's not a matter of "Whose side are you on?" It's "How do we move forward together?"

Wolfwood's knowledge has all been filtered through the Eye of Michael, so he's more aware of the details, but can't disentangle his true beliefs from the ideology driving them.

Meryl has a better understanding of the abstract. And that, in turn, entitles her to learn what the available methods are, and judge them...

...But it also entitles her to something more precious: Vash's unquestioning trust.

It's certainly much less dramatic than the demonstrations between Vash and Nick, but I have to say: any amount of exposure to Knives and his histrionics would leave me, at least, pretty relieved to have it.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

[bellaxgiornata]

I just finished the rough draft for chapter 3 of A Favor from the Devil today!! Almost 5k words in one day!

Brain tired now. I need break.

[nether-have-i-ever]

never have i ever had my pickaxe break while digging straight up to leave a deep cave and had to break the stone with my fist to escape

[anne-is-ominous]

I did a thing...

Book 1 of 12 for Phoenix: Reignited Edition is done, at 148% of Book 1's original scope. I am so happy with how Reignited is coming out, even though it's sapping a lot more time than I'd originally hoped.

[oatmealcutiepiex]

yesterday i made these raspberry white chocolate lemon zest muffins!

[finemeal]

@haunting-heroes-creative-games are in the voting stage of our Demon Twins Who Wrote That game hosted by the lovely @thewritingowl and @tourettesdog. A lot of us chose titles from Crane Wives songs, and I come bearing TWO playlists you can listen to.

YouTube and Spotify And if you wanna read the 43 fics we wrote from a total of 30 authors, there is a collection here on ao3 with them all. Hope you enjoy! I know I did <3

[arialerendeair]

NaNoWriMo 2023 Recap

NaNo has officially ended, and with 260,235 words under my belt for the month (NaNo graphs under the cut), a new 'written in one day' record of 36,473 words, time to make a list of the stuff that was written and checked off!

Here is the list of things (including links for those of you who might have missed some of the updates)!

DONE - Colour Forecasting (with @blueberrymffn!)

PROGRESS - Old Town Road (AKA The "Hob is a Horse Girl" Fic) (Based on @amielot’s art!!)

DONE - Rewrite the Stars - the Figure Skating AU

PROGRESS - Becoming Hope of the Endless

DONE - Well-Matched

DONE - Broken Glass, the very belated birthday present for @pellaaearien

Random Fishbowl Rescue Fic #57

Art of Seduction Series Next Fic

Art of Seduction Series Next Next Fic

DONE - Big Bang Fic for The Centennial Husbands Big Bang

PROGRESS - The Golden Trio Fic

DONE - Sequel for Braided Longing (Marriage Braids) 

DONE - Sequel for Dreams Make Living Worthwhile (Solstice Chapter)

DONE - Sequel for The Sonnet-Off (What was in the necklace Case?) 

DONE - Sequel for Dream of Dragons (Dream figuring out what Hob’s hoard is)

DONE - Sequel for A Dream Model (Hob showing up marked up LOTS for modeling) 

Sequel for The War for The Dreaming (BABY DREAMLING)

Sequel for The Age Difference Fic Opera Sequel (Dreamstuff fucking in public)

DONE - Sequel for A Family Stands Tall (Night & Time kidnap Hob)

NEW AND DONE - Dethroned - BAMF Hob fun

NEW AND DONE - A Blundered Beginning - Sequel to right where you left me by @seiya-starsniper

NEW AND DONE - What's a Bit of Death Between Friends? - More BAMF Hob fun

NEW AND DONE - Call of the Wild - Wolfy Hob fic inspired by @gabessquishytum

That's a wild amount of words, lol - so enjoy the fic updates everyone!

NaNo Stats below!

Total Words Written in November 2023 (1k less than my all-time record of 261k that I got last year)!

The line graph of how my month went!! (November 30th broke the graph a bit, but the rest of the month was consistent!)

Last but not least, my new single-day written record, which smashed my old one by more than 5k!

Whew!

What a wild month, y'all.

[therogueflame]

The Bronze Reign Chapter 12 - All Hail the Queen

oh hi again, its me

i liked writing this one. have fun

The song for this chapter is Only the Winds by Olafur Arnalds and Alti Orvarsson.

✨ My Masterlist ✨

🖊️My AO3 🖊️

📝 My WIP List 📝

❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥

Summary: As political tensions escalate dramatically, Vysaria is thrust further into power, confronting threats both seen and unseen. Meanwhile, an act of treachery sets in motion devastating consequences for those she holds closest.

WC: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping/abduction, threats, emotional distress

previous chapter

MDNI!!!

The council chamber was already full by the time Vysaria entered. The early morning light filtered through the high windows, pale and thin, barely cutting through the dimness of the stone hall. A fire burned in the great hearth, but it did little to warm the cold weight that had settled over the room.

Otto Hightower sat at the head of the table, his expression carefully composed, his hands folded before him in quiet contemplation. To his right, Lord Lyman Beesbury sat stiff-backed, his face lined with age, his mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval. To his left, Lord Lyonel Strong leaned slightly back in his chair, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.

Across from them, seated together in silent solidarity, were those who had not waited for Otto’s summons. Aemma sat with her hands clasped neatly before her, her expression calm but unyielding. Corlys Velaryon sat beside her, his gaze sharp and unwavering, his fingers tapping once against the wood of the table before stilling. Gwayne Hightower was at Vysaria’s side, his jaw set, his posture tense, though his face betrayed nothing. Ser Harrold Westerling, clad in his white cloak, stood behind them, his hands resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, his presence a quiet declaration.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest, his eyes moving between Otto and Beesbury with something dangerously close to amusement. Vysaria took her seat beside her mother, her chin lifted, her shoulders squared.

No one spoke at first. It was Otto who finally broke the silence.

"The king is dead," he said, his voice measured, deliberate. "The realm must mourn."

His words were carefully chosen, spoken not as an acknowledgment of what had been lost, but as a foundation for what he intended to say next.

"And the realm will mourn," Aemma said, her tone even. "But it will also see its next ruler crowned before the day is done."

Otto inclined his head slightly, as if he had expected as much. "Your Grace, I understand your urgency, but we must proceed with caution. The transition of power must be handled carefully. The lords of Westeros must be given time to swear their fealty. A coronation cannot be rushed—"

"It is not rushed," Corlys interrupted, his voice firm. "It is already decided. The king named his heir. The lords of Westeros swore fealty to her. This is not a matter for debate."

"That was years ago," Beesbury said, his thin voice carrying across the chamber. "The realm has changed since then. It is one thing for lords to swear fealty when the king still sits upon the throne, but now that he is gone, now that there is no one to enforce his will—"

"You mean now that there is no one to challenge yours," Daemon said smoothly.

Beesbury stiffened. "I mean only that the situation demands thought. The lords of the realm will expect to have a say in this transition. To move too quickly will be seen as reckless."

"Reckless?" Gwayne leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. "What is reckless about following the king’s will?"

Otto turned his attention to him. "My son, I do not expect you to understand the complexities of these matters—"

"Do not patronize me," Gwayne said, his voice steady but unyielding. "The king’s will was clear. His heir is here, sitting at this table, ready to take the throne. To delay her coronation is to invite disorder, and disorder invites war."

"The realm will not go to war," Beesbury scoffed. "No one is challenging her claim. We are simply asking for caution."

"There is no caution in waiting," Ser Westerling said. "Only an opportunity for dissent to fester."

Otto exhaled, tilting his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward Vysaria at last. "Princess, you are young, and though you are your father’s heir, you must understand the weight of the decision before us. A coronation must be deliberate, it must be measured, it must be—"

"It must be controlled," Vysaria cut in.

Otto did not deny it.

Vysaria inhaled slowly, keeping her expression calm. "The king named me his heir. That is the only decision that matters. If we delay, if we hesitate, it will not be seen as caution. It will be seen as weakness."

Otto studied her for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. "A Great Council—"

"A Great Council?" Corlys’s voice was sharp with disbelief. "You would dare suggest that the king’s heir, the heir he himself named, should be questioned by lords who have already sworn their loyalty?"

"It is not a challenge," Otto said, his tone patient. "It is a confirmation. The lords of Westeros must have the opportunity to reaffirm their allegiance. To rush this moment is to risk emboldening those who would oppose it—"

"Who are these lords?" Aemma asked, her voice smooth but cold. "You speak as though there are many, yet you name none."

Otto hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

"She will be crowned before the sun sets," Aemma continued. "You will not stall this. You will not twist this moment to suit your own ambitions."

Otto’s jaw tightened slightly. "You do not understand—"

"You do not understand," Daemon said, rising from his seat.

The scrape of his chair against the stone was sharp in the silence that followed. The room went still as he stepped behind Otto’s seat, his fingers resting lightly on the back of the chair, his presence looming. Otto did not turn, but his posture stiffened.

Daemon’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. "The crown does not belong to you. Nor does the power to withhold it from the one it was promised to. So I will ask only once. Will you step aside, or must I remove you myself?"

The chamber remained silent, the air heavy. Otto sat motionless, his knuckles white against the table. Then, finally, he inclined his head.

"The princess will be crowned."

Daemon did not move right away. He let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence settle over the room, his fingers tapping once against the table before he finally stepped back, turning away as if Otto had already ceased to matter. No one spoke. The council chamber remained still, thick with the unspoken understanding that nothing more needed to be said. The decision had been made. The realm would not wait.

Beyond the walls of the Red Keep, the bells of the Great Sept began to toll. Their heavy chimes rolled through the city streets, echoing across the rooftops, reaching even the farthest edges of the slums. At sunrise, they had mourned the passing of the king. Now, they rang again, marking the rise of his heir. The transition had been swift, almost unnatural in its urgency, but none could mistake what was happening. Every lord, courtier, and noble in attendance knew that the moment had been forced into place, that it had been seized before anyone had the chance to argue.

The Great Sept was filled beyond capacity. Every noble in the capital had been summoned, from the highest lords to the minor houses who had barely warranted a place in court before this day. Even the smallfolk had been granted entry, packed along the farthest edges of the marble hall, standing shoulder to shoulder as they craned their necks to witness history. Stained glass threw shifting colors across the white stone, casting long streaks of red, gold, and blue over the gathered lords and knights. Though the ceremony had been arranged in haste, there was no disorder, no murmur of uncertainty. This was not a crowning for celebration. It was a show of strength, a declaration that would not be walked back.

At the center of it all, standing alone before the altar, was Vysaria.

Her gown was black, a simple but elegant statement, her silver hair loose over her shoulders. The soft glow of the candlelight made her appear almost ethereal, her expression composed, her shoulders squared. She stood alone upon the raised dais, the only other figure beside her the High Septon, his white robes flowing as he raised his hands to the gathered court.

The first row of seats had been reserved for the most powerful figures in the realm. Rhaenys Velaryon sat with her arms crossed, her eyes sharp as she took in every movement, every glance exchanged across the hall. Gwayne Hightower sat beside Aemma, his expression carefully schooled, his presence beside the dowager queen sending a silent message to those watching. Aemma herself was poised, still draped in black mourning silk, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of her seat, her gaze locked on her daughter. Corlys Velaryon was beside her, unmoving, a quiet pillar of command, his silver beard catching the candlelight. Daemon sat apart from them, his arms crossed, his foot tapping idly against the marble as he watched Otto with an expression that promised there would be more to settle before the day was over. Ser Harrold Westerling sat stiff-backed, his white Kingsguard armor gleaming beneath the flickering torches. Lord Beesbury was the only one among them whose lips were pressed together in clear disapproval, though he had said nothing since the council meeting.

On the opposite side of the aisle, Otto Hightower sat motionless, his hands clasped before him, his expression impassive but his shoulders rigid. Alicent sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap, her emerald gown a stark contrast to the black-clad court surrounding her. Lord Strong was positioned between the two factions, betraying nothing, watching everything. At the end of the row, Ser Criston Cole sat in his white armor, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the platform.

Between them, the aisle leading to the raised altar stretched long and empty.

The High Septon’s voice filled the vast chamber, slow and deliberate, his words reverberating off the high stone walls like a hymn carried by the gods themselves. He began with the prayers of ascension, the same ancient words that had been spoken over kings long dead, a ritual as old as the Faith itself. His voice did not waver as he raised his hands toward the heavens, calling upon the Seven to bear witness.

"Father above, lend your wisdom, that she may rule with justice," he intoned, his voice solemn, carrying through the hall. "Mother, grant her mercy, that she may care for her people as she would her own kin. Warrior, gift her strength, that she may protect the realm from its enemies. Smith, guide her hands, that she may build a kingdom that shall stand the tests of time."

The air in the Sept was thick with incense, the scent of myrrh and rosewater curling through the chamber as the ceremonial oils were brought forth. The High Septon dipped his fingers into the golden basin, lifting them to Vysaria’s brow, pressing the perfumed mixture to her skin in the sign of the Seven.

"Maiden, keep her heart unyielding in the face of temptation," he continued. "Crone, bless her with foresight, that she may see the path ahead with clarity. Stranger, watch over her, that death may come only when her duty to the realm is done."

He lowered his hands, letting the silence stretch as he turned toward the pedestal where the crown of Jaehaerys lay waiting.

"The gods have watched over House Targaryen since they took their place upon the Iron Throne," he declared. "They have granted their wisdom to the rulers of old, as they now bestow their blessing upon the one who stands before us."

The tension in the hall was palpable, the weight of history pressing upon every soul present as he took slow, measured steps toward the pedestal. The crown of Jaehaerys gleamed beneath the candlelight, its golden arches adorned with seven gemstones, each one catching the shifting hues of the stained-glass windows above. It had sat upon the heads of kings who had forged peace, who had built the realm, who had ruled with wisdom and steadiness.

He lifted it with both hands, the weight of it both physical and symbolic, then turned back to face Vysaria.

"Vysaria of House Targaryen," he said, his voice carrying through the high ceilings, "do you accept the burden of the crown, to rule the Seven Kingdoms with wisdom, strength, and honor?"

"I do," Vysaria answered, her voice steady, unwavering.

"Do you swear to uphold the laws of the realm, to protect its people, and to defend its borders against all who would bring harm?"

"I swear it."

The High Septon took another step forward, raising the crown slightly above her head.

"With the Seven as my witness," he proclaimed, "I do place this crown upon your head, as was the will of your father before you, and the will of the gods who have guided his line."

The golden arches of the crown of Jaehaerys descended upon Vysaria’s silver hair, settling atop her brow, the cool metal pressing against her skin.

The chamber remained silent, as though the realm itself had stilled to bear witness.

The High Septon lifted his hands once more.

"All hail the Queen."

The words rang through the Great Sept, echoing off the towering pillars, filling every space.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, like a ripple through still water, the voices of the gathered lords and courtiers rose in answer, swelling until it filled the chamber like a crashing tide.

"All hail the Queen!"

The echoes rolled through the Sept, and then Gwayne Hightower stood.

His chair scraped against the marble as he stepped forward, moving past Aemma and Corlys, past those who had spoken in support of her, past those who had fought for this moment. He walked toward the dais, toward the queen who had just been crowned. And then, before all of them, he bent his knee.

The son of Otto Hightower, the blood of Oldtown, the man whose name carried weight beyond these halls, had sworn himself to her in full view of the realm. The shift was slow but certain.

One by one, the lords of the court followed. Some with hesitation, some without, but all of them knew there was no choice. The vast chamber filled with the sound of knees pressing against marble, voices rising in scattered unison, their words repeating the titles that had been spoken only moments ago.

Across the aisle, Otto remained seated. His fingers tightened ever so slightly against the arms of his chair.

Alicent sat frozen beside him, her knuckles white against the fabric of her gown, her breath coming slow and measured, her body stiff with the weight of the moment.

Lord Strong hesitated, then stood. He moved carefully, deliberately, ensuring that when he bent the knee, it was seen.

Ser Criston Cole sat frozen, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle in his cheek twitched. His fists curled against his knees, his breath slow, controlled, before he finally, reluctantly, rose and lowered himself to the floor.

Otto was the last. His bow was stiff, shallow at first, but the weight of the moment demanded more. His fingers curled against his thighs as he forced himself down onto one knee, his movements measured, deliberate, his eyes never leaving the floor before him.

Alicent followed, her hands trembling as she lowered herself beside him.

The Sept remained still, the air thick with something unspoken.

Vysaria lifted her chin, the weight of the crown pressing into her skull, the full title of her reign already settling into the walls around her.

The echoes of All hail the Queen had barely faded from the Great Sept before Vysaria spoke again. She remained standing on the dais, the weight of Jaehaerys’s crown pressing into her brow, her posture unwavering. The lords and courtiers had begun to rise, shifting as if expecting the ceremony to conclude.

But she was not finished.

The silence held, thick and unbroken, stretching across the vast chamber like a blade hovering just above the flesh. No one spoke. No one moved. The weight of expectation pressed into the air, suffocating in its stillness.

Then, Vysaria’s voice rang out, clear and commanding.

“Lord Otto. Step forward.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered court, hushed but unmistakable. Heads turned. Some exchanged wary glances, others stiffened where they sat, the tension sharpening like drawn steel. They had already witnessed his forced submission once today. Now, they would see just how far the new queen intended to go.

Otto Hightower did not move.

He remained kneeling, his posture straight, his hands carefully placed on his thighs. His expression was composed, revealing nothing, but the shift in the room made it clear that control was no longer his to wield. The command had been spoken. The eyes of the realm were upon him.

He bowed his head slightly, exhaling as if steadying himself, then placed one foot forward. With measured precision, he rose, each movement deliberate, each breath carefully restrained.

The measured click of his boots against the marble floor was the only sound as he crossed the chamber toward the dais. When he reached the steps, he ascended them with deliberate ease, his movements precise, as if he could retain his power in posture alone. He stopped before the queen, bowing just slightly, not deep, and not with reverence. It was an acknowledgment, nothing more.

Vysaria did not return the gesture.

“You have served as Hand of the King for many years,” she said, her voice steady. “You advised my father, guided the realm in his name, and upheld the duties of your office.”

Otto met her gaze evenly. “It was my honor to serve.”

“But the king is dead,” she continued, her tone measured. “And the time for his council has passed. As of this moment, you are dismissed from your duties as Hand of the King.”

A sharp ripple of whispers spread through the gathered nobility. Some had expected this, others had not dared to believe she would do it so publicly. Even those who had anticipated Otto’s removal had not foreseen that it would be done here, before the entire realm.

Otto did not move, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. His composure remained intact, but Vysaria saw it, the briefest flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his breath came just a fraction too slow.

"My queen," he said carefully, "I have only ever acted in the best interests of the realm."

"And now the realm moves forward," Vysaria replied.

Otto inhaled deeply. "If I am to be dismissed, then I must ask—who will replace me?"

Vysaria did not answer immediately. Instead, she extended her hand, palm open.

"Your brooch."

The hush that followed was absolute. For the first time, Otto hesitated.

His fingers hovered over the golden Hand of the King brooch pinned to his chest. It had rested there for years. A symbol of the power he had cultivated, the control he had wielded, the authority he had carried within the Red Keep. And now, in full view of the realm, he was being commanded to give it up.

His lips parted slightly, as if he might speak, but no words came. Slowly, stiffly, he reached up and unclasped the brooch. The weight of it sat in his palm for a moment too long, his fingers tightening around it before he finally extended his hand toward her.

But Vysaria did not take it. Instead, she turned her head slightly, her gaze shifting to the man standing just beyond the dais.

"Prince Daemon," she said, her voice smooth, deliberate. “Take it.”

A ripple of shock spread through the court, but Daemon only smiled.

He moved up the dais steps with slow, easy strides, his amusement plain as he came to stand beside her. He did not look at Otto, did not acknowledge him, as he plucked the brooch from his outstretched palm. Otto’s hand fell to his side, his jaw tightening. Daemon turned the brooch over in his fingers, tilting it in the candlelight as if it were some trinket rather than the emblem of the second-most powerful seat in the realm. Then, still smirking, he closed his fist around it.

“I’ll hold onto this,” he said lightly.

The public stripping of power was complete. Otto had not only been dismissed, but he had been forced to physically relinquish his authority into the hands of his greatest rival. Vysaria let the moment settle before she spoke again.

"You will return to Oldtown," she said, her voice steady. "Your duties here have ended."

Otto exhaled slowly, his composure carefully controlled. “As you command, Your Grace.”

"But your daughter will remain."

The silence that followed was deafening. Alicent’s breath hitched. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of her skirts, her knuckles turning white.

Otto visibly tensed. His shoulders squared, his face still impassive, but his voice lowered, tightened. "My daughter belongs with her family."

Vysaria met his gaze, unwavering. "She is not without family. She has her brother, Gwayne, who is also my husband. By law, she is family to the crown, and she will remain under its protection."

Alicent’s head snapped up, her wide brown eyes flickering between her father and her queen. Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“She will remain in the capital," Vysaria continued, her voice leaving no room for argument. "She is to remain as a ward of House Hightower.”

Alicent sat frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She had never lived apart from her father. She had always been at his side, always under his guidance. And now, with a single order, that was being severed.

"My queen," Otto tried again, his voice dangerously close to breaking its careful neutrality. "You cannot expect me to leave my own daughter behind—"

"It is not an expectation," Vysaria said, "it is a command."

Otto inhaled sharply. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath coming slow and deliberate, before he finally, finally bowed. It was not deep. It was not reverent. It was the barest tilt of submission, the only gesture of deference he could allow himself without breaking completely.

"As you command, Your Grace."

The words were bitter, heavy, final. Vysaria did not respond. She only watched as he straightened, turned, and descended the dais.

As Otto walked through the Sept, the court parted for him. The murmurs swelled, the rippling tide of whispers growing stronger with every step he took toward the doors. Alicent remained in her seat, her hands trembling in her lap, but she did not move. She did not look at her father as he disappeared through the towering doors of the Great Sept, his figure swallowed by the shifting tide of history. He did not look back.

The weight of his absence settled over the Red Keep like an unseen force. The echoes of the coronation and Otto’s dismissal still clung to the castle walls, lingering in the hushed whispers of courtiers and the cautious movements of servants who had spent years bending to his authority. Power had shifted. Otto Hightower, who had once ruled the realm in all but name, had been forced to his knees before the queen he had sought to control. His daughter had been left behind, no longer tethered to his ambitions, while Daemon now held the Hand’s brooch in his grasp, a quiet, tangible symbol of Otto’s defeat.

That night, as the Red Keep slumbered beneath the weight of its new reign, a plan that had already been in motion took shape. The guards stationed at the castle gates rotated their shifts as usual, their footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. The halls leading toward the royal apartments were quiet, the flickering torchlight stretching shadows long against the walls. No one noticed the missing faces among the castle watch. No one questioned the quiet tension that hung in the air, barely perceptible beneath the stillness.

The queen slept in her chambers, her crown resting beside her bed, her breathing steady, unaware of the storm that moved in the darkness.

Gwayne Hightower, her husband, the man who had defied his father by kneeling before her in the Sept, was not so fortunate. He woke to the press of cold metal against his throat.

For a moment, his mind struggled to shake off the haze of sleep, caught between the warmth of the bed and the sudden, icy grip of reality. He inhaled sharply, but before he could react, a rough, gloved hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the instinctive gasp that nearly escaped his lips. His muscles tensed beneath the crushing weight of another body pressing down on him, pinning him to the mattress.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting only faint shadows across the chamber. The thick curtains over the windows allowed only slivers of moonlight to pierce through, streaking pale silver across the stone floor. The room should have been peaceful, but something was wrong.

His breath came hard and fast against the palm covering his mouth, his heart pounding in his chest.

There were others in the room. He could hear them, their movements silent but deliberate. He counted at least four—perhaps more. Shadows flickered across the walls, shifting, precise. These were not common intruders. Whoever they were, they had moved past the guards, slipped into the royal wing unnoticed, and reached his bedchamber without a sound. He thrashed once, an attempt to throw off the weight pressing him down, but the blade at his throat bit closer, cold steel warning him against any further struggle.

"Don't fight," a voice murmured near his ear, quiet, firm, edged with command. The words were practiced, calm, but there was no disguising the urgency beneath them.

The hands gripping him tightened. Another body pressed against his legs, pinning them in place. Someone else seized his wrists, twisting them back against the mattress. They had come prepared.Gwayne’s pulse roared in his ears. He could barely make out their faces in the dim light, but he knew. Even before the hood was yanked over his head, even before the shadows swallowed him whole, he knew.

His father had not spoken a word to him after the coronation. Not a look, not a whisper, not even a trace of anger. The silence had been damning. It had been the kind of silence that promised retribution, the kind that did not need to be spoken aloud to be understood. And now it was here.

A sharp yank pulled him upright. The blade at his throat eased just enough to allow movement, but the grip on his arms did not falter. They dragged him from the bed, forced him onto his feet, his body sluggish but resisting as much as it could. His breath was harsh against the fabric covering his face, muffled, contained, making it impossible to see.

"Move," someone ordered.

A sharp jab to his ribs made sure he did. His bare feet struck cold stone as he was led forward, each step rougher than the last. The door to the chamber had already been opened, the heavy wood groaning slightly as they passed through.

Where were the guards? Had they been paid off? Silenced? Slain? The answer did not matter. They had let this happen. The hall was too quiet. The torches lining the corridor flickered, their dim glow warping the shadows against the walls, but no alarms were raised. No one called out.

No one was coming. They moved swiftly through the castle, navigating its familiar passages as if they had walked them a hundred times before. They avoided the main halls, taking the back corridors, slipping past rooms that should have been guarded, moving like ghosts through the passages of the Red Keep.

Gwayne tried to dig his heels into the floor, tried to slow them down, to make his body a burden, but a hard pull at his arm wrenched him forward again. He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, but it did not matter. They had him.

All roads lead to war. Read ahead on AO3 (Ch 1-21).