#This truly was my crown of ashes and flames we have more choices in the prologue who would've thought

[coeluvr]

Me when chapter 4 was so nice that I must go back to my roots and edit the prologue so I can be who I am but then also pretend I'm totally normal 😋

[visionsdiary]

It is tragic. The story. It did not have the outcome one would hope, there is no happily ever after just a story, a moment for a while where they existed, where their worlds collided and then burned in passion, in truth, and eventually ash then nothing.

~

She was to be crowned Queen though every bit of her screamed to run away. To beg on her knees to her mother to give her more time. More time, more experience. She wasn't ready, she couldn't be.

She doesn't have much of a choice, it's to happen in only 3 days, where she will be forced a responsibility she wants nothing to do with. She was indeed every bit of a coward for running, for hopping on her horse and racing through the tall trees of her homeland.

Where seasons are experienced its fullest. Where the mist is thick and the magic thrums through every tree, every rock, and river. She welcomed it the thrumming like drums of the music they'll play at festivals. She let her tears fall freely and her scream ring like thunder spoking all birds nearby.

How is she to run a kingdom? Her kingdom? She has yet to face battle. Yet to make treaties, yet to lead anything in her life, but she is expected to lead a kingdom when she can barely lead a rabbit to a trap.

Or barely see the one she led herself into. It wasn't meant for her in her defense. It was meant for something else, something she only heard about in stories from the sailors, stories from warriors who've traveled farther than the forest she has stuck to most of her life.

A dragon. They had gone extinct or so she was told. She has never seen one up close before. It was in a trap right next to hers tied up in a net that made the creature roar in fear. It was not as big as she thought one would be. It was bigger than her but not by much. Its scales were a pattern of circles, ombre of white and orange with thorns running down its back.

"What do we have here?"

A man caked in leather saunters toward her and the struggling dragon. His face was covered in rags only allowing her to see his eyes, dark and daring. How is she going to explain this one to her parents?

"It seems we've captured a slave," His hand reached through the hold gripping her chin and turning her side to side, "A beauty you are. I'm sure you'll catch a fine price."

Ripping from his hold she reared back and spat in his face.

"Ye might want to re-think this one. My father will tear you to piece."

"Is that right? And who are you?"

"Princess Merida of DunBroch,"

He reared back and laughed. "Looks like we are in the presence of Royalty fellas," Laughter surrounds her on all sides. There were more than she first believed, or maybe the laughter just echoed off the trees. This thought was soon disregarded as men stepped from the treeline one by one. Yep defiantly more.

"I-I'm serious. You wouldn't want a kingdom on you do you?"

"They'll have to find us first." She trembled.

That was only a few months ago and now she sat in this cage, skinny, starved but her fire simmered under the surface. She will escape. She must. The dragon that was trapped with her grumbled, catching the piece of fish Merida snuck from the guards.

She pets her scaly friend, who purred in response. "Don't worry Sylva. We'll get out of here I swear it."

Their cages were right next to each other. An only arm's length away from each other, Sylva was the only friend she had here. An ally she was happy to have. It was night and they still sailed toward the sanctuary as it was called. In other cages many other dragons stayed locked up, barely fed.

Though she felt bad for them it wasn't the time to think of anyone else. She gets her and her friend out first and maybe if she could gather the firepower she'll return and free the rest. The guards light the last of the lanterns, taking their stations around the ship.

"In an hour or so they'll nod off to sleep."

She was only allowed out as entertainment. Her singing is what saved her so far and she served the ones who took her before she was locked up once more but her plan was sent the moment they gave her access to their water and wine.

"I put your venom in their drinks, just enough to put them to sleep, and then we'll be home free." She was hopeful and when the hour had passed she took her sharp piece of metal that broke off from her cage. She had sharpened in the past few months and hoped this would work.

She picked at the lock, jiggling it side to side, up and down until she heard a click and the cage door squeaked open. She celebrated dancing and jumping with silent whispers of triumph. She then went to unlock her dragon's cage when she heard a noise.

She paused, pressing herself against the other side of the cage, and watched as a man wielding a flaming sword crept by the cages of the dragons. He was covered in what she assumed was armor, a fabric she's never seen before. His hand rose and made signals to no one she could see.

She watched in wonder as they let out the dragons and they flew off. She backed away as the man got closer to her dragon's cage hitting a stray bowl. It rolled, tumbled down some stairs alerting the man. He sneaked past the cage and she looked around for any weapon.

Her eyes landed on one of the spears they used on the dragons and picked it up. It was heavier than she thought but it didn't matter she needs to fight.

"D-Don't ye come any closer."

He paused for a moment, his sword still drawn and still on fire. She wondered what she must look like. Dirty, torn, and starved. Disgusting. It made her confidence waiver, her mother would have thrown a fit if she was here, appearance is part of ruling she'd say.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I heard that before" She shuddered at the memory. Truly men were vile pigs taking what they wanted without a care in the world.

"Chief!" Someone whispered.

He held out a hand stopping his companions in their tracks.

Though she'd never admitted it she trembled, once again outnumbered, and wondered if this group could be any less dangerous than the one she'd been sailing with. He stabbed the sword into the ground, the fire remains just on the sword.

'Does he have magic?' She wandered. If he did then it made sense why he stop the others. He doesn't need them to kill her.

She swung the spear in a warning. "I swear if ye come any closer, I'll cut ya."

He puts his hands up in surrender for a moment she thought he mocked her but he raised them higher to his helmet. He took it off and she was met with green eyes.

He was tall, slender. His auburn hair swayed and she could see the braids in the back. She looked down at his leg and saw that he was missing one, or half of one. It reminded her of her father. Her father. Tears weld up in her eyes. She's going home even if it means getting past this stranger.

Resolve hardened she didn't let the tears spill though she was sure he could see them.

"Hey," His voice was soft as if he was trying to tame a wild animal. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You can't promise me that nor will I believe it." She looks around for an escape. She could swim, take their boat since they must have come from somewhere. Then they will have to deal with this pack of beasts instead of her. Or- Sylva.

She looked to the sky wondering if her friend left, she was no longer in her cage. His friends made sure of that but she's still unable to spot them in the sky.

"Hiccup, we have to hurry." One perked up. Merida looked to her right where one of them was sleeping only feet away, he began to stir and grumble. His friend was right.

"We can't just leave her here." He whispered back.

He turned back to Merida. "Come with us. I promise we'll take you home." He held his hand out. An offering, an extension. More men started to stir, waking up and realizing they'd been robbed.

"Hey!" One shouted. They were found out.

Them or him. She looked back up to the sky and whistled. Nothing. Her chest squeezed at the betrayal but she understood all the same. She looked back to the green eye man and sighed.

"Don't touch me." She warned before hitting the guard that ran after her. He flew overboard screaming as he fell into the water.

The man grabbed his sword putting back on his mask.

With them, she fled and it was that decision that started the sewing of their story.

Their tragedy.

[handlewcaare]

Art credit: @kajuhz

Since the time he crawled out of his grave at the laboratory, isolation was the best company he could make. Anyone who approached him with well-meaning intentions were shot down. Mistakes were bound to happen, but he would have been a fool to make the same one twice.

Once he returned to the little hole in the wall that was his agency, he ensured to keep a gun wherever was accessible for a friendly genetist. Was it paranoia? He didn’t know, but he thought he was desensitized to it all. What one man’s fatal wounds were his blisters and mild annoyances.

That had been the exact reason as to why the Association wanted him.

Several years after he retired from being a lab rat, his agency ran slow. People would hire him for small investigative work, nothing that he usually did in the golden days. It was honest work, he wouldn’t complain, finding a stalker within the bushes and seizing him got his mind off it. However, with the rapid development of caped crusaders typically found in comic books, what good was an old gumshoe?

It wasn’t until a monster had destroyed his agency that he comprehended why people regarded them as a persistent menace.

The fault was his own for leaving his agency unlocked, but after seeing years of evidence for cold cases left in ashes, his regrets immediately flourished to rage. Furor was not a typical characteristic of his, but after seeing his furniture destroyed, the maps and photographs partially charred or shredded, the malicious being only grinned at how he set down his groceries by his feet and locked the door.

The aroma of burning flesh against the lashing tongue of a conflagration never bothered him. How his muscles and ligaments were shredded under the velocity of the being’s claws never hindered his own onslaught. How he had to pry his own intenstines out from his peritoneal cavity to prevent him from tripping over it never evoked a sense of horror. He would give credit when it was due, the doctor certainly enhanced his healing factor.

As it turned out, a Griffin-like being with a flaming head was harder to swat than he anticipated. From a bucket of water, to using the fire extinguisher before bashing it’s skull with the end of the empty canister, he didn’t know how long the fight lasted until it was a new record.

Seven days. Four hours. Twenty minutes.

As someone once said, “time flies when you’re in an adrenaline rush.”

Not even after he hobbled out of the destroyed agency with the singeing aroma of salt, copper, gasoline and rotting flesh, was he greeted with the cries reserved for the victor. Gasping and cheering onlookers could only watch in wide-eyed wonder and admiration at how he stood in grotesque triumph. Being in the limelight never gave him comfort, in fact, he nearly shuffled to escape the crowd as soon as possible.

“We could use someone like you,” a man in a well-tailored suit said, “I’m part of this association and—”

“No,” a harsh refutation, he knows, but he knew better than to hand out his trust like brochures.

In spite of his protest, the intern attempted to chase after him, “but, sir! That monster was a threat level—!” Demon? Dragon? Dog? Who knew. It wasn’t until his arm, the one hanging by a thread of rotting muscle, fell off his shoulder that he was finally left be. The suppressed disgust did not go unnoticed.

“I don’t care.”

Not initially. Had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have even dreamed of being regarded as a poster boy. Since being confined in a pseudo-cage match with just about every abomination Genus could conjure, joining a group of Boy Scouts would have heightened his sensitivity to something he encountered often.

He could barely stomach analyzing a pallid, frigid reflection of himself projected onto a stranger. To envision that scarlet thread lay limp between their finger and his own—a relationship he could best describe as acquaintances—only served as an irritant he couldn’t scratch out. Though, that might have been amplified by the constant attempts to recruit him.

At this point of his life, the private investigator would resume his work. He always did, even after spending a quarter of his immortal days chained to a wall with nothing but his thoughts and his weapons to keep him company.

His last case was what prompted him to apply.

He didn’t know who hired him, but he did know that someone managed to figure out the address to his homely apartment. When asked whether he knew who the handwriting belonged to, none of them would have matched the description of the writer.

Lollipops?

The private investigator couldn’t help but be a bit dubious, but it was better than getting harassment calls and emails from interns. He read somewhere that people ate sweets to stimulate their thinking, but he just assumed it was a quick way to get a sweet tooth.

What the hell, he needed to get some coffee anyway.

As instructed, he took the public transit to Y-City. Folks were more kinder, a bit pompous, but it could have been due to the fact that he was a walking carcass that made headlines already—save for the idol hero, Anal Mask or whatever the hell his name is—but college kids were quick to point out where Doctor Hajime’s lab was. “He teaches my robotics class,” was the usual answer.

By the time he encountered the front door, he counted how many seconds he would have to escape. Chances were there was gonna be a cyborg or a robot to try and pin him down, inject him with something to make him black out. He had his machetes tucked under the collar of his shirt, his dessert Eagles were holstered at his hips and he had a handsome fire axe within the bag of lollipops and candy apples. He had time to escape, he would ensure that he would, least he opt to shove himself into the nearby wood chipper to finally do himself in.

What he anticipated from the opening door was an older gentleman, someone with a bow tie and unruly and snowy hair. His countenance would have been cobwebbed with age, his shoulders hunched to pronounce a spinal compression. Yet, he would offer a smile as dulcet and as mannerly as any other kind old man.

Instead, the private investigator was greeted with a boy with vibrant tawny eyes and a little auburn curl at the top of his crown. He had to be no older than nine years old. He couldn’t have been any taller than the door knob.

In an instant, he snuffed out his cigarette against the masonry and knelt down to the kid’s height. An instinctual response from someone who was once an uncle—father?—in a family who had long forgotten about him. “Hey kiddo,” the investigator began, “you seen where your dad went off to?”

As incredulous as the kid was, the investigator nearly assumed he went to the wrong place. That was until the boy spoke, “Considering I haven’t seen my father in nearly four years, I’m afraid not,” he paused as he offered a small, wistful smile, “but trust me, you’re not the first person to ask me that.”

Safe to assume that the child genius was much more hospitable than the private investigator was accustomed to. Then again, as he presented a lollipop to the child, those tawny eyes flourished as he hastily accepted the treat from the detective’s grasp. “Thank you, sir!”

“Don’t mention it,” whether or not he was aware of it, there was a smile that aligned.

As the two of them enjoyed their sweets, Hajime elucidated further about the technological black market. What routes they typically took and how he managed to figure out their patterns. The kid truly did have a good head on his shoulders.

“I have a hypothesis that these robots that are being trafficked underneath City W, X, Y and Z aren’t really used for security.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Well, Z-City has a lot of manifestations of monsters. If basic security-Trons were sent off to handle the threats, it would be a waste of resources. I mean, it’s carbon and bismuth—it’s elementary stuff.”

The boy paused as he used his watch as a hologram to present the blueprint of one of the robots. The private eye wasn’t exactly ‘technologically savvy,’ but Hajime called it ‘basic’ so he would just have to take his word for it.

“But that’s not what caught my attention,” he elucidated, as the boy extended his fingertips, the robot’s physique separated by segments of its parts. When he pointed toward a certain adapter, the private investigator couldn’t help but furrow his brows a bit.

“That’s a cranial nerve implant.”

Hajime paused, as if he had fully prepared an exasperative and long-winded statement, “you’ve encountered them before?”

When implored, he suppressed the urge to visibly quake under the phantasmic impulses of electricity that had once trailed down the expense of his brain stem. It was a way to analyze how fast he developed increased intracranial pressure, he remembered Genus saying.

“Friend was a doc,” a decent lie that Hajime seemingly overlooked, though the private investigator felt an acrimonious taste in his mouth. “She said something about how it’d use electricity to wake up dead nerves.”

His russet glare narrowed as he brought a hand to caress his own chin, “thought they’d still be in development...”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” For a moment, the boy’s joviality made him appear exactly his age.

Ah- now it’s starting to make sense.

“From what I know, Z-City has monsters just about every corner,” the investigator began. His baritone suddenly lost it’s intrigue once he mentally assembled the puzzle pieces the best he could. “With monsters, people tend to be more scared than they should be. What do you think being scared means?”

The boy’s eyebrows raised, “they’re paranoid?”

“And—?”

“They...” while it was easy to assemble a mechanical enigma to guard civilians, it was harder to provide a baseline to something as fluctuating as human response. Hajime eventually restored to shrugging his shoulders, “...they’re desperate?”

With that, the private investigator pressed a finger to the tip of his nose before he pointed at Hajime. “Desperate people tend to do stupid. If I’m a single father living in Z-City, you think turning into the terminator wouldn’t be my go-to?”

Such analysis didn’t seem to satisfy the boy. Whether or not it was a challenging diatribe, it was enough of a refutation to make the investigator think a bit, “but you know it’s permanent right? I mean, the cranial nerves aren’t exactly something you want to tamper with, especially if those implants can get into your cerebrum and alter you entirely.”

“Well, you—the kid genius—might know that,” he deflected easily, “but what about me? I’m a single father with a degree in underwater basket weaving. Do you think they taught me about cranial nerves while I was trying to make a basket?”

One could hear a pin drop until the boy piped up, “I mean- if you’re scuba diving and you’re weaving the basket—”

“Just finish your lollipop, kiddo.”

Several weeks had passed when they finally traced a call to one of the robotic manufacturers. It was certainly much more handy than to thread scarlet yarn along what tabs had pinned photographs. Then again, doing things the old fashioned way made old habits die hard.

Needless to say, the private eye could understand the boy’s fascination with his toy-like projects. From a giant action figure he kept buried within the depths of the earth to the robot dogs that served as a pseudo-trump card, it was like assembling legos for him. As the two of them took the public transit to Z-City, the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, save for Hajime’s need to tamper with a Rubik’s cube.

Unlike the other Alphabet cities, the ambiance around Z-City felt calloused and empty. It was but the abyss that stared upon them once they left the transit and it gave the private eye an eery sensation that crept along his vertebrae. It must have been that paternal instinct.

“Stay close to me,” he cautioned, though he should have known better that Hajime didn’t like to be talked down to.

“I can take care of myself.”

“—and if I can’t take care of myself?”

Reverse psychology seemed to do wonders, as Hajime’s vanity subsided for the need to have his partner’s back. Should anyone ask, the detective wouldn’t admit the presence of his little smile.

The call had declared that the deal would be set in the alley nestled next to a udon stand and an apartment complex. It was an easy hole in a wall and, considering how the civilian was late, he and Hajime had to play their part. Between himself and no one in particular, he preferred it that way. The last thing he wanted was for someone to die in front of the boy.

“Oi,” the thuggish chirp resounded from the maw of a strange man who looked mechanically modified. His brows were too close to his eyes, accenting a crueler look. The detective fought every urge to usher Hajime behind him. “You Hammerhead?”

He silently reprimanded himself for not bringing a hammer.

“Yeah,” the detective’s response was nonchalant, a lethargic drawl that could have remained hidden within a thick penumbra of nicotine.

“Who’s the brat?”

“Mine,” short and concise, though he let his russet gaze nearly puncture into the dealer, “you want the money or should I show you my wedding photos?” He went in too eager, though that was exactly the point with desperate people. Fortunately, the dealer turned out to simply comply at the mention of money.

“Seven thousand yen.”

It was agreed upon with a shaky baritone by the real customer prior. However, it was a game that the detective often played prior to meeting Dr. Genus. Once he began to thumb his fingers along the bills in his pocket, the dealer swiftly interjected the detective’s counting.

“I-I meant Seventy thousand!”

“Oh?”

Seventy thousand it was that was instantly slapped into the dealer’s hand. However, there was hardly a moment when the dealer abruptly seized the detective’s arm and held him hostage at gunpoint.

Needless to say, one should never underestimate the strength of a man who wanted to make civilians into cyborgs. With an irritated sigh, the immortal felt his head jerk to the side as a bullet pierced through his temporal lobe. Albeit, the moment his body should have sprawled limp was the instant he seized his machete and took a blind swipe. What astonishment and pure horror from the mechanical marvel only wrought a hand to catch the blade.

Fortunately, the fist that veered to deck the detective never came to deliver. Rather, a tendril that emerged from Hajime’s backpack seized the mechanical marvel’s appendage into a tight lock. It was but a split second when the detective retrieved the machete’s twin and severed the appendage.

“Shit—!” The hydra hydrolauics swiftly seized ahold of the being and attempted to suspend him in the air. Hajime’s hands braced tight to his backpack’s straps, though the dealer proved to be a formidable foe, as he laconically wrapped his free arm around a tendril to toss the brat.

Safe to say that the detective prioritized catching the kid than the dealer. Both had landed with a harsh grunt against the asphalt before the detective hastily retrieved his desert Eagle and fired. Once again, it was a null chance, given how he was abruptly seized by his throat and tossed through the brick masonry of the neglected library.

What sanguine from the brunt trauma coagulated and the flesh wounds he sustained, he could only instinctively block the blow from the mechanical marvel. Regular fisticuffs was a fond favorite of his, typically because of how seldom he did it. What reciprocating strike had been enough to swivel his head evoked him to land a brutal bite of his axe into where his opponent should have been.

“Mr. Detective!”

It was but a moment that the private eye peered over to see Hajime with a snapped tendril, it’s cobwebs of electricity was a big enough hint for him. The instant he distanced himself, the dealer had not a moment to abstain when his back arched under the brutal conduction of carbon and lightning. His howl was guttural, ripping through the empty ambiance before he collapsed at their feet.

What should have been a victorious high-five was but a dreadful beat of anticipation. Hajime could only stare down at the beaten villain, “did I kill him...?” His murmur was rather hushed, as monsters were not the same as modified humans.

For the sake of the boy’s anxiety, the detective brought the tip of his shoe to budge the dealer. The somnolent twitch of his countenance wrought a sense of relief to weigh into the boy’s sigh.

The private investigator offered a high-five for the boy to make. The gesture was slow, as if cautious, but the kid genius managed to reciprocate it. “You did good,” he didn’t know it then, but it was a compliment that Hajime would hold to his heart later.

On taking the transit back to City-Y, the detective opted to intervene the silence. An odd thing for him to do, but it was just them and a few others coming home late.

“So, your parents—” it might have been too sensitive of a subject, but he opted to continue, “—did they uh...” it would have been easy to assume they did die. After all, it was how every hero was sculpted.

Hajime only shook his head, “no,” he said before he retrieved a little Rubik’s cube from his backpack. His fingers fidgeted the slots as his hazel gaze lingered toward the trinket, “I mean, they’re overseas. They send me birthday cards sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” The private investigator couldn’t help but raise a brow at that.

“When they remember.”

Had the private investigator known about Hajime’s profession outside of being a teacher then, he would have been more than happy to demand what the hell was more important than their own kid. Did they know he was handled by suits who depended on currency than their own workers? Even if one of them—two if he counted Badd later—was a child?

Even if he didn’t know it, his furor was quiet enough to make him try to huff out a sigh. His jaw clenched along the curses he would have hissed under his breath when no one was around. Fortunately, Hajime was a quick study.

“What about you?” He must have thought it was a witty comeback, considering how his nose wrinkled a bit, “where’d your parents go?”

“Can’t say I remember,” he knew he had them, but he didn’t know what he did with them. Were they around when he died the first time? Longer? All he could afford to do was wander aimlessly as a phantom without a shell. “Been around since the A.D’s.”

“The A.D.’s??”

As it turned out, Hajime was fascinated with history. The boy’s queries seemed to be rapid fire initially, such as whether or not Shakespeare was a real person (he was), how far has technology gone (far enough), or if the crusades were as brutal as written (it was, but he never had the pleasure in fighting in the wars). The boy’s excitement seemed to tucker him out quickly unfortunately.

Just as the private investigator began to describe what Feudal Japan was like, Hajime nodded off and slumped against the detective’s shoulder. Their stop only prompted him to gingerly scoop the boy up into one arm and carry his—surprisingly dense—backpack with the other. Fortune came in technological wonders, as the lab seemed to unlock its hinges at the presence of their creator’s facial recognition.

The time was late when he finally tucked the boy into bed. Hajime’s backpack slumped against the masonry. There was a strange and phantasmic ache at the base of the detective’s chest, something he hadn’t really felt since he last died.

Prior, he often wondered if it was better to be alone or to try and have a family. He was told he was good with kids by their parents who would hire him to find them. To imagine himself as a father was frightening nowadays, as he could envision that bastard trying to pick up his kids for experimentation.

With Hajime safely in bed, the detective’s thoughts drifted to the newspaper that detailed the triumphs of S-Class Hero Child Emperor against the dreadful turnip monster that interrupted his robotics cla—

...They seriously named the kid “Child Emperor” huh?

The detective contemplated on the transit home just as hard as he was contemplating it back home. His glare lingered toward the shredded up business card. It took every increment of his pride to collect the pieces, but the heroes association weren’t exactly child-friendly.

Did that mean he couldn’t try to do better? For the first time, he felt a sense of balance when handling the dealer. His agency was going to go nowhere and he needed the money, that wasn’t including the fact that Hajime would have ended up, perhaps, the only sensible person there.

he hated being right at times.

He needed to do better, not for the sake of spiting Genus, but to be better for himself.

After he called the intern’s number, he waited until there was a ‘hello?” At the other end of the line.

“Hi,” he says, “I’d like to file a hero application. Do you mind walking me through the process?”

[gracereadstoomanybooks]

answering questions I’ve been asked on TikTok✨

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QUESTION: how did you get into reading?

So, when I was in middle school (many moons ago) we had this thing called AR Testing. Basically, you read a book and take a test on it—the questions were things that happened in the book, it was really simple. If you got a good grade, you got points. The more points you earned, the more eligible you were for the reading party at the end of each semester. Me, being the nerd I am, got top of my class because I went through 8th grade level books like it was nothing. The librarian at my school brought me books from the high school to read since everything was easy for me, and alas, my addiction began. And now that I have adult money, it’s a true addiction. Also, telling my father “I’m bored” and his response being, “go read a book or something” so thanks dad.

QUESTION: what’s one book you ALWAYS recommend to people?

This one is tough because I’ve read THOUSANDS of books, but if I had to choose one, it would probably be Confess by Colleen Hoover. I fell in love with her work in high school when I first read Ugly Love, but Confess is the type of book that pulls at your heart strings, y’all. It has everything people love: humor, sexual tension, drama, love. GO BUY THE DAMN BOOK. Or honestly any book by Colleen Hoover—she’s a fucking amazing author.

QUESTION: outside of making TikToks, what do you do for a living?

I currently work at a restaurant and hate every second of it. If anyone tells you to become a server, DONT. It’s not worth the hassle, I promise you. Sure, you can make decent money but the amount of rude customers and shitty tips you receive each shift is very disheartening. If you really need a job, do anything BUT work in the food industry.

QUESTION: what’s your wattpad story about?

First question: which one? I have about 30 drafts sitting there waiting to be posted. But, I’m going to assume you’re talking about the Harry Styles fan fiction I’ve been working on for the past 4 years and haven’t had the courage to post. I’ll tell you a little about it: Elaine Aldridge is forced into a betrothal to a man she’s never met & loathes. She goes to his court and realizes things aren’t what they truly seem. And the guard her future husband sticks on her??? None other than Mr. Harry Styles. Add in some magic & deaths and you’ve got my story— The First Prince. (Honestly, that’s an extremely shitty description so if you wanna check it out go to my wattpad account)

QUESTION: how old are you?

Ahem. . . twenty-one.

QUESTION: what is your dream career?

Being a published author and having people rave about my books. That’s all. Or, an editor for a publishing company. Imagine reading all day and being paid for it🤩

QUESTION: what was your least favorite read of 2020?

I already KNOW I’m gonna get shit for this but....... the wicked king. YALL I LITERALLY COULDNT GET THROUGH IT IM SO SORRY, I STILL HAVENT FINISHED IT

QUESTION: current favorite author?

Sarah. J. Maas. I don’t know what it is about her writing style, but it’s addicting. Throne of Glass is hands down the best series I’ve ever read. A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book I’ve EVER reread. Her stories truly suck you in and hold onto you—you get lost so easily in her writing and it’s like once you’re done with a series, nothing will compare. Or, at least that’s how I felt after finishing Kingdom of Ash. Honorable mentions: Jennifer L. Armentrout, Penelope Douglas, L.J Shen, Elle Kennedy and Kennedy Fox.

QUESTION: any recommendations/tips to give to a new reader?

I’ve always given this advice to people who want to get into reading: find what you like and start with that. If you like romance, I’ve got a list for you to choose from. Mystery? Another list. Sci-fi? I GOT YOU. Fantasy? Yes! Sports fiction? It might take me a second but I’ll find you a book. Nonfiction? I’m zero help in that category, honestly. The point of the matter is that you’re never going to enjoy a book if you aren’t interested in the underlying topics.

QUESTION: do you ever find yourself comparing your life to fictional life?

Yes. All the time. I daydream about being apart of the Inner Circle and living in Terrasen with Aelin and Rowan. I think about what it would be like to have real powers and a mate. It drives my boyfriend crazy—but he loves me anyway.

QUESTION: what are your most anticipated books of 2021?

Here’s a list:

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

The Crown of Gilded Bones by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Gods and Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Crescent City 2 (Untitled) by Sarah J. Maas

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer (I just ordered this one & it arrives tomorrow)

Blessed Monsters by Emily A. Duncan

QUESTION: why did you start a Tumblr?

Honestly, I used to love tumblr when I was in grade school (way too young to be on here then but what else is new). I like having an extra space to get my questions and comments out without having to compress it into a 60 second video for TikTok to see. Tumblr is a good place to blog & post things like this.

QUESTION: what’s your favorite song right now?

I’ve listened to Carry You by Novo Amor every day for the past two months and I cry each time.

QUESTION: why write Harry Styles fan fiction?

Simple: I love Harry Styles. I’ve been a fan of him and One Direction since they were on X FACTOR. Read that again. X. Factor. I used to watch their performances on YouTube before WMYB even came out. Of course, I love all of the 1D boys but I was always a Harry gal. And I look up to him in a way—I’ve read things about people wishing they knew him personally and honestly? I would never want to meet him. I like the version of him I’ve cooked up in my brain over the past 10 years. I like the symbiotic relationship I have with his music. Fine Line is a ✨masterpiece✨. HS1 is a ✨work of art✨.

now, some topics I’ve been asked way too many times and want to finally get to:

QUESTION: political views?

the saying “anyone but trump” has been in my brain for the past four years. No, I’m not a republican. No, I’m not a democrat. I like to think of myself as a progressive (ahem, liberal) Did I vote for a democratic candidate? Yes, and I’d do it again and again until the US isn’t one of the worst countries—I’m sorry, businesses— to be apart of. I wanted Bernie but got Biden, and I’m alright with that. And my girl Kamala🥳

QUESTION: how did you feel about the BLM protests?

I went to multiple BLM protests and donated a lot of funds to BLM & other organizations. It’s 2021, people... stop being fucking RACIST. And don’t be afraid to call racist people out! Black Lives Matter, even if no one is posting about it anymore.

QUESTION: thoughts on abortion?

your body your choice, queen! not my uterus, not my problem.

QUESTION: there was a comment on an old video of yours talking about r*pe, why did you delete the comment?

I made a video when I first started my account on TikTok about reading in public and feeling “turned on” by it. Go watch it if you don’t know what I’m talking about. BUT, some ignorant male decided to comment and say “this is how girls get r*ped”. Whew. So. I deleted the comment because ....

I am a victim of sexual assault. Along with a lot of other women. 1 in 5 women have been victims of sexual assault. Talking about being r*ped isn’t funny.

No one else needed to see his comment. I reported it immediately and his account was shut down.

I never got justice for what happened to me, and the fact that some random male—who had never even met me or seen me before my video showed up on his FYP—had the nerve to comment that? Unacceptable.

this question isn’t as controversial but

QUESTION: what’s the best way to get out of a toxic relationship?

okay, let me just start off by saying that the people around you who love and support you are going to be your backbone. Leaving a toxic situation is hard, and every situation is different, but my best piece of advice to offer you is don’t be afraid to ask for help. Your loved ones are going to be there for you when you need them, even if you don’t believe they will. If you explain what’s happening, someone you know and love will drop whatever it is their doing to make sure you get out safely. good luck my babes.

now, back to our regularly scheduled program:

QUESTION: any tips on making tiktoks?

Literally none. I post what I think is funny and relatable and if anyone agrees, I’m satisfied. Even if it’s one view, it’s good enough for me. So I guess my one tip is to not base your life off of an app and followers.

QUESTION: favorite Harry Styles fanfic?

DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE. Duplicity is up there, along with Stall 1&2, and Kiwi. After? Absolutely not.

QUESTION: favorite WEBTOON?

y’all already KNOW. LORE OLYMPUS BY USEDBANDAID. Rachel is a genius and I have reread the series a million times. Hades is my soulmate and Apollo can rot in the fiery pits of the Underworld. also, if we’re talking about other webcomics, reading Walk on Water on mangadex...🤫

QUESTION: favorite movie?

Howls Moving Castle. I will be getting my “a heart is a heavy burden” tattoo very very soon.

QUESTION: I read your Elain theory on tumblr, can you explain a little more?

I thought I was pretty straightforward but I’ll say it again: she is always the “good” one and it’s too suspicious. SJM has already given one Archeron sister a happy ending, Nesta’s is obviously inevitable, but Elain? She has too many options for a happy ending. Lucien, who is her “mate”. Azriel, who is intrigued by her slightly. Her human guy—I don’t remember his name—who is disgusted that she’s not human anymore. Or, alone, planting flowers all day. BUT! My point is that she’s not truly happy. She was forced into the Cauldron just like Nesta. She was ripped away from the life she loved so dearly and didn’t want to give up. The man she was going to marry now hates her guts because she’s a High Fae. She has the perfect set up for a villain plot line and I’m all here for it.

well, that’s all I feel like doing tonight. hope you enjoyed my little q&a! be kind, and talk to you later! byeeee!

[magaprima]

Part 2 Episode 7 Analysis (Part 1/?)

Okay, the fact that the first scene of Lilith in this episode is actually a shot of the fetish doll Adam gave her is, for one, an extremely painful reminder of what happened in the last episode, but it’s also telling us that everything Lilith is going to be doing in this episode is driven by her grief for losing Adam. She has placed the doll in his chair, like it’s placed there the way a widow might place her deceased husband’s suit in his favourite chair, to pretend for a little while that he’s still alive. And she talks to the doll as if she is talking to Adam. The doll is the only connection to him that she has left, and she has set it up on the chair to talk to, to allow her to talk to Adam. 

She’s also not dressed; another sign  of grief. She’s in her night gown and we know she’s taken the day off work. She called in sick, she isn’t seeing anyone. The woman is in the throes of grief, and she’s dealing with that grief with an emotion that’s much more familiar to her; anger. 

We start the scene with her accusing Adam. “You did this to me”. I presume she has been talking for longer, and we’re just joining her at her concluding point (as she is sat in the chair, quite slouched down, and she has a drink on the table, hinting that she’s been ‘talking with Adam’ for a while now), because the ‘this’ is never specified for the viewer. But I’m going to presume because of the other episodes and because of my own personal view/headcanons, that she was talking to ‘Adam’ about the feelings she developed, the hopes she’d had and the plans she’d made, talking about the feeling and experience of falling in love with him and all that that did to her, both the good and the bad. 

“You made me weak, Adam” Lilith, due to her experiences, had previously perceived emotions and love as a vulnerability, but then when she gives into it and allows herself to grow attached, grow fond, fall in love....it’s ripped out from under her in a horrendous way, proving her point, she believes; that to love is to be made weak. And she’s blaming Adam, because that’s easier than blaming Lucifer (who she can’t do anything about) or Stolas (who she has already dealt with) or herself (because that’s too painful). 

“A grieving widow” She actually calls herself this. She likens herself to a grieving widow. She could have said anything else; grief-stricken, grieving demoness, a grieving witch, grieving woman, the list goes on. But she specifically refers to herself in a term that implies she saw herself and Adam as essentially married. Lilith is known as the one who initiated the first divorce, so she’s technically the first divorcee as well as the first wife, so marriage is an identifying factor for her since she’s been created, and it’s only natural for her to see their relationship through the same lens. But the fact she actively calls herself a grieving widow reveals not only how she viewed their dynamic/relationship, but also how she felt about Adam. Lucifer killing him has left her not just bereft, not just grieving, but widowed. She wouldn’t assign that word to herself if she didn’t feel like one; i.e she did fall in love with Adam and now she’s grieving like one in love. 

But the way Lilith is sat in that chair, the way the drink is, the way she’s dressed, the way the fire is burning in a way that suggests it’s the one from the previous night...how long has Lilith been sat there talking to the doll (i.e Adam)? After she cleaned herself up in the bathroom, what did she do? Is this how she’s processing her grief? Which brings us onto the next point

“But I owe you my gratitude. I was getting very comfortable in this woman’s flesh suit”

Oh, here comes the distancing language. She’s indulged her grief, she’s fully embraced her grieving widow status, but now her old, faithful defence mechanisms are returning. If loving Adam made her weak, then grieving him makes her even weaker. She’s distancing herself here, she’s not even calling her form a body right now (as she did when speaking to Hawthorne) or even referring to it as skin (as she does with Sabrina in Part 3), she’s referring to it as a ‘flesh suit’. She’s not just trying to distance herself from her feelings from Adam and her grief, she’s trying to distance herself from humanity entirely. It suits her now to fully identify as her demoness status, because as demoness none of these feelings can happen and so none of this vulnerability can exist and so none of this pain can be felt. 

The irony is that her choice of words reveals her true feelings. ‘I was getting very comfortable’. Lilith is enjoying being Mary, she has started enjoying this life in Greendale. Think how we’ve seen her working at Baxter High, even taking her work home to complete, think how reluctant she was to take a day off (and how now that she is taking time off she did actually call Mrs Meeks to let her know, rather than just not turning up), and think of the time she was spending with Adam, the implied time she has spent chatting with Mrs Meeks if the woman’s confidence and closeness around Lilith is any indicator. The Dark Lord had even said that she was taking too long to complete her tasks. Lilith was indeed getting very comfortable living as Mary: she’s surprised herself to find she can actually enjoy this existence, living as a witch in Greendale just as the Spellmans do. 

When she picks up the doll, she strokes the hair, she holds it so affectionately and you can just see the emotion she has attached to it. The doll was not only a gift she loved and it wasn’t only a gift from Adam, but it signified that first moment when she didn’t want to kill him, when she was actually considering him and found he’d managed to surprise her. Which, for a mortal man, is a big deal.

 “I needed to be reminded of who and what I truly am” She says this to the doll, and it’s taken as a declaration of cutting herself off from the mortal-esuqe life she’d become accustomed to, but the way she says it doesn’t sound bold and defiant, it doesn’t even sound like someone trying to find a way to heal. The entire way it’s said, her expression on her face, all speaks of pain...because what she’s saying right now is exactly what Lucifer has kept telling her. You belong to me. You forget our bond is eternal. You belong to me and only me. That’s what she is, that’s who and what she is. She’s the Mother of Demons, she’s eternally bound to Lucifer and that’s the life she’s now resolving to live in, because there’s no other option. There’s never going to be another Adam, another Tibet, so, in true Lilith style, she will adapt and survive, but more than that, she plans to thrive. If this is the only option she has, then she’s going to make sure she rules over it. 

And so she throws the doll on the fire defiantly, suddenly, she does it abruptly so there’s no turning back, and in the same moment we see her telekinetically move the cross back to it’s upturned position; not only showing she’s choosing to full throw herself back into her Queen of Hell ambitions (since these are all that’s left to her), but undoing the cross is removing the other relic of Adam, another reminder of him. She is doing her best to erase all vestiges of him, because, as she said herself ‘he made her weak’, and to thrive in this new situation, to really throw herself into her plans to be Queen, to live her life by Lucifer’s side (as she thinks, at the time), then she can’t have anything that might make her doubt or hesitate, she can’t have anything that would drag her back to being ‘comfortable’ again. There can be nothing left.

Which takes us to her watching the doll burn away, as she declares “time to birth a monster”, and we see the flames dancing in her eyes, which immediately calls up imagery of Hell and her intention to be Queen. Burning the doll away is burning away her time with Adam, which is burning her tie to the mortal realm and officially declaring her new Hell-orientated intent and ambitions. 

The use of flames, the burning away of the doll, the use of the word ‘monster’ rather than demon or creature etc, all signifies burning away one life in order to start another. Lilith intends to burn something away in order to rise from the ashes anew; there is no doubt, as she stares into those flames, that Lilith has major plans for coming out of all this horror stronger, better and, preferably, with a crown. It’s a phoenix moment, but instead of rising from ashes, she’s rising from hell fire. 

[markedasinfernal]

Happy holidays to @outofangband, here’s your gift for the TSS2019 exchange @officialtolkiensecretsanta! I will admit your request for a happy fic with Maedhros and Fingolfin is not really my style (I do sex, angst, and battles, sometimes simultaneously) so I’ve gone for catharsis instead. I hope you like it, and have a great holiday period! :)   

x

before the pitiless sea

Under rain-swollen clouds, a sky stretched grey, wordless was the meeting of the high king and the lord. Their footsteps pressed heavily into the sand.

Alone and separate each had come to this place; the high king arrayed in fair mail of blue and white as he rode proud through his lands, master of forest, river and sea. A crown of silver shone upon his crown, upon it jewels were threaded like stars; they glimmered as he rode through deep forests of pine and ash. To the coast his path was woven, and where the forest fell away to scrubland knolls, fresh tufts of grass battered low by the winds, there he dismounted, and in sombre mood he awaited his companion.

Not far behind the lord came walking; as a shadow amid the restless pines he slid from beneath their boughs, grey-clad in sombre robes. No crown or circlet did he wear; nay, his copper hair trailed free in the choppy breeze, and across his chest and shoulder a leather sling was borne, a cradle for his right arm swaddled still in cloth and potent herbs. Out into emptiness he came, out from the grasping shade, until both companions were met, and together there they stood a moment.

For so came to pass the meeting of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, and Maedhros son of Fëanor, upon the desolate coast unravelled; the wide sands swept away to the north and south, and before them the bitter sea. Iron-grey and restless there it moiled, waves capped with foam broke and fizzed upon the silvery sand, and drew back again, unto the faint horizon ceaseless. Together they stood still and listened, to the roar of the waves, to the ache of it in their hearts, and together silently they walked on, onto that empty beach, before the pitiless sea.

Onwards they wandered, each wrapped within his own solemn thought, until at last the high king raised his head, and softly said, "I thank you for your company. You did not have to heed my request, to come."

"I wished to," the lord replied. Pale scars pulled taut across his lips as he spoke.

To that the high king smiled, and raising his face to the broiling clouds sighed deeply. "The sea stirs my fëa, and still I would look westward, and set foot once more upon the Blessed Lands so fond in memory and in love. I would turn back the clock to happier times, to merriment and laughter, beneath the light of the Trees undimmed in grace."

The wind groaned across the beach; it stirred hissing rills of sand to smash upon their boots, and the high king's voice hardened.

"Yet we weary few cannot stem the tides of fate. We are unmanned before it, and rudderless must sail through its tempest, beholden to its fury. For fury it has: in anger the Doom was pronounced, and within it we are bound. It has taken so much from me, from us, and the sea is its keeper."

For a moment the high king turned away, and silently the lord watched him as with wrathful eyes he looked upon the water, and spite curled upon his lips. But as though a sudden weariness had come upon him he softened, he closed his eyes to the horizon and said, "I have lost my wife, sundered through fate, and she is the one whom I held dearest to me for long years of my life. And thou hast lost a brother, my nephew, not least among many, and against whose heart I can hold no blame in the perils that have passed."

At that the lord looked askance; grief welled up between his ribs, and such familiar guilt came after: his heartbeat pounded a dull, paralysing ache through his chest.

"Come," the high king said kindly, "though evil deeds have fallen twixt our kindred, lay them aside with me now. Let us think of them without hatred, and without sorrow. Let us see them for their light, and cast darkness aside."

Together then they drew to a halt, and though the clouds reeled overhead they heeded them not; together upon that desolate beach they stood in friendship, though each was alone in thought. Who can say of what their hearts truly whispered, of what secrets curled within their blood, but to those that asked they would say this:

The high king thought of love; of a dancing maid, the spray of her raven hair in the twilight as she whirled in frenetic movement, as the giddiness of the ballad swept her away; light as the breath of laughter upon her lips. He thought of her quill scratching upon rich parchment; her inventiveness, her words, her great essays on philosophy, poetry, politics, the eloquence of her closed his throat as though he might suffocate in her radiance. Yet he thought of her grief, their debates turned to quarrel, the soured words and stinging differences; he thought of her face upon that day, when all the lights drowned out in darkness, he remembered her face when he forsook her, and he would never forgive himself for that.

"I wish her peace," the high king murmured, and as the lord looked to him, he saw that he wept.

The lord thought of tenderness; of a mewling babe placed so carefully in his arms, one of two, alike yet different, a shock of hair like flame. How swiftly he grew, in mischief unparalleled, in humour unmatched; sharp with spear and fleet of foot amid the hunger of the hunt, but never cruel: how he cared for all things that drew breath upon that holy land. Of trees too he was named elf-friend, among the onodrim he would walk and sing, yet their deep wisdom could not sway him from his doom. The lord would never forget the gleam of flames upon the water, hear his father's laughter above the crack of wood, and though he had turned away he could still feel the heat of that burning seared across his back. He chose to be passive, he chose to be silent, and for it his brother had perished and countless evils been set into motion; the grief that came of that choice would weigh upon him forever.  

"I wish that they know no more of pain," the lord said softly; the winds snatched the words from his lips and tumbled them out to sea.

For a long while they stood silent, before the crash of the waves, until at last the high king stirred, and though tears ran still down his face, he smiled through them.

"Come," he said, "let go of sorrow. For we who walk upon these great lands will remember them in glory, and say their names in gladness. Those who we love are never truly gone; though Ulmo's realm should be sunderer or tomb, their spirits dwell in the Blessed Lands, and there they shall endure unwithered. And though we are exiled, cursed to wait until the breaking of the world when all is thrown down in tumult and ash, at least then we shall be reunited, and out of ruin there should come new joy, forgiveness and healing. This I know in my heart, and it makes me glad."

"Then it is a good thought," the lord replied, and smiled in kind, for it seemed to him that as he breathed anew the sea-breeze lightened him, that grief was smudged away; as the first droplets of rain drizzled down in fine mist some of the guilt pressed so deep into skin was trickled away with the water.

Together then they turned, and towards the forest at made their way back, and there parted in friendship; the lord raised his hand in farewell as the high king cantered away upon his great steed. Towards the trees the lord then walked, and beneath their boughs slipped away, silver amid the deepening shade.

Behind them both, the sea rolled on, the waves were unchanged, and the rain wiped smooth their footprints from the sand until they were no more.

[theerased]

The Ghost in the Haunted Forest

Some magic burns in this world still.

He dreamt an old dream, of three dragons of different colors, a melting throne, and the Silver Queen drowning in blood. In the dream, his sword drinks her soul after a dance of blood and vengeance. The sword smokes and bursts into flames, but the fire is actually the dragon’s breath melting the Iron Throne. He stares down the dragon’s throat as he prepares for the end, but it never comes. Cursed is the kinslayer, condemned to live. His wound throbs and smokes, the skin hot to the touch. “What if one person stood between you and a better world?” she asks through the mouthful of blood. “Sacrifice is never easy, or it is no true sacrifice.”

He felt the wound on his chest, tender after all these years. The fingers of his sword hand flexed into a fist, then loosened. Pulling furs about his shoulders, he stood at the bedside, his dark grey eyes searching the remnants of the fire.

The cabin he’d built with his hands years before, when the spring waned and he’d grown weary of sleeping beneath the cold and open sky. Where this forest had been deadly quiet, life had returned. Once they had called it haunted, but now there were only but a few haunted places left in the world.

The messenger had arrived around noon the day before, hoisting the banner that once belonged to him. He’d not bothered to read the letter until last night, after he’d sent the messenger back on his way south. Aly had stirred in his bed while he parsed the words. He recalled another letter that had beckoned him to come, and he tossed this one into the flames. Dark wings, dark words, his father had always said. Queens were always calling, and though he bore this one love, he did not feel it necessary to pay heed. Again, he touched the tender wound on his chest.

Aly was kissed by fire, just like the queen beckoning him southward, and like another woman from his past. “You know nothing,” she whispered in his memory. A wildling woman who offered to share his bed years before, Aly comforted him through dark moods and melancholy evenings, evenings when he’d try to shut out his ghosts. One had come calling.

He ranged these woods in his youth, spoke his vows at a weirwood in this very forest. When he said the words, his wolf had wandered back from the depths of the forest, a desiccated hand in its teeth. He’d buried that wolf in the shadow of a heart tree a league south. He watched age claim the great beast the way it eventually claimed everything. He once refused a king’s offer because of that wolf, though he later became a king himself. Brother to two kings and a queen. Too many crowns, he thought. Too many thrones.

He used to dream through the ruby eyes of the direwolf nearly every night. Those dreams stopped when age took Ghost from him. Burying the great white wolf was like saying goodbye to a piece of himself, and he’d said goodbye to too many pieces of himself in his time. He’d been condemned to live out his days in the grey waste, and for what? The Old Bear had once asked him to have the courage to live, but on some days that felt like a bitter joke.

Bastard and oathbreaker. Motherless, friendless, and damned, he thought. Condemned to live.

“Only death can pay for life,” he’d heard once, long ago. He couldn’t remember who told him that. Had it been the Red Woman? The Silver Queen? It matters not, he supposed. There was nothing beyond the black veil where they each now dwelt; he’d seen that for himself. The wound throbbed. Their deaths paid for his life, and now he spent that life far from crowns and thrones and kings and queens.

Aly didn’t ask why he stared into the smoldering embers. He didn’t speak much, but he kept her warm and safe. Each night he wrapped his arms about her and fell asleep trembling. She was used to him waking up sweating and shaking, calling out names of companions long gone. His skin was covered in scars—his neck, his face, and a large curved scar over his heart. But he was kinder than the wildling boys she’d known in her youth who would take what they wanted and gentler than the other crows she was unfortunate enough to encounter.

“I shall take no wife; I shall father no sons,” the vows said. He remembered the bright red leaves of the weirwood where he spoke the words. Sam took a wife, Sam fathered sons, but not me, he thought. There was a time when he thought maybe there was a chance, maybe he and his Silver Queen might bear children, but it would never come to pass. She threatened his sisters who would never bend the knee. His role was never to carry the legacy; his was to live and die at his post. The fingers of his sword hand traced the curved scar over his heart.

“Jon,” the letter read in perfect script. He vaguely remembered watching her writing lessons with Septa Mordane, in what felt like another life. “By royal decree, you are hereby pardoned of your crimes. Return to Winterfell and a seat of honor at our table, your family’s table. We have had words with the King in the South, Brandon of House Stark, who concurs with this pardon. However, he informed us that you would not accept it. Our brother knows much, but not all. Prove him wrong, Jon. Prove him wrong.” The letter was signed, Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell.

He wondered at the lord she had wed and the sons she had borne. They had taken her name since she was royalty of a great house; she was the Stark in Winterfell, and that still meant something in the North. Her third son bore his name he knew, the full name he’d wanted his whole life more than anything. Jon Stark must be eleven years old now. But that wasn’t my true name, he thought. I don’t dare speak my true name.

Why must there always be a choice? Why have the gods always sought to test my will in one impossible direction or another? Or maybe just the one god, the one that Melisandre always spoke of, the one who sparked fire into my blood to bring me back from beyond that black veil? The magic burns through my veins still. Only death can pay for life. And what was it for?

“You saved the world,” a voice whispered back from the embers. “Thanks to you, the world did not end in ice or in fire.” Now he was an old man and grey. He was what his father would never be. What his brothers Robb or Rickon would never be. And his other brother was out there creating a better, more loving world. Bran the Broken they called him, but who was truly broken in the end?

“There is no end,” the voice told him.

I sound like Edd, he thought, full of tedious complaints. His eyes stopped searching the ashes and turned back to Aly. She watched him quietly; he had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed her waking.

“You been quiet all o’ the day and night. Since that kneeler came from the south yesterday. What was ‘e on about?”

“A letter. From the Queen in Winterfell.”

“What she want? You t’come before her the way y’used to?”

“No,” he replied gruffly. “It’s not important. Nothing could bring me back.”

“Come back t’bed then. Keep your queen warm.”

Aly’s words stung, but he couldn’t turn away from her. “If I look back I am lost,” the voice called to him.

The two had coupled for years upon years, but no fruit bore from the tree. He was the last in a line that stretched back to Old Valyria, not that he thought on it much. When he first ventured north of the Wall with the wildlings, he considered his parents, his true parents, more than ever before. A prince who died at the Ruby Ford, long leagues from the woman he loved, whose name rested on his lips at the end of his life. A wild and willful maid who died in a bed of blood, begging her brother to keep a promise that the boy must live.

“Kill the boy,” Maester Aemon told him once. “And let the man be born.” Now it mattered not. The destiny had been fulfilled, the promise had been kept.

When he swept Aly into his arms, he tucked hair behind her ear and laid a kiss upon her forehead. Her hair smelled like the Silver Queen’s—like roses. “Remember who you are,” that same voice called to him. As he tried to fall asleep, he stared at the sword resting against the wall. The familiar white wolf’s head pommel, with eyes of garnet that glared in the dim light. He recalled a knight called Giantslayer who told him that a man who bears Valyrian steel should use it for more than scratching his arse. Where would that sword go once he was gone?

Before he built this cabin, he wanted to make sure the threat of the Others was truly gone. He and Tormund Giantsbane set out into the real North, past the Fist of the First Men, past the Frostfangs, to the Land of Always Winter. They were well provisioned, and spring seemed to follow them as they crept further north. Eventually life stopped following behind, and there was nothing but rocks and frozen ground. Lights danced in the sky above them, jade and opal and tourmaline and amethyst. There were no structures until they came upon an altar in the shadow of a crystalline mountain. They investigated the surroundings but found no evidence of the white walkers or their corpse children.

That was the last time he felt he truly needed the sword that was given to him by Jeor Mormont, with steel that seemed to flow through the air, that he had once used to cut down adversaries one after another. He remembered the unexpected clang as it once stopped a white walker’s blade, and then sent the Enemy to its final reward.

The sword was another piece of him, maybe another piece that he should bid goodbye.

In the morning, Aly found him packing supplies on his horse.

“Are you going back to Winterfell then?” she asked sadly.

“For a little while.”

“Why? What did the letter say?”

“It said I was pardoned of my crimes in the south. The queen my sister beckoned me to join a high seat at her table, but that’s not why I’m going.”

“Well why are you going then?”

“There’s a boy down there, a son of hers. He has the name I always wanted. I have a gift for him.”

He flexed the fingers of his sword hand before placing it upon the wolf’s head pommel at his hip.

“Come with me, Aly.”

“T’the realm of the kneelers? That’s not the place for me, Jon.”

“It’s not the place for me either, but I would bring you before the godswood in Winterfell, in the sight of gods and men. I would be your husband, if you would have me,” he said, taking her hand in his. “All I ask is all of you, forever.”

A smile crept over Aly’s face. “Done,” she whispered. He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips into hers.

There is some magic that burns in this world still, magic that lives because others have died, magic that allows us to carry on though we may be condemned to live. We make our choices, and we choose to live with them, he thought as the two of them rode together south to the Wall and the lands beyond.

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 1

I’m still bitter we didn’t get a proper manorian goodbye in Kingdom of Ash. So here’s my attempt. KoA spoilers!

Tagging @itach-i and @nestasbucket. If you’d like to be tagged in the next few parts, let me know!

fanfic master list (including the link to my fics on AO3, under the same username)

**********

Part One

I Wish...

Laughter and music filled the great hall as everyone gathered for their final night together. All the armies, all the healers, all the witches planned to leave Orynth tomorrow.

Manon stared at her plate, trying to convince herself to eat what was on it. A round of applause broke out and she looked up to see a crowd gathering at the far end of the room. A group of young witches walked past her, hurrying to join the dancing. As the clapping took on fast tempo, Manon’s attention returned to her food.

The initial burst of joy that had accompanied the tiny purple flower brought from the Wastes had dissipated over the past weeks. The reality of what it meant slowly settled like a lead weight in her chest. Seeing Ironteeth and Crochan witches looking forward to the future helped to buoy her mood sometimes. But it couldn’t erase the truth that none of them really knew what the future held in the Wastes. And it couldn’t fill the hollowness that continued to grow inside her.

Her eyes flitted across the room, never lingering very long on anyone or anything. The itch to fly was beginning to prickle under her skin. She knew Glennis watched, so Manon ate a few bites, then stood to leave, claiming she had to pack.

It wasn’t a lie exactly, as she did need to gather her things. But she also needed to get out of here. The witches at her table accepted the excuse without so much as a glance, and Manon felt a sharp pang of grief at the thought that the Thirteen would have seen right through it. Asterin would have gone along to make sure she actually did pack, Sorrel and Vesta following close behind.

As she walked through the maze of hallways, she could almost feel Asterin trailing her to the room she’d been sharing with Dorian.

Most nights she ended up in the aerie, but she usually began them here. He never stopped her going, even when she accidentally woke him. She had not mentioned the Thirteen to him, to anyone, since those moments after the final battle. He knew why she was pulled to the balcony to stare across the plain with Abraxos. He’d offered to come with her once, and when she’d hesitated, he’d kissed her forehead and said, “Just ask if you ever change your mind.”

When she opened the door, his scent wrapped around her, and she immediately set to gathering her things. This was going to be hard enough without drawing it out, she might as well get it over with. A humorless laugh escaped her as Manon better understood why Dorian had left without saying goodbye all those weeks ago.

“What’s so funny?”

She whirled to find him closing the door. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed he’d followed her here.

“You should be back in the hall. Enjoying the celebration with your friends,” she said, ignoring his question.

His eyes bore into her, and she almost looked away. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

She went back to stuffing clothing into her bags. She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t know how to do this.

Without a word, Dorian walked over and took the shirt from her hands. Setting it aside, he gently turned her to face him. Manon didn’t think she could look at him, so she stared straight ahead, focusing on the triangle of bare skin where his collar hung open.

The pale band around his neck called to her, and she brushed her fingers along it. The sound of his heartbeat quickened and she felt the heat rise in his skin. For a moment, she considered not stopping. Considered taking him to bed to distract them both from whatever conversation he seemed intent on having tonight. And what was coming tomorrow.

But the idea seemed like a coward’s way out, and she was not a coward. Even if fear lined most of her thoughts these days.

She’d admitted her fears to him once before, and he had not judged her. There was no one else left that she trusted this much, no one she’d allow to see her this vulnerable.

As before, he knew what was wrong, at least the shape of it. But instead of confronting her, he’d been quiet and patient and... there. Always there. Nothing more, unless she’d asked.

Dropping her fingers from his neck, she took a breath and said simply, “I’m afraid.”

Dorian pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Of what?” he asked, his hand stroking her back.

His touch felt so good, the pressure easing her tense muscles, and she relaxed into him. “I don’t know how to do this without them.”

The truth had been building in her for days. Confessing part of it lightened the heaviness inside her, just a little. So, she went on. “I don’t know if I ever truly believed we’d go home. Not until recently. And now. To face it without them...” She trailed off. As he squeezed her tighter, she said, “I feel so alone.”

Not once had Manon truly considered a future without all of the Thirteen. A future where they were gone and she was left to carry on. Even the prospect of being queen, a duty she’d now fully assumed, had never altered that image. If they weren’t there, she wouldn’t be either.

Dorian pulled away, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “You are not alone, Manon. They can never be replaced. But don’t ever think you’re alone. You have friends and family who care about you.” Moments passed in silence until finally, his voice roughened with emotion, he said, “I care about you.”

He’d said it before. But there was something in the words this time that felt different. A weight that had been lacking. The weight of a promise.

Manon slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

***

The dread of saying goodbye had made Dorian’s heart feel more and more fragile with each passing day. Now, he thought it might actually shatter.

It wasn’t lost on him that Manon couldn’t even say their names. No matter what mask she’d worn in front of the others, he saw the truth of what lay beneath.

The Thirteen were her family. Her entire family. And they were all gone. Glennis and her Crochan cousins might fill in that void someday, but it would take time. If it happened at all.

In a past life, Dorian would have tried distracting her with pleasurable touches or pretty words. In this life, had she been anyone else, he probably would have done just that. But Manon was not anyone.

Yet, if he spoke the words he truly wanted to say, whose mind would it ease? Likely not hers, as it would only overwhelm her. But his self control faltered as he felt the pain and sorrow emanating from her, as if his magic could sense it.

“I care about you,” he rasped. With each word, a spark of warm magic flowed from his hands into her. That spark lit something in her, making her eyes glow like flames as they met his.

“What do you want Dorian?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

She’d asked that of him days ago. But this time, it was an entirely different question. The desperation to answer with the truth, with the words he’d kept from her before - You, all of you - almost won out.

Almost.

It would be too much for her right now, he reasoned, an extra burden she didn’t need to carry. Especially with their goodbye growing closer with each minute.

“I want…” he started, then stopped. If he couldn’t tell her everything, he could at least give her a glimpse into what he felt.

Dorian took her hand in his, and they both watched as his thumb glided back and forth over her fingers. “I wish we could take off on Abraxos and fly around the world,” he said. “Not as a king and queen. Just a man and a witch. No crowns, no responsibilities.”

Manon’s eyebrow quirked in mild amusement and Dorian took it as a sign to continue.

“We can go wherever we want. East to Wendlyn, or the fabled lands across the western ocean. North to the frozen wastes, then to the Southern Continent. I can visit libraries and book shops and you...” he paused, thinking.

A wry, expectant expression crossed her face and he almost laughed.

“You can visit blacksmiths for new and exotic weaponry. When we run out of money for new books and daggers, you can teach girls how to fight while I perform magic tricks and shape shifting for crowds. I will make you breakfast in bed each morning.” He gave her a knowing look. “And you can shut me up each night.”

Manon’s smiles had been given sparingly before the war, yet he’d still come to think of himself as an expert on them. The smile she rewarded him with now, the first he’d seen since they’d reunited, was soft and brief and breathtakingly beautiful.

“I asked what you want, not what you wish,” she admonished with a touch of teasing.

Without thinking, he asked, “Can’t it be both?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I want whatever you choose to offer.”

Manon closed her eyes, all traces of her smile gone. No doubt she was remembering when she’d first spoken those words to him, on a ship just off the Eyllwe coast. It felt like lifetimes ago, but it had been little more than a few months.

Or, he realized, perhaps she was thinking of a different offer she’d made more recently, in a tent at the edge of the White Fangs. One he’d abandoned rather than answer. He knew that if he had, if he’d faced the same choice as Gavin, then the keys, the gate, this war... all of it would have ended much differently. He told himself he didn’t regret it, and perhaps he didn’t. But it haunted him nonetheless.

She said nothing, and turned away again to resume her packing.

Mentally kicking himself, he silently watched her move around the room. She didn’t have much to take with her, and he had no idea what had been done with the Thirteen’s things. It was likely that their weapons and supplies had been redistributed as the siege had dragged on.

When Manon was done, she stopped at the makeshift bed, little more than a pile of hay covered with blankets. Without looking at him, she said, “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

Any remaining will power he had left dissolved in that moment, and Dorian walked to her side. “I wish for that too, witchling. More than anything.” She shifted towards him and he pulled her into a hug. “Whatever happens, you will not be alone."

The embrace lasted forever and no time at all, until she broke away and took a half step back. Tentatively, not bothering to hide her shaking, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. "You will always be with me.”

Dorian smiled, amazed. He was always amazed by her.

“And you will always be with me.” He clasped her hand against his own heart, another wave of his magic pulsing into her.

***

Promise again laced his words, and the force of it settled within her chest. Just as his touch had done, the soft smile he gave her now seemed to pierce through her sadness.

Manon sat down on the bed, pulling him with her. Curled into his arms, she pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the strong, even rhythm. She’d expected a night of little rest, but instead, Dorian held her tightly, giving her occasional kisses until she fell asleep.

Waking well before the first rays of dawn, she tried not to disturb him when she rose to get dressed. Dorian’s eyes opened the instant she sat up and he watched silently as she began to strap on her sword and daggers.

“Are you planning to sleep in?” She’d meant it to sound light and joking, but it was overshadowed by the farewell they could no longer put off.

“You want me to go up to the aerie with you?” He tossed the blankets aside and stood, quickly throwing on clothes. “I thought you’d want to say goodbye here,” he offered as explanation.

I don’t want to say it at all, she thought, but said nothing.

A sharp knock on the door announced it was time, and she scanned the room once again before her eyes landed on him. “Ready?”

He opened his mouth, and for a second she thought he might actually say no. Instead, he nervously ran his fingers through his hair and nodded once. When he held his hand out for her, she didn’t hesitate.

They walked slowly to the castle’s uppermost balcony that had been serving as the wyvern aerie. Dorian’s hand was like a vise and Manon wondered whose trembling the tight grip was meant to quell.

When they reached the final door leading them outside, he stopped short and spun her around to face him. “The Ferian Gap.”

It wasn’t a question but he seemed to need an answer, so she said, “Yes.” He relaxed a bit, and she added, “I don’t know how long before I can get away."

With a tight smile, he cupped her face in his hands. “I know. We can decide on a time later. I just...” He blinked rapidly, but it didn’t lessen the bright sheen of moisture in his eyes.

Manon raised up onto her toes and kissed him. “I know,” she said into his lips. He dropped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him. Sliding her arms around his neck, she held on as if her life depended on it. Just as he was holding her.

***

Dorian tucked her braid into the fur collar of her cloak and they walked outside to where the others were waiting. As soon as their queen appeared, shouts to prepare for flight rang through the dark, frigid air.

He stayed with her until she checked all the harnesses on Abraxos, never taking his eyes off her as she climbed up into the saddle. Every nerve in his body wanted to leap up there with her, every ounce of his magic strained to touch her. But he stepped back, just far enough to be outside the reach of Abraxos’s wings.

When she was settled and strapped in, and there were no more excuses to delay, Manon placed her hand on her heart and said, “Goodbye, princeling.”

Dorian touched his own chest and said, “Goodbye, witchling.” He forced himself to give her a lighthearted wink. “For now.”

A twitch of a smile. “For now,” she agreed.

Before he could take another breath, Abraxos was at the drop-off overlooking the city far below. His booming wings flapped once, twice, and then they were airborne. On brooms and wyverns, hundreds of witches took to the sky, a few falling into formation around their queen with the rest streaming behind.

He stayed, watching as the large host grew small on the horizon, where the first rays of morning were breaking over the mountains. The sunlight caught a shining wing that flashed silver, just for an instant. And then, it was gone.

Long after they disappeared and he could no longer stand the cold, Dorian turned and went inside.

***

Manon felt Dorian’s magic surround her and Abraxos the moment they’d taken off, and she was surprised by how long it stayed with them. Its warmth soothed them as they passed over the blast site that was the focus of their nightly vigils. When the power began to flicker, like a candle being blown out, she glanced over her shoulder, unable to make him out as anything more than a dark figure on the highest balcony.

And then, it was gone. They’d flown past the reach of his magic. The freezing air bit into her now unshielded skin and Abraxos released a melancholy whine.

A lifetime of habit had Manon twisting around in her saddle, an order for Asterin already forming on her lips. When unfamiliar witches stared back at her, she said nothing and faced forward again.

The reminder hit her as it always did, like a physical blow. Like the punch to her gut that had left her behind, and left her alone.

To be continued...

[moeruhoshi]

Another Princess x Servant that I like but also feel like it’s missing something

The carriage bumped along the torn road, Lucy clinging to her mother's side as they rode through the rural village of their kingdom, sky gray and melancholy. The guards helped herself and the queen down their small flight of steps, leading the two towards a dripping cobblestone building, the little princess’ eyes gazing towards the people peeking out of their homes to see the royal family. She waved with a smile to the kids who were quick to hide again, Lucy shivering as they entered the cold house.

“Mama, why are we here?” She asked as they walked down a creaky staircase, her mother turning to her with a smile.

“To find you a new friend, Lucy, dear.” The two came across leaky cobblestone walls and creaking floors, almost snapping under their weight. There were swinging cell doors and old bones in corners, Lucy shivering at their scary sight. She yelped as someone at the end of the hall held up a lantern and showed their face, beckoning for they and their knights to continue forward. In another spacious room with sacks of grains, obscure weapons on the walls, and old chains rusted in odd corners. There stood four children about her age, all dirtied and yawning, smiling as the queen waved.

“There ya go, princess. Have your pick.” The old man by their side grinned, Lucy still hiding behind her mother's ballgown. “Don’t worry, they’re plenty nice.”

Lucy eyed the strange boys, curious as she had never met one her age. One with raven hair had stripped to his undergarments, wiping his nose and eyeing her with a bored look. The other sneered and had many piercings, red eyes and sharp teeth that frightened the poor girl. Another with a strange lightning scar, a bit older and both scary and bored looking. The last met her eyes, lighting up with a sheepish grin, pink cheeks to match his wild pink hair. He waved, and Lucy smiled, his grin spreading wide.

“I like pink...a lot...! It’s my favorite color,” She mumbled as she approached him, curtsying her greeting.

“Natsu, it is.” The old man smiled, coming to pat him on his back and turned to the queen.

“Thank you again, Makarov,” She bowed and he as well, Natsu quickly following lead.

“He’s got a lot of power, enough training and he’ll be the fiercest protector Fiore has ever seen.” Makarov smiled, pushing the boy to follow as the knights led them out. Natsu waved to the others who did nothing but stick their tongues out, goodbyes already been shared the night before.

“I’m Princess Lucy Heartfilia of Fiore,” The little blonde properly greeted the boy as they walked back upstairs.

“Natsu Dragneel, Fire Dragon of Atlas,”

“Natsu is going to be your personal guard from now on, he’ll always be with you,” The queen smiled.

And from then on, he was. Learning princess duties was only ever done so quickly for Lucy to spend her extra time playing around with Natsu. He had his own list of things to begin learning as well, ones the king would ensure a strict following if they were to fully accept this boy into their palace.

When she wasn’t studying, and he wasn’t endurance training, the two would play all they wanted in the gardens outside, run and make flower crowns, sit indoors and read books. Natsu had never even seen a book until he came to Fiore, Lucy teaching him every word she knew and continued to learn herself. They laughed and ate together, played with their magic together, so often falling asleep together in the library.

Her choice told tale of her destined friendship with the dragon, happy she had chosen right and found the friend she had wished for all her life. They grew up together, distance never growing apart, the death of the queen truly bringing them together.

The king made little of Lucy’s grief, expecting her to continue the life she led even without her mother’s wisdom to follow and live by. She would limp through classes, couldn’t even be bothered to find the strength to listen. Natsu held her in the evening when she cried, rubbed circles onto her back until she was fast asleep. The king observed this one night, almost throwing the boy beyond castle walls.

“Please, your highness.” Captain of knights, Jellal, reasoned when he considered banishing the dragon. “He has come along very quickly. His strength can prove useful to our kingdom, it’s only reached half its power, and yet he can wipe out half my men at age eleven.”

“So be it, then. See to it that he no longer lingers with my daughter. His role is as her bodyguard and nothing more until told otherwise. Castle gossip with a common boy at the side of the royal family in chambers better not be passed along.”

Jellal broke the news quietly, Lucy devastated and hardened as Natsu was ripped from her daily life. Gone were days of running through the flowers, reading by the fire, scratching the soft spot on his neck that funnily enough made his tail wag.

The dragon hit dummies with his flaming fists every day, cursing the cold heart of the king keeping him from comforting Lucy. She needed him, he could smell her tears in the wind as she stood at her balcony, looking into the courtyard where he stood, both staring back at each other with whispered good nights.

The eve of her sixteenth birthday was a fanfare many would remember. Royalty from far and wide came to see the princess of age, golden hair and poised smile similar to the late queen. Suitors came to eye her with wicked smiles hidden behind polite ones, older duchesses and baroness’ gossiping behind fans as they watched her descend the stairs.

She took the hand of her bodyguard, Natsu grown and very tan, eyes hiding the beast underneath, a kiss pressed against her gloved hand as he handed her off to the crowd, standing never too far away. Lucy wanted to sit and rest, instead moving to smile and greet every face as if she knew who they were, names only give to her a day or so before. She danced with prince after duke after king after marquis, all eyes on her white corset handing them a pleasantly squeezed bodice. She politely declined any who asked for her hand more than once, a princess never danced with the same man twice. Crowd after crowd of clamoring voices, toes beyond throbbing as she finally reached the punch bowl.

“You never liked to socialize much,” Natsu hummed as he poured her a glass, sniffing the beverage for any poisons before she could have a drink.

“With all these stuffy old coots,” She smiled to him as she spoke under her breath. “Never.”

“Jellal’s been teaching me to waltz, shall I entertain you before they swarm again?” Lucy laughed lightly and took his hand, trying not to look too pleased as they whirled onto the dance floor. His smile reached his eyes, heart hammering at the closeness she rarely had with the skilled bodyguard. Guests applauded the last dance of the evening, the king not amused from his perch on the throne.

“Allow me to woo the young princess,” Duke Ezel bowed to the king, expressing his deep interest to turn her away from stories of passionate young love and destined partners to understand her place amongst royalty, to experience the duty tied to the honor of an older man’s title.

“Court her as you like,”

Gone were the knights from their posts, escorting guests through the gates as the evening slowly came to an end, maids busying themselves in the grand ballroom to finish the extensive cleaning before the next morning began, king drunk on the wine offered to his table unable to interfere either. Lucy took advantage of their time alone this eve, Natsu sending her off to her room no one around to impede on their time together.

It was the first night that sparked their slow interest in one another, beginning the trail of heat exchanged between the two.

“Spetto is a bit busy, may you help me undress?” She asked coyly, leading her into his bedroom with a soft smile, the dragon smirking as he closed the door behind them. Lucy sat at her vanity, Natsu pulling the pins from her hair, wiping clean the makeup of her eyes and soft lips. She stood to allow him access to her tied bodice, watching from her long mirror as his hands fumbled with the knot. The pads of his fingers lingered along her open back, trailing up to her shoulder blade, eyes locking as she bared her neck with the swipe of her hair out of the way. He absorbed the sweet smell of his master, lips lingering above her delightfully pulsing point of interest. She held her breath as he nuzzled against her skin, arms holding the dress up to keep herself from being exposed, cheeks flushed madly as his eyes never left her own.

“Goodnight, my dear princess.” Natsu pulled away with a soft smile, leaving Lucy to sigh into her frustration, summoning Plue to cuddle with that night.

A day soon came upon them when Natsu experienced his first spring into action to guard the safety of his princess. A man from the edges of Tartaros, one with hoards of concubine and enslaved women under the glossy heel of his polished shoes, Jellal had warned Natsu upon the arrival of the Duke. He was ordered to keep his distance throughout their meeting, Ezel smirking at the dragon, Lucy having no time to express her apprehension to the boy as she pasted a proper fake smile on. The two spoke in the greenhouse, doors locked without the notice of barely a knight, all told to give the two space by their king. The sound of a shattering teacup was all anyone needed to hear before they attempted breaking down the door, red wings carrying Natsu to crash through the roof with a fiery kick. The offensive magic of his tentacles ebbed toward the unconscious princess on the ground, ready to rope the poor girl in to defile. His flames burned half the plants, melted the doors and walls to ash or liquid, rain of assault upon the disturbed duke until he was tossed to the feet of the captain.

“Throw this man in the dungeon!” Jellal called to his men, quick to drag the beaten and bloodied man off while the nurse tended the dear princess. The king paid little to no mind concerning the incident, pleased enough the guards arrested the fool before he continued about his work for the day.

No one had the heart to get in the way as Lucy cried in the arms of her savior, sick and puking half the evening. It was the first day they had slept together since childhood, Natsu awake even as the sun rose over the horizon, refusing to leave Lucy’s side.

Her eighteenth ball was a day of reunions, brought along by two princesses recently combined in treaty with her own country.

“I’d pummel you right here if I could, flame brain.” Gray hissed at the dragon, Natsu growling at the ice devil.

“Lucky this is a party otherwise you’d be smeared across the cobblestones,” Gajeel grumbled and cracked his knuckles, Levy smacking her dragon with a closed fan.

“Hush, must I remind you? Manners, please,” The shorter girl scolded.

“Juvia wouldn’t mind if Gray-sama started a fight,” The water princess swooned as her guard smirked at her love of his strength.

“A nice night, wasn’t it? You got to see your friends after so long,” Lucy hummed as they walked to her room, another night free of guards and maids, king knocked out in his chambers.

“I wouldn’t say that,” He scoffed as she giggled. “But it was nice to see you getting along with someone other than myself and the staff.”

“Levy and Juvia are quite interesting,” She smiled as they entered her room, Lucy already sat at her vanity as Natsu closed the door. “And did you see Lady Erza dancing with Captain Jellal all night? It was very romantic, she was quite taken with him.”

“Romantic, hmm? Anyone catch your eye tonight? There were many begging for your attention,” He asked, leading her to stand in front of her mirror, fingers dangerously slow as they pulled at her corset.

“No one has yet to impress me, they don’t quite live up to my personal standards,” She bit her lip shyly as her dress fell, arm quick to hide her bare chest as he stared down her near naked appearance. She shuddered as he toyed with the edges of her panties, pads of his fingers splaying against her bare stomach.

“And what might they be, princess?”

[bunny-wan-kenobi]

Bunny’s GOT Top 10

So I’ve been re-watching old GOT episodes this week as a bit of a cleanse (believe me it’s been good for the soul) because while things soured in Season 8, when GOT has been good, it’s been AMAZING. And it’s been encouraging for me to revisit the episodes that struck a chord in me and stayed with me because as I said before, NO ONE can take that away from me. So here’s my personal favorite episodes: 

10. Kissed By Fire (3x5)

This episode lingers with me because it’s a character-driven one with a bittersweet quality to it that pulls you in. It’s an episode about choices and their consequences, and the choices alluded to and made here leave a significant mark on the characters’ lives. It’s also an episode that adeptly balances action, intrigue, and rich dialogue-heavy scenes. 

Highlights: Jon and Ygritte consummate their love, introduction of Davo’s first and always #1 adopted child Shireen, Beric vs The Hound, Robb makes the fatal error of executing Karstark (I love the score for that scene)

Favorite Scene: Jaime revealing why he killed Aerys to Brienne at Harrenhall. Both actors were captivating in the way they carried this profound moment, and it’s one of the best GOT monologues. 

9. Fire and Blood (1x12)

After the shocking and climatic death of Ned Stark, this episode manages to draw together all the characters’ threads into an emotionally compelling season finale. This is where all that time investing in these characters pays off as we see them both mourn their losses but prepare for their next move, perfectly setting the stage for Season 2.

Highlights: Robb crowned King in the North, Tyrion is made Hand to the King, Arya meets her new crew of Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy

Favorite Scene: Dany rising from the ashes with 3 dragons. It doesn’t get more hopeful and iconic than that.

8. Hardhome (5x8)

It was tough not ranking this one higher because it’s really an exceptional episode that hammered in just how much of a threat the White Walkers are to the rest of humanity. Not only that, but we get rewarded with some long-awaited character interactions, some painful to watch and others simply engrossing. 

Highlights: Dany and Tyrion’s first meeting (so GOOD seeing the interplay with these two), Jon slays his first White Walker, Sansa and Theon reunite, Karsi the Free Folk chieftainess 

Favorite Scene: The Night King raising the dead as Jon and the remaining Free Folk flee in diminished numbers. It’s a game-changing and tragic moment with a haunting final image, even as it spawned a slew of new memes.

7. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (8x2)

This one ranks higher because of the way it emotionally resonated with me, and it’s one that doesn’t lose its introspective power the more I re-watch it. It has a play-like elegance honed in on these intimate scenes between characters simply working through their tensions as well as reflecting upon their pasts. It truly is a love letter to these characters, honoring their journeys and their relationships as they quietly await the dreaded Long Night. 

Highlights: Jaime’s trial, Jaime and Tyrion’s conversations about family and “self-betterment,” Sam gives Jorah Heartsbane, Jon reveals his parentage to Dany, the “Fireside Club” (honorable mention to everyone’s reactions to Tormund’s ridiculous tale), the gorgeous marriage of melancholic imagery with Daniel Portman’s rendering of “Jenny of Oldstones” 

Favorite Scene: Brienne’s knighting by Jaime. One of the rare moments of pure light and joy on the show, and a beautiful tribute to Brienne’s idealism and honor as well as her transformative and magnetic relationship with Jaime. 

6. Rains of Castamere (3x9)

I remember how devastated I was when I first saw this episode. The set-up to it was so well laid out that it was inevitable, but the almost-Shakespearean sense of tragedy still hurts to this day. The performances here are raw and powerful, and from the moment the ominous strains of the Lannisters’ song begin, you can’t look away. 

Highlights: Jon leaves Ygritte and just misses a reunion with Bran and Rickon, Jorah’s epic team-up with Daario and Barristan Selmy in Yunkai, Bran and Rickon say goodbye 

Favorite Scene: The massacre at the Twins. I mean...what else could it be? This entire sequence is heartbreaking, from Arya realizing her family is being slaughtered to Greywind’s death to Catelyn’s final wail. 

5. The Watchers on the Wall (4x9)

This episode stands out to me as one that testifies most to Jon’s journey. It illuminates his strengths as a leader, the fire-forged loyalty of his friendships, and the poignancy of his first love: Ygritte. There are some spectacular action pieces here, and even the deaths of minor characters heft an emotional punch. It’s also one of the few episodes to be grounded in one location, and that adds to its depth.  

Highlights: Grenn’s last stand against the giant, Sam defeats a Thenn, Ygritte dies in Jon’s arms 

Favorite Scene: Jon taking command on the ground level. There’s an elemental ferocity and resolve in the way he carves his way through the battle, turning the tide in a way everyone bears witness to. 

4. Baelor (1x9)

The episode that changed everything. I wept when I read the chapter where Ned dies in the book, and I still wept here seeing it onscreen. His execution is so abrupt and unjust and horrific that the impact of this moment reverberates throughout the story forever after. There’s actually a LOT that happens in this episode, and it’s all riveting.

Highlights: Robb defeats and captures Jaime, Dany tragically loses her child to save Khal Drogo’s life (it’s weird calling this a highlight but it’s a deeply sorrowful and important moment), Jeor Mormont gives Jon Longclaw 

Favorite Scene: Ned’s death. It’s still hard to watch because it’s so painful.

3. Battle of the Bastards (6x9)

Brilliantly shot, edited, and acted, this episode is one of the most memorable of the GOT battles. It works because it doesn’t lose sight of the characters, conveying the horrors of warfare to a visceral degree. The ending is also one of the most satisfying in the show, cathartic even as the wounds of battle linger. 

Highlights: Dany’s triumph in the battle at Mereen, Sansa’s “Riders of Rohan” rescue with the Knights of the Vale, Dany meets Yara and Theon, Sansa ends Ramsay with his own hounds 

Favorite Scene: Jon draws out Longclaw to make a final stand as the calvary races towards him. It’s just one of those shots that becomes emblematic of the show and the character, and Djawadi scores it beautifully. 

2. Blackwater (2x9)

This episode is teeming with amazing character moments and splendid visuals. But I love it most because it’s the peak of Tyrion’s leadership arc within the first two seasons. He commands the troops and the screen, and it’s hard not to root for him as he amasses the full force of his cleverness and resilience to fight against looming odds. 

Highlights: Bronn lights it up with wildfire, Cersei and Sansa’s conversations (some great Lena Headey moments here), Cersei’s lion story to Tommen on the throne, the Hound leaves the battle and Kingsguard after seeing flames

Favorite Scene: Tyrion’s speech. It embodies the character so well: irreverent, pragmatic with a good dose of “to hell with it!” 

1. The Winds of Winter (6x10)

I have re-watched this episode so many times I’ve lost count. It contains all the best of what GOT represents to me: rich characterization, well-cultivated storytelling, and rewarding plot payoff against a backdrop of exceptional score and cinematography. More than that, it’s the kind of episode that I leave feeling like I’ve experienced something truly special, something ineffable. 

Highlights: Jon revealed as the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, Dany proclaims Tyrion Hand of the Queen, Arya gets revenge on Walder Frey, Davos confronts Melissandre about Shireen’s death, Jon made King in the North 

Favorite Scene: THE WHOLE EPISODE. Okay, I’ll just cheat and share just two scenes. The first is the entire Light of the Seven sequence because I just think it’s the perfect scene. It’s builds up its ominous tension so brilliantly and brings everything to such an explosive climax so incredibly supported by the music that it’s a work of art. The second is the ending, which I also think is perfect. It’s what so much of the story has been working towards: Dany sailing to Westeros, and every visual, from her standing proudly on the ship to the combined forces of several houses to her dragons soaring above her, culminates in this triumphant moment that is simply unmatched. 

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 54 - 57

I’m going on vacation for a couple of days so we’ll cover some extra chapters to make up for it.

The last leg of the trek the next morning was the longest yet, Manon thought.

At least we’re in Manon’s POV for now. They’re all still traveling through the marshes.

Dorian Havilliard’s tense tan face

Since when the hell was Dorito tan??

The others were swiftly pulling ahead, but Dorian remained still. Even had the audacity to grip [Manon’s] wrist—hard.

^ me when Dorito lays one slimy finger on my baby Manon

Dorito tells Manon he killed his father and Manon isn’t bothered by it, because y’know, she’s a witch and all. They finally stumble upon the temple that holds the Lock.

When Lysandra’s solitary, swift roar cleaved the air, Aelin murmured to Rowan, “What’s the catch? Where is the catch? It’s too easy.” Indeed, there was nothing and no one here.

Oh, there will be a catch or trap waiting, y’all are just fucking stupid and wouldn’t spot a trap if it punched you in the face.

“I keep a tally, you know, Princess. To remind myself to repay you the next time we’re alone for all the truly wonderful things you say.” [Aelin’s] toes curled in her soggy boots. But she patted [Rowan] on the shoulder, looking him over with absolute irreverence, saying as she walked ahead, “I certainly hope you make me beg for it.”

You two are goddamn disgusting and I hate you. Also, why does Rowboat call her princess when he’s constantly referred to her as his queen before? Consistency who?

Alien asks Manon what the name of her sword is.

“Wind-Cleaver.” Aelin clicked her tongue. “Good name.” “Yours?” “Goldryn.” A slash of iron teeth as they were bared in a half smile. “Not as good a name.”

lmfao roast her

Alien is about to tell Rowboat something, presumably important, but chickens out and says she’ll tell him later. That’s pretty much a guarantee that it’ll bite them in the ass. Anyways, they find a chest on the altar that presumably contains the Lock.

Manon leaned over the chest to study the lid but did not open it. Studying, Aelin realized, the countless Wyrdmarks carved into the stone. Nehemia had known how to use the marks. Had been taught them and was fluent enough in them to have wielded their power. Aelin had never asked how or why or when.

*sobs* these books were so much better when Nehemia was around......

Before they can do anything, Lorass sends them a warning signal that the Ilken are approaching.

Rowan’s throat bobbed, and [Aelin] knew he’d been taking in the horizon and surrounding lands not for any chance of winning the battle that was sure to come, but for any shot at getting her out. Even if the rest of them had to buy her time with their own lives.

I know it’s only logical to try and get the royalty out safely but I’m goddamn sick of everyone being so ready to lay down their lives for Alien, when she wouldn’t lift a single finger to help anyone who doesn’t kiss her ass. Alien is such a goddamn Mary Sue please free me from this hell.

Next chapter starts with Lorass and Elide making a run for it.

Lorcan sent out another flickering blast of his power. Not toward the winged army that raced not too far ahead, but farther—toward wherever Whitethorn and his bitch-queen might be in this festering place. If those ilken reached them long before Lorcan could arrive, that Wyrdkey the bitch carried would be as good as lost.

Oh my goddd, thank you for having someone’s motivation be anything besides hailing Alien as the best queen ever. Lorass, you’re at least interesting and you’re actually improving enough that I can stomach your POVs, plus you might kill Alien off and that’s a major bonus. You are hereby promoted back to Lorcan.

We immediately shift back to Alien and her group of jackasses making a run for it.

And Lorcan … somewhere out there. [Aelin]’d think on that later. At least Fenrys and Gavriel had remained, rather than charging off to fulfill Maeve’s kill order.

Of course they stayed to save your dumb ass rather than fulfill their orders. Of fucking course. Alien suggests she uses the Wyrdkey again and Rowboat gets all pissy, which I kinda understand because the last time Alien used the Wyrdkey she killed a bunch of innocent people, destroyed part of an island, and was possessed by a goddess. She really is fucking stupid.

Aedion let out a low, bitter laugh. “You wanted to send a message to our enemies about your power, Aelin.” (...) Aedion jerked his chin toward the army approaching. “It seems Erawan sent his answer.”

IMPOSSIBLE, ALIEN MAKES A BAD DECISION AND ASSDION IS CALLING HER OUT ON IT??? I know Rowboat is gonna shoot him down but holy shit, Assdion is thinking independently for once in his life! Maybe he’ll be promoted back to Aedion.

Aelin hissed, “You blame me for this?” Aedion’s eyes darkened. “We should have stayed in the North.” “I had no choice, I’ll have you remember.” “You did,” Aedion breathed, none of the others, not even Rowan, stepping in. “You’ve had a choice all along, and you opted to flash your magic around.”

FINISH HER

I am fucking living for this Alien roast tbh, I’d read a whole book of the characters taking shots at her dumb vain ass. That's right Alien, you thought you could kill innocent people for no reason other than to show off and get away with it but you were WRONG BITCH!!! WRONG!!!!!!!

Aedion’s lip curled off his teeth. “This isn’t a game. This is war, and you pushed and pushed Erawan to show his hand. You refused to run your schemes by us first, to let us weigh in, when we have fought wars—”

I LOVE THIS SONG!! I know Assdion has done shit in the past but oh my god, I am living for this redemption!!! Has SJM become self aware and is redeeming her characters last minute??? Even Rowboat thinks her plan is fucking stupid!

Only [Rowan’s] anger was directed at [Aelin]—perhaps more livid than she’d seen him since Mistward.

This is the best chapter no competition, I am loving this Alien roast. I know it probably won’t last but I am crying, finally we’re acknowledging that Alien’s plans are selfish and stupid.

But [Rowan’s] pine-green eyes were bright—almost soft—as he said, “Remember who you are. Every step of the way down, and every step of the way back. Remember who you are. And that you’re mine.”

Now we’re ripping off the Lion King? I mean, I know it’s a semi generic quote but given SJM’s past of ripping off other novels, I wouldn’t be surprised.

The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart …

I feel like at this point, SJM, you should’ve realized you’ve given Alien waaaaay too many titles, none of which she’s done anything to deserve or earn. Can you say, Mary Sue?

Chapter ends with Alien firing out a huge fire tornado out of her ass that is most certainly going to drain up all of her magic. Gg dumbass, you’re gonna be useless for a few days after this. Fingers crossed that this bites her in the ass afterwards.

Lorcan knew they were still too slow, warning signal or not.

Next chapter opens with Elide and Lorcan again. Lorcan has given her Maeve’s ring to protect her, which is honestly really sweet. Maybe I’ll ship them. Maybe.

Elide staggered one step—one step toward Aelin, a small noise coming out of her.

No please SJM I’m begging you, don’t make Elide into a mindless Alien worshiper like Assdion... please SJM I’m begging.......

“What is … ,” Elide breathed, but Lorcan lunged for her, hurling them to the ground, covering her body with his. He threw a shield over them, plummeting hard and fast into his magic, the drop nearly uncontrolled.

Lorcan puts the safety of Elide over his own need for revenge against Alien. I’ve gripped about his character development before, but it’s probably the only real character arc in this entire novel, so I’ll take it.

There’s a switch to Assdion’s POV, but it lasts for like half a page before it returns to Lorcan. SJM really just wants to splooge over how uhmazing Alien is through Assdion. Gag.

Lorcan watched in silence as Rowan slid a hand over her waist, the other cupping the side of her face, and kissed his queen. Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan’s head—the twin to the one Lorcan had seen burning that day at Mistward.

Ewwww at least Lorcan is only saying what he’s seeing and not splooging over the shitty Ratlin ship.

Ash continued to fall, clumping on Elide’s silky night-dark hair. [Lorcan] gently picked out a bit, then put a shield over her to keep it from landing on her again.

P-pure...

Anyways Lorcan and Elide decide to stroll on over to say hello to the group of jackasses. Weird, since Elide just pointed Lorcan isn’t on friendly terms with Alien, but eh, maybe he knows they won’t prioritize attacking him due to the circumstances-

Slowly, Lorcan closed in on his prey, too focused on the fire-breathing bitch to notice that Fenrys and Gavriel had vanished from their positions in the reeds.

Oh my god, I...I actually feel... panic! Like, I actually do care about Elide and Lorcan a little bit now? I don’t want them to be hurt? What the fuck, how did you manage this, SJM?

Well, Chapter 57 picks right back up with Elide’s POV.

Elide had never been more aware of her limp. Of her dirty clothes; of her long, unshaped hair; of her small body and lack of any discernible gifts.

Christ I get it SJM, no one is even worthy of getting to lick Alien’s boots, I get it, stop rubbing it in my face.

[Lorcan] said coolly, “It would seem our bargain with each other is about to end anyway. I’ll be sure to explain the terms, don’t worry. I’d hate for them to think you were slumming it with me.”

Aww, Lorcan is putting her needs above his own......

Gav and Fenrys, understandably, attack Lorcan in furry wolf/lion form. Elide pushes him out of the way and one of them bites her arm.

[Lorcan] growled to the lion and the wolf, his shield a swirling, obsidian wind around them, “You’re dead. You’re both dead—”

I’m a sucker for that “Character A doesn’t know how much Character B cares about them until they’re injured and B loses their mind” trope, so I admit I’m warming up to them a tiny bit more.

Lorcan’s onyx eyes were unreadable as he scanned [Elide’s] face. And then he said quietly, “I wanted to go to Perranth with you.” Lorcan dropped the shield.

Damn.. can’t believe SJM’s writing is improving a tiny bit towards the end... it’s rather late, but not completely unwelcomed.

Gav offers to heal Elide while Fenrys and Lorcan wave their dicks around some more at each other. Can’t believe I’m grateful for Rowboat’s presence for once, but he comes to put a stop to the Alpha Male competition. Alien also shows up so SJM can splooge about her via Elide’s POV.

Aelin strode closer, eyes never leaving Elide’s face. Young—she felt so young compared to the woman who approached.

Ain’t they like, the same age, though?

And Elide sobbed as Manon Blackbeak emerged, smiling faintly.

PURE AND WHOLESOME................I hope we get more Elide/Manon interactions.

Fenrys feels legitimately sorry for injuring Elide, and I’m inclined to believe him. She did push Lorcan out of the way of a bite that was intended for him.

“I’m here,” Elide said as Aelin fixed those unnervingly vivid eyes on her, “because of Kaltain Rompier.”

So apparently Kaltain gave Elide the stone because she owed Alien for... giving her a warm cloak. What the fuck? Alien slutshamed Kaltain, insulted her, didn’t bother to free her from prison, did I mentioned she slutshamed her? And Kaltain wants to repay a debt for Alien doing the bare minimum? Fuck outta here with that nonsense.

“M-majesty,” [Elide] stammered, inclining her head. She should really get up. Really stop lying on the ground like a worm. But the cloth and stone still lay in her hand.

Elide, baby, it’s okay. None of these people are worth the dirt on the bottom of your shoe.

[Lorcan] didn’t let go of Elide’s arm, and she tried not to lean into his warmth. Tried not to make it seem like she hadn’t just met her queen, her friend, her court, and … somehow now found Lorcan to be the safest of them all.

Honestly fam, don’t blame you. These people are batshit insane.

“We like to call it ‘territorial male nonsense,’” Aelin confided. “Or ‘territorial Fae bastard’ works just as nicely.” The Fae Prince coughed pointedly behind her.

Unghhh this shit again. We’re almost done, my dudes, we’re almost done....

Lorcan had been willing to die for Elide. Had been willing to put aside his quest for Maeve in order for Elide to live. And had then acted territorial enough to make Rowan wonder if he seemed so ridiculous around Aelin all the time.

How can I hold all this self awareness??? Like what the fuck was SJM high writing this book but sobered up for these final few chapters???

“Aelin can decide what to tell you.” “Such a good dog.” Rowan gave him a lazy smile but refrained from commenting on the delicate, dark-haired young woman who now held Lorcan’s own leash.

Holy fucking shit, SJM really did want these guys to be werewolves.

[unrequitedmime]

I have not said a word in three days.  I have not been home in eight.  I miss my family.  "Aine," Julian sighs from beside my bed, "You cannot go on any longer without speaking. If you do not admit it, and if you do not claim your title, there will be no choice but execution."  Silence.  "I think that's her intent," Heron calls blankly from across the room. I do not glance away from the wide expanse of sky that shines through the glass of my window. Bulletproof glass. They installed it after the third time I broke it and attempted an escape.  I think they knew that the fourth time would not be an attempted escape, but a successful suicide.  I will die before I claim my title.  I have done everything to escape it. I will never go back.  I lied. I lied to the Queen of Ponam when Julian announced my identity. I begged and lied and stayed as steady as I could with a stab wound that was eating me up inside.  "No," I had whispered, my eyes finally fluttering open, "I am not of royal blood. I am a Golden, but I am a peasant, you fool."  Julian had only stared. For a very long time. For long enough that I could no longer support my dead weight. I dropped to my knees as I watched him, silently begging him to believe me, to let me die.  He didn't.  "Any peasant Golden would cry of their royal blood until their throats burned, if it meant that it would save their petty life."  "I am not screaming of lies because I have a sense of dignity," I snapped, my vision blurring yet again as I fought both the pain and the terror, "I was raised right."  "By a King and a Queen," he replied softly.  I did not have the strength to summon words to my dry lips. The agony throbbed through every single pore of my skin, and every single cell in my dying body trembled in fear. A King and a Queen.  Those were words to describe them. My bruised heart held others.  Evil. Evil incarnate.  I smiled as the darkness of unconsciousness found me, and I welcomed it's cold embrace. I would die before they could claim my identity. I would die before they could save me.  Warm hands found my chin and raised it sharply enough that my gaze blinked into focus. I stared groggily at up at Heron, and his brown eyes studied my face so closely that I wanted to pull away.  Even as I sat dying, I was handled roughly by men.  My past had found me in my final moments.  And then the quiet guard whispered something; something soft and beautiful. Something that was not in the native tongue of his people, but in mine.  And then my entire world had exploded in gold.  "Aine," Julian calls from the bed, nervously rubbing his hands over his knees, "Are you even listening?"  No, I want to say, I was busy trying to figure out how a Golden has slipped into the royal guard of Polam when his kingdom is across an ocean.  I turn from the window and meet Heron's gaze. His is blank, as any guard's should be. This young man interests me. A friend of Prince Julian's, a member of the guard at such a young age, and a hidden predator in a prey's domain.  How does he know the ancient language of the Golden Orb?  And what did he say that day to make my entire world shatter into golden shards of power?  He is the reason I am trapped here. He outed me.  I will kill him.  "Problem, Your Highness?" He asks. I do not flinch from the jab of the title. If I flinch, they will know it means something to me.  But they will assume that it is unfamiliarity that makes me wince, not fear. They think that Princess Aine of the Golden's was taken ten years ago. They do not know that she barely escaped the flames of the evil with her life.  And I will never go back to that hell.  "I would love to know," I purr finally, breaking a three day silence with a dry throat, "Why I am not in shackles."  Julian blinks at me in surprise, a moment of shock before the anger flies in.  "You have an opportunity to save your life and regain a kingdom," he snaps, "And you want to ask about chains?"  I only stare. I will regain nothing. I want nothing.  Nothing but the sweet release of death.  "You are not in chains for the same reason I am not in chains," he snaps, "We are royalty."  "I am a dirty, low life, peasant girl," I reply blandly, "Remember?"  ----------------------------------------- "This is the last day that you have to claim your title, Aine," Julian sighs from behind me. I sit on the ground, legs outstretched as I work on a puzzle. My long hair touches the tips of the lush carpet, and the ash blonde strands are deadly straight. I stare sadly down at them.  "How awfully boring it is to have my hair," I feign a sigh, laying down upon the plush softness of the ground. The carpet of this guest room is nicer than my mattress at home.  "You have pure silver woven into your hair," Julian points out, voice blank.  I ignore him as I play with the strands. My hair truly is too long. Too noticeable at this length. Only Golden's care for the power in their hair enough to grow it long.  "Perhaps I'll cut it," I announce drowsily to the same two men who have visited this hidden chamber every single day for a week.  Heron is always silent as he watches Julian plead with me.  He is even silent when Julian's begging shifts into snarled threats, and my silence morphs into frustrated screams. The discussion has turned into a violent argument every single time Julian has come to visit.  He wants me to admit my truth.  I claim I have no truth to admit.  We scream, we throw insults, we growl, we snarl, he leaves.  And the next day it begins again.  All sharp or heavy objects have been removed from this room, and a guard has been stationed in here to watch me at all times. I never thought I'd be placed on suicide watch, but here I am. God knows I have been pinned down too many times in the past week just moments away from the freedom of death.  They will not kill me, so I will kill myself.  "Perhaps you will not be a coward today," Julian drawls. I roll my eyes even as the match sparks within me. I will not lose my temper. I will not lose my temper. I will not-  "You would rather die than accept your crown and protect your people," he snarls as he leans back against the door beside a blank Heron, shaking his head in disgust, "I have never met someone as spineless as you."  I do not even bother sitting up as I call back, "Says the Prince that abandoned his throne and left the responsibility to his thirteen year old sister because he wanted to have fun and be a boy."  I know without looking that my words have wounded him. He has told no one why he left, or where he went, or why he is back. If any of them had any common sense, they'd join the dots, realise he was an accomplice of an enemy for years, and they'd lock the bastard up.  But Alora is the Queen, and she loves her brother more than her safety. So he walks the halls. For all they know, he could be a spy for his boss.  Because god knows his boss is interested in spying. I have never met a more disgusting man than Count Rengal. I still do not understand how the Lost Prince of Polam found his way into that man's greasy grip.  "As I said," Julian growls, "You do not know me-"  "And you do not know me!" I sit up with a jerk as my anger begins to simmer through, "How can you claim that I am a member of the Golden court when you do not know who the hell I truly am?"  His deep and green gaze darkens. He truly does have beautiful eyes, "You are a royal, Aine-"  "You have no proof!"   "You exploded into golden light and healed your own body when Heron whispered those words to you!" Julian snaps, throwing his hands in the air, "That is not a power that all Golden's posses!"  "But it is not a sign of royalty! I have told you, I do not know why I possess the power of light, but it is not impossible for peasants to-"  "Princess Aine possessed the power of light."  I huff out a dark laugh as I find my way to my feet, "You cannot keep me trapped in this castle because of a mere coincidence between two female Goldens! If my kingdom found out about this all hell would break loose!"  "Why?" He threatens, stalking towards me with his muscled body and warm skin, "Why would all hell break loose?"  "Because," I spit into his face as he comes to stand right in front of me, staring down into my eyes. Without my heels on, I am no where near as tall as him. He almost towers over me. "You are keeping me trapped here for no reason!"  "I am keeping you trapped here because YOU ARE THE LOST PRINCESS OF THE GOLDENS!"  "I AM NOT!" I scream, pushing him so hard that he stumbles back. I spin away from the insufferable and smouldering prince and stalk closer to the window to calm myself down. I know that I am safe if I deny it. I am safe if I deny it. I am safe if I deny it.  I am safe- "I will send a message to the King and Queen of the Goldens," Julian tells me as he opens my door to leave, "And I will tell them that I have found you."  The entire world stops. The silence in my head is deafening. Terror like nothing else I have ever experienced crashes through my body. For one agonising moment, I feel as if I am drowning in my fear.  Julian's roared curse is the only sound that makes it past the burning oceans and crashing mountains in my mind, and I slowly turn to face him, almost paralysed. His eyes are wild and hair is a mess as he fights past the grip of a golden dagger imbedded in his wrist. Somehow, it pins him to the wall, and no matter how hard he tugs and wriggles, it does not release him. The blood pours down his arms in rivers, and he clenches his teeth to fight the pain that begins to drown him. He glances up at the dagger in fear, because he knows. He knows that it is not supposed to glow like that. And he also knows that neither Heron nor I threw that at him.  His eyes find mine. My entire body trembles.  Somehow, we both know that I have done that to him.  Heron does not move, nor look at Julian or I. His eyes only scan the room deftly, searching for the source of the weapon wounding his Prince. We spot it at the same time.  The bed is a grand one; a grand and golden four poster with an extravagant headpiece. There, in the middle of the post closest to me, is a clean gap in the pole. Somehow, the bed remains steady, but a section of the golden post is completely gone. I have given my powers away.  Heron's eyes flicker to mine, and in his gaze is not fear, but admiration. In this moment, he knows. He knows I am the Lost Princess.  Only an heir can manipulate gold.  Julian fights an agonised scream as I stare at the dagger in his limb. As the weight of his earlier threat hits me, the terror rushes back in. He is going to alert the King and Queen of my presence.  The dagger twists in Julian's wrist, and he screams in pain.  "You will tell no one," I whisper, my voice trembling in the silence of the room, "The King and Queen will know nothing of Princess Aine's life." Julian only stares at me with wide eyes, fear radiating from him in waves. I do not care. I am more scared than anyone else in this damned kingdom.  "I will tell them," he spits through the agony, "They deserve to know their daughter is alive and powerful, Aine!"  "NO!" I scream desperately, a beast clawing away inside of me. With the beast comes the images. Dark halls and forbidden moonlight and the sound of shattering glass. My screams and a slamming door and a cracking whip. A deep and booming roar. "IF YOU TELL THE KING AND QUEEN ANYTHING, I SWEAR TO THE GODS THAT I WILL RIP APART THIS ENTIRE KINGDOM."  Silence. Nothing but an injured prince, a silent guard, and a girl that is moments away from shattering to pieces.  "Do you swear your silence?" I ask softly, entire body quivering in terror.  He stares at me for a long time, clenching his jaw to fight his pain.  "Yes," he gasps finally, "I swear my silence, if you claim your title."  Sly bastard.  The dagger falls from his wrist, and he drops to his knees as he cradles his hand. His muttered curses are music to my ears. Heina swears more than she breathes. The curses remind me of her. The curses remind me of home. Of the people I love, and the people I will protect until my very last breath.  "I am Princess Aine," I whisper "Lost heir of the Golden Throne."

unrequited 

[berensaats]

kösem sentence starters

Here is an assortment of starters, all taken from or inspired by the Turkish tv series Magnificent Century: Kösem. Many were taken from gifsets, so credits go to the gif makers.

“I have seen betrayals and death.”

“I’m not going to hide what God knows about me… I loved you more than any of them.”

“Sooner or later, I’ll sit on the throne.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get everything, but... I will never be yours.”

“You could weep, but I couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t forgive myself... I did it. I killed him/her!”

“I forgave you. You must forgive yourself.”

“You will never stop pointing a dagger at me, will you?”

“The happiness of princes/princesses in fairytales is a big lie.”

“I saw more than just physical beauty in you.”

“In you I see the three things I need in my life: the peace I get when I look at you, the love that makes me forget my sorrows, and innocence.”

“It is a place for forgetting. Only here do I manage to forget my sad past and the future that awaits me.”

“This place is hell itself. However, the Gardens of Eden are also behind that door.”

“How am I supposed to carry this burden? It’s as if I didn’t ascend to the throne, but rather it collapsed on my shoulders.”

“I’m not going to hide and live in despair.”

“We have two choices, either we’re going to die or we’re going to ascend to the throne.”

“I need no proof. S/he will be convinced if only I say anything!”

“I will make sure to bring you down, me and only me! I will take everything from you!”

“If you truly believe this, then you’ve never known me at all.”

“I’ve never needed a title. Even when I was a mere concubine/mistress, I still catered for this State.”

“When will you cease questioning my decisions?”

“This palace is so big, I get lost.”

“Let them say what they want, do what they want… you are my reality, my most precious treasure.”

“From now on you will be my wedded wife.”

“This is the only place where one can enter a slave and become a sultana who rules the world.”

“What you call ‘the State’ is me.”

“I, too, now have a land that I can spread my roots into and call home.”

“Please don’t push me away from you.”

“Have you lost your mind? Someone will see us.”

“Let them see. I fear no one.”

“I have heard she/you can wield a sword just like a man.”

“The kids are well. They have been asking for you.”

“I can’t lose you. The only thing I have in the world is your heart.”

“I’ve heard he eats the hearts of little girls.”

“You are not only my light; you are everyone’s too. Guide them.”

“If you lay a finger on one more person of my family, I won’t let anyone else do it; I will kill you myself.”

“You’re risking everything because of... just a woman/man.”

“He’s/she’s/you’re not just a woman/man.”

“I was told that you were dead.”

“You killed me, but I killed you too. I have killed my feelings for you. It is over. You have lost me.”

“This is who I am. If you say I will do something and then don’t, of course I will ruin the palace.”

“You are the crown lying on my head.”

“Each person has their own time for love and for death.”

“Praise be to God I have known true love.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve known the most noble of all loves. And I will die for it.”

“If I must die for the sake of our love, then it is worth it. It will elevate me. Our love will become immortal.”

“I hated you at first, but then you became the first person I loved in this place.”

“When you’re silent, you’re like a quiet river. When you speak, you’re a bright flame.”

“Our dreams have become reality, our family has grown though you.”

“The only thing that turns this cage into a palace is love.”

“You want them! Every night one comes to your room.”

“What is important is who I want, and I just want you. Only you.”

“Now I have another heart beating inside me. We’re going to have a baby.”

“Don’t you know that all my days and nights belong to you?”

“They’re going to say, ‘with one glance, she has made our ruler lovestruck and her slave.’“

 “I’m the one who’s burning with your love. My fire burns so brightly one life won’t be enough to scatter our ashes.”

“This is a trap. They are trying to draw you into the fire.”

“My heart didn’t choose you for nothing.”

“I believe love is like this: it controls both the mind and the heart. You don’t surrender even though you know you’ll burn.”

“I entrust you with our children, with my State.”

“It is time for the seeds that we left here to flourish.”

“You saved me form the claws of death and brought me to the harem. You gave me a life I could never have even dreamed of.”

“It is time for you to show your loyalty to me.”

“This is our wedding. I am freeing you.”

“It’s not allowed! If they see us...”

“I used to think, ‘one day, I will become a ruler even more powerful than s/he was.’”

“What lies behind this wall? Could I escape?”

“Why do you want to escape?”

“Help me! Save me! This place is hell!”

“I, too, want to run away from this palace.”

“You might not be aware of this, but your decisions affect everyone’s lives.”

“When did you become as cruel as them?”

“How do you dare lay your eyes on a sultana/princess?”

“I do whatever it takes for the safety of my child. And I’ll do whatever necessary, and I’m not ashamed.”

“The bad news is that now I want you out of the throne.”

“I owe you my life. Let me help you.”

“Your friend is my friend. Your enemy is my enemy.”

“I thought you were overwhelmed with love, but it isn’t so. You only intend to use me.”

“Earlier I had a thread of hope. Now it is gone as well.”

“Now you are here and so am I. There will always be hope.”

“No one can stop our happiness.”

“I wish it had been a dream since the beginning. That my eyes had never met yours, that my hands had never held yours. Then my heart wouldn’t be aching like this.”

“In this palace I have known the pain hidden behind the world’s greatest riches, the darkness hidden in the gleam of the most expensive jewels, and the malice behind the most beautiful faces.”

“I will give up my life for love.”

“I have arrived to leave my mark in the world.”

“They say you are an angel in human form.”

“If you touch me, I will kill you.”

“The past saddens me no longer. I belong to the present, with you.”

“Do you know what you lack? Passion.”

“I am ready to burn the world to the ground for you.”

“You’ve chosen the wrong side. You made a mistake.”

“All eyes are upon me. The whole place talks about the gifts you’ve given me.”

“I will give you many princes and princesses.”

“You will be patient like I was, you will calm down and we will take their heads when the time comes.”