#TransCurators

[4me-yo]

How to Start Writing a Script as a Freelance Writer: A Full Guide Step

Introduction: If you have a passion for storytelling and a knack for writing, delving into scriptwriting as a freelance writer can be an exciting and rewarding venture. Writing scripts for film, television, or theater allows you to breathe life into characters and create captivating narratives. In this blog, we will provide you with a comprehensive step-by-step guide on how to start writing a script as a freelance writer, helping you navigate the creative process and develop your skills.

Step 1: Choose Your Genre and Format: The first step in writing a script is to determine the genre and format you wish to explore. Consider your interests, strengths, and the type of stories you want to tell. Whether it's drama, comedy, sci-fi, or any other genre, identify the one that resonates with you and aligns with your goals.

Step 2: Study and Analyze Scripts: To develop your scriptwriting skills, immerse yourself in the world of scripts. Read scripts from established writers and analyze their structure, character development, dialogue, and pacing. This practice will help you understand the conventions and techniques employed in scriptwriting.

Step 3: Create Engaging Characters: Compelling characters are the heart of any script. Develop well-rounded characters with distinct personalities, motivations, and conflicts. Give them depth and complexity to engage your audience and make them invest emotionally in the story.

Step 4: Craft an Outline: Before diving into writing the script, create a detailed outline. Outline the major plot points, character arcs, and key scenes. This roadmap will serve as a guide throughout the writing process, helping you maintain a cohesive narrative.

Step 5: Write the First Draft: Now, it's time to bring your story to life by writing the first draft. Focus on getting your ideas down on paper without worrying about perfection. Allow your creativity to flow and let the characters and dialogue evolve naturally.

Step 6: Refine the Script: Once the first draft is complete, take a step back and review your work objectively. Look for areas that need improvement, such as pacing, dialogue, or plot inconsistencies. Revise and refine the script, tightening the narrative and strengthening the dialogue.

Step 7: Seek Feedback: Obtaining feedback from trusted sources is invaluable in scriptwriting. Share your work with fellow writers, mentors, or industry professionals who can provide constructive criticism. Embrace feedback as an opportunity for growth and make necessary revisions to enhance your script.

Step 8: Rewrite and Polish: Based on the feedback received, embark on the rewriting process. Address any issues highlighted by the reviewers and polish your script to perfection. Pay attention to dialogue, character development, and pacing to ensure a captivating and engaging story.

Step 9: Format the Script: Proper script formatting is crucial for industry professionals to read and understand your work. Familiarize yourself with industry-standard script formatting guidelines, including font, margins, character names, scene headings, and dialogue formatting.

Step 10: Marketing Your Script: Once your script is polished and formatted, it's time to market it. Research production companies, agents, or screenplay competitions that accept script submissions. Tailor your submission package to their requirements and follow their submission guidelines meticulously.

Conclusion: Embarking on a career as a freelance scriptwriter requires passion, dedication, and continuous improvement. By following this step-by-step guide, you can navigate the scriptwriting process effectively, from conceptualizing your story to marketing your script. Embrace the creative journey, seek feedback, and persevere through the revisions. With time and experience, your skills as a freelance scriptwriter will flourish, opening doors to exciting opportunities in the world of film, television, or theater.

Source Code: "TransCurators- Quality Content Writing Company"

[ce-heich-ce]

I dont think the Advance Wars reboot is going to end up being released, which is... okay considering it was just the first two games and I dont particularly like the style from the developers, but on the other hand it sucks because I cant get people to learn about a cool game I liked that was only on the GBA and DS twice

[cannibalsmayhem]

𓎟† TRANSiD C◇DES †𓎟

☂️ , 🍥 , 🔁 , 🔀 ~ TRANSiD ( GENERAL ) .

🌐 , ☁️ , 🔳 ~ TRACE .

💱 , 🧳 ~ TRANSNATi♡NALiTY .

📍 , ✈︎ ~ TRANSL♡CATiON

🌅 ~ TRETHNiC / TRANSETHNiC .

🥂 , 🏮 ~ TRANSCULTURE / TRANSCULTURAL .

🦯 , 🦿 , 🦽 ~ TRANSABLED .

💫 , 🐾 , ❤️‍🩹 , 🦚 ~ TRANSSPECiE .

🧬 , 🩻 ~ TRANSB♡DY .

📏 , 🧍 , 🧍‍♀️ ,🧍‍♂️ ~ TRANSHEiGHT .

⚖️ ~ TRANSWEiGHT .

🛐 , 🌙 ~ TRANSFAiTH / TRANSRELiGi♡US .

🩸 , 🎐 ~ TRANSAMiA / TRANSBL♡♡D .

⏰ , 🍭 ~ TRANSAGE .

🌱 , 🍭 ~ OTY ( ♡LDER TO Y♡UNGER ) .

🌾 , 🍭 ~ YTO ( Y♡UNGER TO ♡LDER ) .

⛅ , 🍭 ~ AGEFLUiD / AGEFLUX .

➕ , 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 ~ TRANSPLURAL .

🐌 , 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 ~ TRANSTRAUMAGENiC .

🐚 , 🧼 , 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 ~ TRANSEND♡GENiC .

🧠 , ⏫ ~ TRANSSEVERiTY .

♾️ , 🔄 ~ TRANSAUTiSTiC .

🦋 , 🫧 ~ TRANSADHD .

📼 , 🦋 ~ TRANSSYMPTADHD .

🎭 , 💢 ~ TRANSBPD .

🔇 ~ TRANSMUTE / TRANSMUET .

〰️ , 🔇 ~ TRANSMUTEFLUX .

🔕 , 👂 , 🦻 ~ DEAFTRiC / TRANSDEAF .

🛡️ , 🗯 , 💭 , 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 ~ TRANSDiD .

🖇️ , 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 ~ TRANS♡SDD .

🥢 , 🦯 , 🐚 ~ CANEiAN .

🔦 , 🎗 , 🌩 ~ TRANSEPiLEPSY .

📦 , 🍱 ~ TRANSiTEM .

🌑 , 🎗 , 🌙 , 💨 ~ TRANSADDiCT / DiADDiCT .

🎠 , 🌈 , 🏳️‍🌈 ~ TRANS♡RiENTATi♡N .

💥 , ☀️ , 🦸‍♂️ , 🦸‍♀️ ~ TRANSUPERP��WER .

⚡ , 🌙 , 🌑 , 🪐 ~ TRANSZ♡DiAC .

💭 , 💡 , 🌐 ~ TRANSPHANTASiA .

💽 , 💿 ~ TRANSTHYMESiA .

☯ , 🎑 , 🌉 ~ TRANS♡PiNi♡N .

😈 , 📣 , 💢 ~ TRANSHATE / TRANSHATEFUL .

💔 , 💢 ~ TRANSHARM / TRANSHARMFUL .

🐘 , 🥚 ~ REPUBLiX .

🐎 , 🗳️ ~ TRANSDEM♡CRAT .

🔱 , ⚜️ ~ TRANSiNTR♡JECT .

🕰️⏰ , 🥣⏰ ~ TRANSiAN .

⏰️3️⃣ ~ TRiAGE .

🦠⏪⌛ ~ PANDEMAGE .

🇲🇽💯➕ ~ HYPERMEXiCAN .

☄️🌐 , ☄️☁️ ~ XEN♡RACiAL .

🖌️🧳 , 🖌️💱 ~ XENONATi♡NALiTY .

☄️🥂 , 🖌️🏮 ~ XEN♡CULTURE .

🔰🌼 , ♿️💝 , 🌸💕 ~ TRANSNEUAJU .

⚡️🦋 , ⚡️📼 ~ TRANSHYPERFiXiATi♡N .

💺🎈 ~ TRANSQUADRi / TRANSQUADRiPLEGiC .

🫀⏪🐌 ~ TRANSBRADiCARDiA / TRANSL♡WHEARTBEAT .

🎀💎🧬 ~ TRANSTRiNAN♡PiA .

💤⭐️ ~ TRANSNARC♡LEPSY .

🌡️🩸 , 📍🥊 , 🎭📌 ~ PERMAPAiN .

🦠5️⃣🐱 ~ TRANSFiV .

🔁🕖 ~ TRANSYEAR .

🗣️💬📊 ~ TRANST♡NE .

🔁🔊 , 🔁💬 ~ TRANSV♡iCE / ALTV♡iCE .

🔁🏳🔊 , 🏳💬 ~ TRANSACCENT .

🔢🔊 , 🔢💬 ~ POLYACCENT .

🔢🏳〰️🔊 , 🔢〰️💬 ~ ACCENTFLUX .

🌀 , 💬📝➕ ~ TRANSLiNGUAL .

🔁📱🔊 ~ TRANSAACUSE / TRANSACC .

🦇👤 , 🦷🦇 , 🌱👤 ~ DENTESB♡DiC .

🦎👤 , 🐊🦕 , 🌵👤 ~ SPiCiSB♡DiC .

🖐️👤 , 🐾🐓 , 🍂👤 ~ UNGUiB♡DiC .

😈👤 , 🦄🦏 , 🍁👤 ~ RAMUSB♡DiC .

🕊️👤 , 🐦🦇 , 🍃👤 ~ ALiSB♡DiC .

🐾👤 , 🐶🐱 , 🌳👤 ~ MANUSB♡DiC .

☔🚰💦 ~ TRANSRAiNWET .

🔁💗👁️ ~ TRANSL♡VERPUPiLS .

👁️🌈🧩 ~ TRANSC♡L♡REDEYES .

💛💜🤍 ~ TRANSiNTERSEX .

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵 ~ TRANSTRANS .

💜🖤💛🤍 ~ TRANSENBY .

🕯️🍃 ~ TRANSCENT .

🕯️🌊 ~ FLUiDSCENT / SCENTiANFLUiD .

♟️🔄 ~ TRANSCLUB .

💚🩷⚰️🌎 ~ TCOAALiXURE .

✨ ~ TRANSCURE .

🥇⭐️ ~ TRANS / PERMAFiRSTPLACE .

🥈⭐️ ~ TRANS / PERMASEC♡NDPLACE .

🥉⭐️ ~ TRANS / PERMATHiRDPLACE .

🟩☀️ ~ PERMAPARTiCiPACi♡N .

💤🛏🌙 ~ TRANSDiURNAL .

💤🛏☀️ ~ TRANSN♡CTURNAL .

⬆️⚧️ ~ TRANSM♡REDYSPH♡RiA .

⬇️⚧️ ~ TRANSLESSDYSPH♡RiA .

🔆✖️ , 🪻✖️ , 💛✖️ , 💜✖️ ~ TRANSGENDERDYSPH♡RIA .

🔀🧃🍭 ~ TRANSCHiLDH♡♡D .

📖🌟 ~ TRANSFiCTi♡NAL .

♾️🎭 ~ PERMAMASK .

🦇🪦 ~ TRANSVAMPiRE .

🖤⚰️ ~ TRANSDEAD .

🧪🕒 ~ TRANSRADiUMP♡iS♡NiNG .

🦠☢️ ~ TRANSEXPERiMENT .

🦾🌈 ~ TRANSPR♡STHETiC .

♾️💢 ~ PERMABRUiSE .

🔀⭕️ ~ TRANS♡BJECTUM / TRANS♡S♡R .

👨❤️💋👨 ~ TRANSFUJ♡ .

👩❤️💋👩 ~ TRANSHiMEJ♡ .

🪻🌎 ~ TRANSPEACEFUL .

🪷🌎 ~ TRANSHARMLESS .

🌱🪷🌎 ~ TRANSGREENTHUMB .

💉💢 ~ TRANSANTiVAX .

🔃🔗 ~ TRANSCRiMiNAL .

🔪 , 🔃🗡 , 🔃🔫 ~ TRANSKiLLER / TRANSMURDERER .

💜ϟϟ , 💜🍞 ~ TRANSN#4Zi .

💙ϟϟ , ��🍞 ~ TRANSNE♡N#4Zi .

🌈☂️ , 🌈🍥 , 🌈�� ~ TRANSEVERYTHiNG / TRANSPAN / TRANSPANDiA .

🛡️🖇️ ~ TRANSDiD♡SDD .

☂️❔ , 🍥❔ , 🔁❔ ~ QUESTi♡NiNG TRANSiD .

☂️🤝 , 🍥🤝 , 🔁🤝 ~ TRANSiD H♡ARDER .

O = ♡ I = i !!

[sideysvault]

‧˚ʚ Unwavering commitment ɞ˚‧

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1847k

Warnings: [sfw] mature themes & slight canon divergence.

────────

Rhaenyra had always kept you by her side. From the suffocating walls of the Red Keep to the isolated Dragonstone, and to wherever the vying for the Iron Throne took her: You were right next to her. A fanciful promise made in childhood had turned into an everlasting oath the two of you kept close to your heart.

However, to the untrained eye the relationship between the pair would look like nothing more than a servile friend orbiting around the all encompassing presence of the Queen. But there had always been something unspoken lingering underneath the surface. And anyone with some tact and who paid attention enough could see it.

It had all started innocently enough. As a young girl, you naturally admired the Realm’s Delight. Everyone could see the strong values and sensibilities in her that are often found to be lacking in other members of the Royal Dynasty.

As a childish friendship between the two emerged, so did the excitement before any interaction, the sensation of flusteredness whenever the two of you would touch. Your heart saw no difference between a sweet, intimate embrace or the slightest brush of hands while walking down the garden. Anything was enough to ignite agitation, and the eagerness that you felt to serve and protect the Princess transformed into something more personal, more intimate. All these feelings were brushed off as merely inocuos admiration for a girl who was brave enough to live outside the bounds that were forced upon her, a girl charming (And powerful) enough to get away with it.

Everything culminated when you gifted her a pin with your family's badge, not only symbolizing the unwavering devotion you had in her as your queen and confidant, but as family as well. Even still, you tried to spare no thought about it. It really did not matter if you were in love with the Realm’s Delight or not. Either way, the result was the same: A tight bond that would keep the two of you together no matter how grim the circumstances. A kind friendship based on respect and honesty. That was all that really mattered.

⋆

Life in Dragonstone transcurred in a simple routine. The volcanic island had a certain air to it: It was filled with tradition and legacy, which would occasionally become a painful reminder of the impossible path that Rhaenyra was thrown into, dragging you in it as well.

Still, on certain lights, when the bay is calm and the wind blows strong, the intimidating presence of old Valyria can transform into a beautiful sense of hope and possibility. Maybe not everything was lost, and perhaps there could be a future for the family that you held so dearly to your heart.

While your blood was of noble descent, power and influence had never been curses inflicted by the Gods on your family. You had taken the pursuit of knowledge as your calling. Remaining determined on learning, your closeness with the Royal Family had allowed you to remain a maiden, occasionally acting as a personal advisor to the them, advocating for the righteous path when needed.

There had been transient moments where you would almost feel certain that Rhaenyra might feel the same way you did. Especially when the youth’s intrepidness still ran through your veins. Drunken admissions, reading together in the forest, the way her eyes would trail down on your body and how her smile always seemed softer when it was directed towards you. But as the years passed, the men did too. Even Alicent, to some extent. You’d finally accepted that the Gods would never gift you with even the smallest brush of lips, or any undeviating affection. And so, you stayed by the family's side, lovingly taking care of her sons, and balancing time between your studying and long conversations with your Princess.

When the devastating war for succession began, you never left Rhaenyra’s side. No matter how seemingly insignificant your loyalty was to her during these trying times. The strong feeling of devotion never left the two of you, but the Queen had less and less time to spend by your side, filled with sorrow and duty. Those years of unspoken thoughts and undefined roles began to weigh over the two of you.

But following Daemon’s silent departure, the routine in Dragonstone shifted.

The Queen would often find herself on the balcony of her private chamber, observing the landscape that the coastal body of Blackwater provided. She figured that the mild wet air and the periodic disturbance of the water was as good as any stimulant for thought and contemplation.

On the other hand, your favorite pastime was observing Rhaynera’s dragon-like features twitch and turn in synchronization with her thoughts. The Queen was a sight to behold. With the wind blowing tiny silver hairs that had managed to escape the tight grip of her braids, her light blue eyes, ever calculating. And her painfully firm side profile that left no room for speculation.

You were a central piece in the dance of the family again. Commonality now consisted of long conversations at night, mornings filled with you lovingly braiding her hair, afternoons occupied with advising Jacaerys in whatever new feat he felt like pursuing that day. You loved that boy as if he was your own. You had loved him as a vivacious happy child, as a defying teenager, and now, as an unhappy young adult.

For a little while, you tried to mediate between the boy and his mother, but he’d never listen.nHe was a youthful man eager to help and prove himself. A dangerous combination for mindfulness. He wasn’t receptive to what he considered cowardly advice from frightened officials. You had promised him he’d have his vengeance against the Targaryen demon. After what he did to Lucerys, you’d hang his dismembered head by its silver hair yourself. But nothing could make the boy understand that before that could happen, you all had to play the game first. So you would just accompany him, give him reassurance when needed and restraint when necessary. Just as you always did with his mother. In somber days, all they both needed was someone to be truthfully kind to them. To bring some sense of normalcy and wisdom to the situation.

But offering companionship and practical support was a full time role. Even if you held no formal position in the dynasty’s structure, Deamon had unknowingly left a vacancy open. The one of The Queen’s Consort. Providing wifely duties was too much to bear, no matter how much you loved it. You had never been this close to the thing you desired the most. Being on the sidelines was much less sickening than yearning and having a taste of a precious thing that would never become.

⋆

A strangely harmonious night, Rhaenyria had asked you to come to her private chambers. By her bed layed a beautifully crafted black gown. With all the old traditional Targaryen features except for one key detail: The embroidery that was reminiscent of dragon scales was made in your favorite color.

You softly caressed the embroidery, afraid that it would crumble under your touch. You furrowed your eyebrows as you softly asked “Nyra, what is this?” Your friend gave you an enthusiastic smile as she said “You must try it on”. Happiness was not a look you had the privilege to see on her face, so you obliged.

As you undressed, the cold wind made your skin burn with anticipation. Or perhaps it was the presence of your friend that even while facing the wall you could still catch her occasionally glancing at your body through the mirror. It felt dangerous, and you weren’t sure where this was going. But one thing was for certain: If every tissue on your skin came alive with a simple glance from her, it would be the end of you if she’d ever touch your unadorned flesh. Maybe the Gods were being merciful, after all.

You stand in front of the mirror next to her, as you turn to get help with tying up the back of the gown, With a deep look on her eyes as she helps you get it fully on. You were trying to concentrate in holding your breath in, in a futile effort to get a hold of your heartbeat. You weren’t born of ash and dragon blood. You weren’t cut for games like this.

The queen was standing behind you, observing you through the honest lense of the mirror. Feeling the warm breath on your neck felt like Paradise. Until you saw the image reflected in the mirror: A scene that could only be interpreted as a loving couple. Rhaenyra seemed to be in a sort of trance; with a proud smile on her face as she ran her hands through your body's silhouette. The fabric hugged your body perfectly. Just as you were starting to feel accustomed to her touch around your waist, she grabbed something in her left pocket, and a small worn out metal object appeared. It was the pin with your family’s badge. She’d kept it all this time. Even in war, even in famine. She lovingly pinned it on your new gown and grabbed your left hand to place a soft kiss on its palm. Wearing a customized Targaryen dress was one thing, but adding your house to the mix was making you feel overwhelmed with a mix of confusion and hope.

You were dangerously close. The mirror reflected a royal pairing, and in typical Targaryen extravagance, a royal pairing that could afford to be truly in love. The image reflected a softness only reserved for our dearest. You sighed and pulled away from her embrace. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears began to run through your face instinctively, embarrassed and angry, you pleaded “Don’t be cruel, I beg of you.” Nyra looked hurt, but she immediately took you in her arms, trying to apeace you, but you just covered your face with your hands. The Queen, however, quickly pried them off, she was looking at you in a way you couldn’t decipher. Concern was present, but there was something else. You suddenly feel the way her breathing changes as she leans down to your face. She pushed you against the wall as she kissed you. It was heated and frantic. Filled with the powerful relieve of years of buried desire. There was no return to the suppressed modesty anymore. Your breath became irregular and your stomach turned in excitement as you explored each other.

Whenyour palms reached to cup her face, your skin came in contact with the warm tears running through her face. It was real. You could feel the warmth in Rhaenyra’s body as she intertwined her fingers with yours.

It was in her private chambers on that cold night where she filled your body with tender chaste kisses as she whispered “Always” while humming your name again, and again against your buzzing skin.

“I love you”.

Nyra had said it like an oath.

────────

Notes: This is my first wlw writing, I’m so nervous and excited. This fic is very dear to my heart. I’ve been with girls before but I feel like I can finally be open about it! Please everyone take care of yourselves and take care of each other! Feedback is appreciated but queerphobia will get you blocked! This is a safe space -Sidey xxo

[zeedist]

DOODLING .ᐟ — ALHAITHAM

little doodles﹕a little interaction in a boring class. sfw .ᐟ fem!reader x alhaitham, students / academic setting, short & sweet. word count: 1k proofread: yup.

“Can I ask what exactly are you doing?”

Low and whispered, dragging below the speech of your professor, Alhaitham questions you. Peaking up, you can catch a glimpse of his relaxed eyebrows, slanted pale teal eyes looking at yours —he keeps doing that often now, as if he always sought for your eyes anytime, anywhere, anyhow. There’s warmth in them, you caught on that a time ago,  in the way his loosened jaw and softened look even when coated with confusion. 

Before replying, you scoot closer, murmuring, “Drawing.” It sounds like a confessed secret in a way, a little intimate exchange in a classroom full of students and a disseminating professor. You focus more on his ragged breathing than on the lesson for today’s class. 

“I can witness that firsthand with my perfectly functional pair of ocular apparatus through their retinal mechanisms,” he deadpans, but in the low tone he uses, it sounds like he pouts through it. You can only stifle a little laugh, not wanting to be kicked out together like last time. 

“But in my hand?” He points out, lifting said member slightly as if the weight of the question rests within his palm, his fingers curling in subtle confusion. You place your fingers above his, pulling them back down to the table, fixing the hold on your pen before adding another line.

Not giving him a verbal answer, you hum instead, dragging the ballpoint over his knuckles, adding little leaves and flowers occasionally. It’s routeless, a simple doodle of a vine growing all over the extension of his hand and slowly inching closer to his palm. He doesn’t enquire again, instead taking some notes for the both of you with his free hand. All while you entertain yourself trying to draw every flower you know from memory to add it to the growing vine doodle in your boyfriend’s hand. So entertained with it at times that you don’t notice the fluttering fond smiles on the corner of his lips as he takes glances of you so focused, so utterly adorable. 

Finalizing the last touches right as the bell rings to announce the end of this period, you look proudly at your work as he extends his fingers, taking in with detail every curse and crevice of your carefully crafted creation. He can’t even muster words for some seconds, too distracted, too enamoured. His silence makes you speak up, asking instead: 

“Isn’t it cute?”

“It’s more than cute, it’s precious... Just like you are.”

You smile, so beautifully and endearingly, that his heart's skipping a dangerous beat or two. Oxygen catches in his throat, momentarily trapping his breath in this overwhelming rush of emotions. His chest tightens. For a fleeting moment, he’s convinced that the world stopped spinning, sounds around him fading to nonexistence. And all that existed was you —the warmth of your smile, the curve of your lips, the pure joy in your face. Every fiber of his being is captive of you this instant. 

Oh, how stunning you are.

Alahitham accompanies you to your dormitory, with an ongoing conversation carrying short debates about the topics you each learned today and gentler talks about both of your future plans regarding your individual educations. It’s one of those things that transcurs so naturally between you two, a well-spoken and clear exchange of ideas, the ability to stand on different ends and still be able to respect one another, and the wish to remain together. The chemistry simmering slowly into a deeper bond of affection with the help of time. 

Even as you made it home, the exchange continues on your doorframe about tomorrow’s plans, and it only ends because you insist for him to get home before it gets too dark. You hug him, the heat of your farewell gesture burning into his skin, pumping straight to his heart as his mucles relax and he holds you, tight and lingering, until you are the one to part reluctantly. 

“See you tomorrow, my dear,” his breath brushes your forehead, leaving a kiss there. 

Other more tender words lingers in the tip of his tongue, however, Alhaitham swallows them to join the bundle of butterflies squirming in his stomach. Wings fluttering violently as you press a goodbye kiss on his lips —blessed, he’s utterly blessed. He returns it, lingering a little longer, holding your waist for a second too long. And when he parts, heart drumming on his chest, he spends a while too long reminding you to eat dinner, to brush your teeth, to not stay up too late, and more little things he thinks about all the time regarding you —he worries for you, now, always. 

When the separation finally does occur, his walk towards his own living quarters fills with silence. Your perfume still lingers on his nose, lips still tingling and he’s unable to pull his eyes away from the drawn vines in his hand. He’s able to figure out some flowers, among them, your favorite ones —he reminds himself to get you a bouquet after class tomorrow. 

Later that night, he somehow manages to shower without soap and water dissipating the ink from his hand. Don’t question how he pulled that off, just know he struggled doing so with only a hand. 

He skips his usual reading before bed, taking time to admire every curve and leaf you doodled in his hand again. Your soft touch buzzing in his fingers, your warm breath brushing against them when you leaned closer to add extra details to a sunflower, and the sweet smile you gave him. And he dozes off while looking at his hand, your precious grin engraved in his memory. 

He wishes, as he drifts in a dream —hopefully about you—, that parts of you like this would forever remain with him. So that he could always carry you with him in a way. 

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XIX): This Is Me Trying.

Imagine Aemond Targaryen imprisons you during the late civil war.

Warnings: long post, drama, angst, light smut, fluff ending.

***

• Before the War.

I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that…

When Aemond meets you again circumstances are about to erupt in an event that most involved wish to prevent. He’s lost an eye, and though for gaining something more important, his pride never amended for the loss.

You, on the other hand, are his cousin via his uncle Daemon’s first marriage to Lady Rhea Arryn. In theory, you should be ruler of that House, but women hold no rights there so that is why you are there with your family.

With your dark hair and darker eyes, you attract your cousins’s attention. It’s a week before the fatidic dinner when he spots you, dressed in dark blue, ignoring the rising tensions between the already formed green and black parties.

“You look as if this is the place you wouldn’t want to be”, you hear him address you.

In all fairness, last time you’ve been there he was a child and so were you. Hardly surprising it is to find the quiet boy a taller and handsome man.

“Lord Aemond”, you smile when recollecting his name. “It’s been years…”

“Indeed. Many events have transcurred since we last spoke, Lady Arryn”, he side smirks, eyeing you intently, pleased to make you blush.

As children, you were playmates before your father remarried to Lady Laena of House Velaryon. She took you as one of her own and under her care you remained until she came to past away. And then your father espoused Princess Rhaenyra, whom also took you as her daughter.

And here you are.

“They have, yes”, you nod, transfixed by his enigmatic presence. “I’m sorry about your eye. I wasn’t there when this happened.”

“You’d think I didn’t notice?”, he raises his eyebrow. “Where have you been?”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond resents your absence, how out of reach you’ve been when you were once close. How on earth have you become strangers?

You look down at your wrung hands, but when carefully lifting your gaze you still find his good eye glued on you, trying to understand you.

“I tried to reclaim my inheritance at the Eyrie right after my stepmother’s decease. I couldn’t do so earlier as I was too young, but now…”

“Are you their lady now?”, Aemond softens.

You smile almost unconsciously as the tension between you two dissipate and the prince leads you to the gardens.

“No. They accept no woman as their overlord”, you sigh. “My father doesn’t take it nicely, though. He intends to reclaim it on my behalf, refusing the proposal of my maternal uncle.”

“Oh?”, he furrows his eyebrows, fearful of the response. “What that’d be?”

As you two move towards the gardens, you barely notice how your arm slides to his, distance now shorter than before.

“Marriage. What other proposal would be?”

Aemond chuckles lightly, but you spot no amusement in his good eye.

“It is the way, is it not?”

“For us women, usually is. A duty that requires plenty of sacrifices.”

As he looks at you, Aemond doesn’t resist the urge of asking:

“What would you be prepared to sacrifice, lady Y/N?”

As you two lock gazes, you are reminded of the time spent together. As children, you were both so alike in temperament, in likes and thoughts. What has changed now?

You open your mouth, but you do not know what to say. Aemond gently parts of you, hands behind his back, expectation somewhat filling behind his good eye.

He knows the answer. He can tell by your heavy breathing, the light shake of your hands, how your bottom lip trembles… what will come out. Sensibility rises behind your coal eyes like darkness pulls him into it.

He waits.

You won’t say it. You won’t say it.

But you do.

“You.”

To your dismay, the prince smiles. Taking your hand in his, he says:

“I’ve always thought about you. I’m glad you haven’t forsaken me, Y/N.”

You blush, moving your gaze instantly away. A torrent of words are being held back. Aemond, who knows you so well, gently makes you look at him.

“Do not slip out of me. I ask you this.”

“Even though I am the elder sister of the twins who attacked you?”

Aemond chuckles.

“No one is perfect.”

That being said, he takes your hand and there presses a kiss.

***

• The Dinner.

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe I don't quite know what to say…

Right before the expected meeting at the King’s table for the evening meal in a familiar gathering, you are found at Lord Aemond’s company. You see he’s been acting weirdly, even though nothing on his face betrayals it.

“Why are you in a glooming mood?”, you inquire, your face rested in his lap, looking up at him as his long hand strokes your hair.

“I am not”, he says in a dismissive tone. “This is who I am, you know.”

“Do not play me a fool, Aemond”, you stand reluctantly, but never too far of his grasp.

Aemond likes how wild your hair is, mirroring a tempest that is forming behind your eyes as you stare at him. He strokes your face, prompted to succumb to his desires if circumstances were different.

“Will you force me speak my mind?”

“If I must, yes”, you narrow your eyes.

Again, he chuckles.

“You can be stubborn when you want to be, Y/Nickname.”

“A trait you also have, if I recall well.”

Aemond leans so close to you now that you fear you are about to lose your balance. Especially when his lips are pressed against your forehead, there lingering in a gentle, but intense kiss that spreads fire over your body.

A sentiment that you think wise to ignore.

But when his slander hands slip from your face to your long hair, resting around your waist, you find yourself holding your breath.

“Always beautiful, my sweet Y/N. I could never let go of you, nor hold you accountable of others’ sin.”

You realize the feud between him and your half siblings are deeper than you’d judged.

“My sweet”, you hold his face gently. “Do not feed these grudges. I understand the pain of losing what is dear to you, by no chances I mean to demove you of this sentiment. However, vengeance is not changing what happened.”

It is as if you are twins, one knowing the other so well, able to feel what other feels, to think what the other thinks. As if your soul is made of the same material as his.

Even if where he is fire and you are water, a perfect mix has always tied each other.

“Aemond…”

He takes your hands and there presses a kiss.

“Come, we better not get late to the dinner.”

To your disappointment, Aemond stands, waiting for you to take the arm he offers you. But the moment you take it, it feels as if you are growing apart.

***

“Where have you been?”, your father asks you the moment you slide to your chair, next to Baela’s seat.

“By a certain somebody’s side”, you hear your half-sister grumble.

“Would you please mind your own business?”, you snort at her.

“Girls”, interferes Rhaenyra. “This is not the place nor the time.”

“Indeed it is not”, agrees Daemon. “And I pray you have not been randomly wandering around with him again.”

You raise your gaze only to meet your father’s inexpressible pair of lilac eyes studying you. Praying you are able to hold back your emotions enough not to blush, you smirk.

“Oh please, father. As far as it may be difficult for you to accept, I have other companions to spend my time with besides my relatives”, you lie blatantly at his face.

“Right… If that is what you are telling me, I have no need to preoccupy myself then”, he reclines back at his chair, ignoring how the small conversation has captured Aemond’s attention.

Though he sits at the other side of the table, the prince monitors you. He can tell you are lying by how you close your first around the glass, how you cast your eyes to the plate, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

He can tell you are upset at some sibling provocation by the blush that paints your cheeks and the air of impatience that makes you roll your eyes. The discomfort at it is crystal clear as you feel an outsider as your twin sisters talk nonsenses with the Velaryon boys.

You do not belong there. Your looks outstand the Targaryen looks, that itself makes you uncomfortable. He wishes he could tell you many great things—amongst which the depth of his affections for you.

As you raise your eyes, you meet his gaze and for the first time during the dinner both of you smile. He wishes to reach out for you. But then something changes.

It all happens very fast. The food and mutual implication of Aemond’s loss of an eye lead him to subtly stand.

“I would like to have a toast…”

You barely blink. Tension is in the air and you see by their faces that everyone is holding their breaths.

You know Aemond is up to no good. You try to convince him not doing what he’s about to, suspecting this has something to do with his long standing rivalry with the Velaryon boys.

To your disappointment and not entirely surprise, vengeance takes his best. Aemond sees the moment he speaks unwanted words how aghast you look.

“…for these three Strong boys.”

And what happens next prevents him to reach out for you again.

***

• War.

Wind howls violently at the top of the hill. You stare at your dragon with silver eyes and black scams. It’s time, you know it.

Your hair is tied in a long braid and you dress for your first battle at this disgrace war that has been waged since your sweet prince has caused the death of your half-brother.

You could not forgive him for this atrocity, even if part of you doesn’t buy the narrative that Aemond chased Lucerys and purposely ended with his life. You recall how that day you and Rhaena entered in a fight because you were accused to stand for such a kinslayer, an accusation you refused to absolve her for.

“Are you sure you are ready to do it?”, you hear the voice of your father not long as you prepare to mount your flying beast.

Clouds clash, resulting in electric storms. Not the most propitious skies to fly. Daemon looks at you with fatherly concern, reading in your impulsiveness the need of proving your worth.

“I ask you not to fight this war unless it’s absolutely needed to. You should not do it because of your sisters. What Rhaena has said to you…”

“I care naught about what she said”, you turn your head at him. “This isn’t about me or her, but our cause. I will not disappoint you, my father. You’ll be proud of me.”

“I am already proud of you”, says Daemon with his greeted teeth. “I see myself in you. There is no need to have Targaryen looks to be one. You have the dragon blood in you, Y/N. Listen to me, this is not the time…”

“I am a woman now, father. As capable as anyone else to stand for the Queen.”

You swallow your tears, smashing your childhood fears down to your throat. And you fly with your dragon without further waiting, wishing to wipe off your thoughts the nights spent with Aemond at the library or running the corridors or when each confided insecurities to the other.

You wish you had not in mind the envy you felt when seeing your twin sisters sharing the Targaryen looks. You wish you were not mocked upon because of that.

You rise, aiming to fly higher. And your dragon feels your angst, howling through the air. As electric as it is, you seem immune to it.

But of course when you play the game of thrones you either win or die. What shall be the destiny gods hold to you?

Nothing of it comes to your thoughts when you spot Aegon, the Usurper, mounting his dragon. He flies right against you. The battle scene is prepared and you promptly join it.

The dragons dance and your temper takes the best of your reasoning. Nevertheless you hold the advantage of having a dragon bigger than Aegon’s.

But inexperienced.

A fault that will come at you when Aegon commands his dragon to fly right into you. It’s a violent battle to see. He tries to attack you wearing his sword, but his blows are useless.

So suddenly you wish you have heard your father. You are not prepared to fight your cousin on your own. And when a greater dragon casts its shadow below, you have realized you fell to a trap.

***

Aemond doesn’t take pride in taking you with him as his prisoner. Your silence is a harder blow to take, unprepared he was to face it.

“Do not, I ask you, make these matters worse to you.”

He takes you to Harrenhal with him, reclaiming you as his war prize, against his brother’s will, who certainly had other plans for his uncle’s daughter.

You are still processing the trauma of losing your dragon to those beasts you share your blood with. Perhaps it’s not a misfortune to look such an Arryn this time.

You answer him not. Aemond knows this is a difficult battle to fight—and what’s worse, his conscience tells him this is the result of his doing.

“You shall stay in these chambers”, Aemond tells you. “It used to belong to…”

He’d say these were his mistress Alys’ bedchambers before she came to pass after a hard labor, but to avail should he remind you that he supplanted you in his affections?

Or did he plan to say so as a form to plague you with remorse for daring to fight his brother alone?

Such thoughts are slipping out of his mind before the sight of your distress, already plagued by traumas of a war… caused by him.

“To your whore?”, you cut the silence by saying what he could not. “How thoughtful of you, Aemond. Thank you for being considerate.”

Your sharp remark leaves him astonished at your bluntness. It hurts him more than he admits, but as you turn your back at him, entering the bedchambers and there locking yourself in, Aemond realizes that what you two once shared is no more.

***

You sob violently when being left alone. Your imprudence brought you such tragedy and at times you consider going to the window and jump to death at long last and put an end to your misery.

As your father’s daughter, however, your inclination to life speaks louder than letting broken pride taking the best of you.

However, for how long will your spirit resist this? You were never someone to be easily caged.

And yet, here you are…

***

• Reproach: the aftermath…

They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn't pour the whiskey…

Like strangers you meet. Dressed in a green silk gown with hair loose behind your back, a sign of resistance, you join the prince in an awkward dinner.

“Will you not eat?”

“I lost my appetite”, but your mouth is dried and you eventually take the silver glass poured with red wine to your lips.

Aemond softens before you.

“We have started wrongly. Again time steals you from me. I, who possess all that gold and titles can purchase, was deprived of the luxury of having you.”

How openly and crudely he speaks these words make your eyes go wide open at him. You down your glass, skepticism stamped in your features.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I mean every word I say.”

You do not answer, fearful of being brought to the edge of your tears. The old signs Aemond sees: you chew your bottom lip, you close your wrist in a fist, your shoulders remain tense.

Your body screams resentment when you spirits locks in silence.

“You don’t.” After a while you add. “Has Lady Alys been what then?”

“A replacement of you.”

You promptly stand.

“Stop it. Stop right there, my lord prince. Do you take me as a toy you can play at your will? Have you not taken enough of me to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?”

So does he stand.

“I lost a lot for the wrongs I’ve done, lady.”

“You have never missed me!”, and you at last explode. “You’ve forgotten me long ago! You took that woman to your bed, making her your wife in all but name! What have you sacrificed?”

Aemond shortens the distance as he holds your wrists, pulling you closer to him. When removing his eye patch, he hisses:

“I sacrificed you! Us! All that we could have been! Caged my own shadows, I was misled to believe I would earn no peace until they paid for the wrongs I suffered!”

You weep violently, drowning in your sobs as he holds you against him.

“Do not torment me more than I am tormented myself”, he whispers in your ear. “This is me trying, Y/N, to exorcise my demons and be a better version of me to you.”

He buries his head against your neck, smelling your scent, being reminded of peaceful days that now look old, ancient ones dusted in the wind.

His long fingers bury his nails tightly in your waist, nearly provoking physical pain as impatiently begins to unlace your gown.

You shiver before his touch, not hissing away of the pain you two inflicted each other. Now the only sound you hear is of his small sobs. Your hands go to his head.

Two souls harmed, pained in long term angst. You lift his face with scars exposed.

“How did we get here? I used to know you so well, Aemond. My sweet Aem, what have we done?”

“I swallowed vengeance as a medicine and had me poisoned. Never wanted to get you involved in this.”

Fireplace warms the prince’s chambers and soon you and him are sitting on the ground, close to the flames that warm the cold there is in either of you.

“Will you be the death of me?”

“Never”, he takes your face with his face and finally kisses your lips. “I will not let you go.”

As much as you want to be kissed, as much as your lips devour his in a fervent kiss, as much as your gown starts to slip out of your shoulders and your hands get to remove his shirt, you pull out and Aemond knows he should be more clear.

“There is a plan.”

“Then share it with me.”

“I’ll make you Lady of the Vale. You will sit at Eyre as their only lady. I’ll be by your side as you reclaim your inheritance.”

You can barely believe in what he’s saying.

“Aemond…”

“No more wars. No more tragedies. No more blood spent. This I promise you. I will make you my wife.”

When his lips twitch at a small smile, that sweet smile that has always melted your heart, you know what he speaks is true.

“Make me yours.”

That being said, Aemond, more than willingly, rises to claim your lips. And right there, before the flames, two dragons meet in flesh.

***

• Lady

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town…

A feast is thrown at the Capital. Civil war has come to an end and you are told there had been no survivors of the black party. In spite of the plans secretly arranged with Aemond, you’d still have to go through the humiliation of being seen as a trophy to the green cause.

For him, you try. To conceal your grief, to mourn underneath a well masked emotionless face.

For him, you try. To dress in the colors of his house, to act composedly even when Aegon laughs at you, even when the usurper mocks at all you know.

But Aemond keeps his word. He stands for you, refusing to let his victory to perpetuate wounds that should be closed, that must be cured.

It’s when the Dowager Queen comes at you.

“There has been many losses to our sides”, she plays the diplomatic role that is expected of her position. “I lament it deeply how this ended. She was dear to me, you know.”

You cast your dark coal eyes to see a pair of green ones plagued by vicious sadness staring back at yours. There are many things you want to say, but no words make to your tongue.

Instead, you opt for the cold, silent treatment. However, when seeing how Aemond has stood for you—as he has always done, once you’ll learn-/, you eventually say with your dry throat:

“Your condolences are welcomed, Your Grace. I assume this is where I should congratulate you thus.”

“Congratulate me?”

Oh her cynicism prevents you try further to be genuinely polite.

“Indeed. Your schemes came to fruition and here your son rules uncontestedly, notwithstanding his father’s wishes in keeping Princess Rhaenyra’s his heiress. But what do I know?”

Leaving the paled queen prompted to another access of tears, you excuse yourself to the gardens.

A film of past, merry days is relived behind your eyes. Lady Laena educating you next to her twin daughters, only two years younger than you. The tutors, the moments spent with your father, who somewhat was distant but always caring to you.

The sadness of losing Lady Laena being replaced as you witness your father marrying Princess Rhaenyra. You remember her kindness and her favours. The dragon egg she gifted you in your late teenager days…

You sob as you miss your black dragon. A hole in your heart is open and your knees go weak. You can hear Rhaenyra telling you this is not your fault for Lucerys’ demise.

“This is not your war to fight.”

But you fought it, didn’t you?

“Don’t go”, your father’s eyes cried out to you when his words attempted to pull you down.

But you wanted to prove his worth… And that was the last time you ever saw him.

Here you are, hardly free. A trophy for all those victors to exhibit. And in this cruel circumstance, you miss him coming at you, standing by your side.

“Come”, he says, taking your hand to his.

“Where?”, you do not mind disguising anymore.

Your castle tumbled and you are nothing but the ruins of days that are not going back.

“To reclaim your inheritance with me”.

Aemond senses your reluctance and stands with you, now out of others eyes. And right under his gaze you sob violently, and he takes you in his arms, feeling your pain as if it’s his own.

“It shouldn’t be this way. I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done to you.” And leaving his pride aside, he takes your face with his hands and wiping your tears, so he says: “Please, forgive me.”

Underneath grey clouds, out of the bloody feast, it’s just you and him. Trying.

“I forgive you”, you concede genuinely, forgiving yourself too for the impulsiveness.

“I shall never leave you. Ever”, he vows it.

And this is the start of a new journey to you. Where you are neither trying it, but making it. It’s time to amend the wounds of the civil war.

***

You regain your strength, your old self the moment you land at the seat of your mother’s house.

You are not entirely surprised that the local noblemen welcome you reluctantly, as if prepared to engage in war.

“Peace”, you tell them. “I come in peace.”

Aemond leaves you to settle it. He is by your side, hand resting in his sword. Having claimed Blackfyre, he wears it proudly. Not to mention the grand beast behind them.

Although calmly, Vhagar stares at those pair of eyes as if she’s about flame them all.

A dark haired young man comes at you. He could easily be a lost sibling, but the similarities end there.

“Lady Y/N Targaryen. I thought we’d not meet.”

“How kind of you, cousin. A very warm welcome on your part”, like your father before you, snark remarks are something you do well. Aemond himself doesn’t conceal a smirk.

“What are you here for? You have no right here.”

You really forgot how the people of Vale could be ruthlessly straight to the point. It’s when Aemond Targaryen comes in the scene.

“You either bend your knee on behalf of my lady or else you’ll face consequences in the name of King Aegon, Second of His Name.”

Those present still remember from stories when Vhagar last came there. Her rider was lenient and they prayed you and Aemond remain so.

But your maternal cousin, Lord H/N, doesn’t seem prudent. Silence hangs.

“Well? What is your choice going to be? Westeros has bled for more time than it needed. Will you be the reason why the Vale will meet blood and fire on the wrong way? It’s not shameful to bend the knee.”

“I shall never bend a knee for a treacherous whore as yourself.”

It’s enough for Aemond unleash his sword and… let its blade kiss the man’s neck.

“No one who offends my lady walks out free.”

Just like that you reclaim your inheritance and you barely conceal your satisfaction at it. Who’d else dare to resist you after Lord H/N’s unwelcoming reckless?

**

You are dressed in the colors of your mother’s house. How ironic it is that your father’s enemy helped you to obtain what he could never achieve not even as his widower’s alleged claimant to Lady Rhea’s inheritance.

You look at your prince, who stands at the higher table as your Arryn’s relatives welcome you with a proper feast.

“Thank you”, you smile at him and Aemond is pleased to find no sadness behind your eyes.

“It is only right to amend the wrongs”, right under the table he takes hold of your hand and there squeezes it. “It pleases me more to see your kinsmen and the folks here did not provide any sort of resistance.”

“Despite my surname and whom I take after, they remember my mother well even if I don’t”, you sigh shortly. “They see how diplomatic and reasonable I am. No matter how tied I am to this new regime, they want and need the peace these years took from them.”

Aemond smiles at you and you are content for finding peace at last behind his good eye.

“Thankfully you are. I don’t see how this could be otherwise.”

Earlier that day, before the ceremony of your rise as Lady of the Vale began, you and Aemond were lawfully married before the Seven. This feast intends to celebrate both occasions with tons of merriments. The next day a tournament will be given on behalf of their new overlords.

*

“My lady”, he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, his hands already removing your line nightgown.

Sitting behind you at your bed, your husband stands all bare as you let him take his time to contemplate this new state both of you are.

No more childhood sweethearts. No more lovers parted due to war. But a husband loving his wife.

You tilt your head to the side, already feeling a heat ache in the between of your legs. Your nipple is already hardened as he exposes it, and you’d gladly touch yourself to ease this burden had he not held your wrist.

“Leave it to me”, he bites your neck, there leaving his bruise.

You arch your back in silent protest.

“You are torturing in me”, you moan, turning your head as you make sure to remove your nightgown and begin to climb on your nude consort when he turns you to be laid under his body.

“Am I?”, he smiles, his hair a mess as you bury your nails on his shoulders, pulling you to him. “Am I torturing my beautiful wife?”

“For years”, you grumble before breaking in a loud whimper when he inserts a finger in between your legs. “Oh, husband!”

His tongue now slides to your chest, path trailing before reaching your nipples. There, the night finally begins to you and your prince gladly takes his time.

Until you begin to reach the climax, he climbs back at you.

And not entirely unexpected…

“Ah, yes!”

He groans as he slides inside you. Raising your legs to fit better his moves, he matches the pace of his hips with yours.

Locking hands with you, he pursuits your lips and in a very passionate kiss you give all you have to him.

***

Some years later.

You watch from your scribe quarters how Aemond trains your son, Daeron, with his sword. You are writing a letter to your sister-in-law, the Queen, to ask a favor on behalf of the Vale when the lovely scene captures your attention.

Your son is now four years old. He has silver hair with some dark shades, a trait you’ve once seen in Lady Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. His eyes are painted lilac, likes his father’s. Your boy is every inch Aemond’s son.

But his temper is quiet, like yours. He possesses attentive, fierce eyes. He has a quick wit, and some say he’s a precocious boy. He’s indeed very healthy.

The scene is adorable. Whenever Daeron mishits a blow, he pouts.

“I am terrible at it, daddy!”

Aemond chuckles, very patient and says:

“Take your time, young man. You have to go back to our lessons when holding a proper sword.”

“If you gave me a real sword, I’d do better.”

You laugh quietly at the sight, especially when Aemond reprehends him for this thought.

“Nay, son. You need to uphold a wood sword or else what’s the point in holding a true blade? And even if you did, your mother would kill me.”

He then lifts Daeron and ruffles his hair.

“Come, let’s see what your sister is doing.”

Not too far from where he is, your daughter Rhaella is climbing a tree under the supervision of your trusted maid. When seeing her father, the dark haired little girl with purples irises beams at him and promptly goes down the tree to run at him.

“DADDYYYY!”

You get emotional at the sight. Aemond and your offspring. Your children, your heirs. A family you never thought you’d have to call yours.

And there’s a third one, a newly born baby who now reclaims your attention. The maid brings little Aemon to be breastfed as you insisted you do so.

“My little boy”, you turn at him, stroking his silver locks. You once joked to Aemond how the Gods amused themselves by sending a child with silver hair and another with dark locks. “My prince. Come, you are hungry, aren’t ye?”

You are doing so the moment the door is open and your husband comes in with the two children.

“My lady”, Aemond greets you with a kiss on your temple. “How is our son?”

“Healthy and hungry, praised be the Gods”, you chuckle. “And our children?”

“Mama, I must tell you what I did today!”

Suddenly your husband is pushed aside and Rhaella and Daeron begin to compete for your attention. Aemond, as amused as he is by the dispute, has to intervene.

And here’s how the rest of your afternoon is spent: surrounded by your family you love.

But there’s a surprise that might come to shake the grounds of your hard worked for stability. Before you get to dine with them, a lady of your trust comes at you in a hurry.

“What is wrong, my dear?”

“Someone wants to meet you. I am forbidden to share his identity and he wants to see you alone…”

It’s when Aemond has a glimpse of the conversation and he promptly entrusts his children to your lady before saying:

“She shall not meet this stranger alone, regardless of the conditions he imposed.”

The said woman messenger only gives you a look before doing as said. You and Aemond shoot glances, but neither dares to speak.

What surprise it is when, opening the door, you spot Daemon Targaryen completely weary standing before you.

“Dad?!”

He gives Aemond a long look before looking at you.

“Greetings there, daughter of mine. I’m alive.”

[timewillreveal]

“Candy Cigarettes” — ao3 link

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Chapter one

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In the deepest ashes of what used to be the digital circus, I was there with our ringmaster, who was doing some kind of motivational speech. I don't think anybody gave attention to him anyway, we were more busy watching the whole circus tent consume in a black glitched fire.

It'd sound stupid if he told anyone ‘Turns out the circus I've spent half my life stuck in has just exploded and died and I'm back in the real world. How was your day by the way?’. Jax, at this point would've made a joke of being sent to a shrink for saying that, it would have been funnier if it wasn't almost the reality. Hospitals and shrink's were similar anyway.

Not only did he wake up in a hospital bed, but he was told that the last three years of his life were spent in that hospital bed.

At least there transcurred their ‘circus years’, or what he called his three last unconscious years, to remember it and to know he wasn't crazy, to know that it was all real, and he didn't pass all those years in a hallucination coma.

A nurse walked into him to talk about psychological effects that the coma could've induced into him. Wrong time perception, bullshit, the hallucination memories of being awake that his condition could've shown. Ah, also there was physiotherapy, apparently his body's unable to use various functions after not waking up or walking for years, still bullshit.

However he couldn't do nothing but complain about his position, because he is still processing that he's alive. ‘I was in a circus with my friends, I died and ended up here somehow, can I go back? Please and thanks’ wasn't exactly something to tell the doctors anyway if he didn't wanna end up in actually a shrink.

[luwritesomething]

Heyyyyyyy can you do a Mickey Altieri x gn!reader and they are both in the same film class and the reader and Mickey are rivals and they get paired on a project together and after they get a good grade on it they realize that they really like eachother and they kiss at the end 😍

But if you do end up doing this thank you so much!!!!!

Also the reader and Randy are besties

I will be back with Stu and Billy requests later ☺️

Mickey Altieri x Reader: happy fools

Warnings: Swearing (probably), mentions of food (no ed), reader doesn’t eat because they have no money to afford it (no ed), reader has money problems, reader has a scholarship that pays for a big part of their living, sucky boss, money problems, mentions of the theater murders and the woodsboro murders, no mentions of mickey being part of the murders but no mention of him not being part of the murders either.

Tags: academic rivals to lovers dynamic, reader dislikes mickey more than mickey dislikes reader, mickey is annoying but loveable, randy is reader’s best friend, cici is perfect and we love her for that, reader ends up liking mickey, group project

Reader pronouns: Non stated.

Word count: 3767

Summary: Mickey and Reader have been rivals since they started college, but they’re paired up for a Film Theory project together.

Author’s note: SORRY FOR TAKING THIS LONG @alexhostghost. i loved this req!!!!!! rivals/enemies to lovers all the way!!!!!! i think i made this reader a bit more specific with the whole schoolarship and money problems thing, but i hope it's still good and liked <3 also i listened to happy fools on a loop so there you go. graphic is mine !!

criticism, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas. in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, randy meeks, tatum riley, sidney prescott, mickey altieri, kirby reid, chad meeks martin, mindy meeks martin, tara carpenter, anika kayoko and laura crane.

“No, it’s a perfect example of life imitating art, imitating life.” Mickey interrupted Cici matter of factly, with that assholish grin you had learned to roll your eyes at. Cici opened her mouth to debate that, but Mickey was faster, following with his reasoning. “It’s really not that difficult to understand, guys.”

It all had started when Professor Robinson had asked all of you if you had heard the news of two campus students getting murdered in the opening for the new, flashy slasher film, Stab. The movie was based on true events, which had transcurred at a town called Woodsboro less than a year ago — your friend Randy, from your same major, had been one of the key survivors of that same massacre —; and its reality had quickly become a topic of discussion for your classmates. 

Mickey, one of Randy’s friend and who you barely could handle during classes because God was he always trying to be better than you, and other boys had started arguing that the murders had been a direct consequence of the nature of the film, to which Cici Cooper had instantly replied calling out their absolute bullshit. You couldn’t agree more with Cici, but Mickey’s attitude diminishing what your friend tried to very politely explain had made you scoff and straighten in your chair.

“Life doesn’t and shouldn’t imitate art.” You found yourself saying, rather loudly. Mickey’s eyebrows shot up your way, and you guessed you could continue talking, as now Professor Robinson was looking at you expectantly. “And also, calling that Stab movie is such an overstatement — it’s trash. Even the book on which is based, The Woodsboro Murders? It sucks dick. ”

“It actually happened.” A girl from one of the front rows said, and you clicked your tongue.

For a second or two, your eyes drifted to Randy, who only scrunched his nose slightly to show he was actually listening. You couldn’t imagine how discussing the murders he had seen less than a year ago felt for him, but you weren’t about to stop — and Randy wasn’t one to stop a good debate from happening, either.

“No shit?” You inquired, sarcasm dripping from your tongue, and Cici by your side laughed as the girl that had spoken just rolled her eyes. “What I’m trying to say it’s the writing itself sucked, I can’t do anything about the real story. The thing is violence, and less along murder, can’t be excused by the argument of ‘they watched too many movies’. It just doesn’t work like that.”

Cici pointed at you with a smile on her face. “Thank you!”

“Whoa, there.” Mickey called out from the back of the class, forcing you to turn your head slightly to look at him. “Nobody was trying to excuse it.”

Your head cocked to the side. “Why won’t you just admit that you’re wrong?”

Humdrum bursted into the class, as light whistles and laughter could be heard from your comeback, slowly easing a little grin into your face while you stared back at Mickey. His lips corners also raised, amused with how you had slightly caught him red handed, and you ended up turning your head to the front of the class when Professor Robinson took everyone’s attention by coughing fakely.

“Well, I’m just going to chirp in during my class to remind you that you guys can actually share your opinions outside of class.” Mister Robinson said with a smile on his face. 

When Cici chuckled under her breath, like many others, and nudged you in your side, you just rolled your eyes. You could tell the class was close to end as people around you started subtly gathering their things, and also by the way Mister Robinson glanced at the clock in the classroom before he stopped leaning onto his desk.

“Before you all go,” he said, stopping everyone’s movements. His hand pointed at the cork board in the back of the classroom, rather lazily. “I wanted to tell you that the pairs and subjects of this term’s project are already available for you to check in the back of the classroom. Remember you must do well on your presentations, since it will not only count as half of your grade, but your classmates’ too considering all the subjects will be parts of the upcoming exam.”

Most groaned, but you just looked away and started gathering your things calmly, knowing most of your classmates would rush to the cork board and wouldn’t let you see until some minutes had passed. Mister Robinson had already left the classroom when complaints about the partners or the subjects started to rise between the students, and you only heard half of what Cici was telling to the other girl about her subject, Auteur theory. 

Once you had your things, you lifted from your seat and dodged the other desks and chairs to reach the cork board where, among others, was Randy. You knew you hadn’t been paired up together from the moment he turned to look at you with a funny expression you couldn’t quite crack, and that was truly a pity — you two had grown pretty close for the last couple of weeks since your first project together, in that same Film Theory class.

“You’re gonna like this.” He muttered once you placed yourself by his side, making you frown.

“Why?” You asked, but before he could answer, your eyes started scanning the list printed and hung on the board, searching for your name. Oh. Your lips pursed instantly, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck.”

You could already feel his presence behind you, his stupid and annoying grin as Mickey said, “Looks like we’re gonna have to stop fighting.”

“You could be a great team.” Randy agreed softly as he searched for your eyes, but you rolled them again — it’s funny, you realized as he chuckled softly. It’s funny for him, because Randy didn’t have to work with his so-called rival, you did.

Without saying anything to either of them, you turned around and walked out of the classroom with your mind too occupied with all you have to do other than stay around with a jerk and your friend. Your rent is due and the money from your scholarship is not coming for some reason, and you also have a ton of homework and extra shifts to cover for the lack of money — you literally did not have the time.

You were already out of the building, deep in your thoughts, when you heard someone calling out your name. You recognized the voice, so you barely turned to see Mickey jogging towards you with his backpack on only one shoulder and his dumb camera on his left hand — you didn’t even stop walking, which absolutely made him call out your name again.

“Hey, hold up!” He chuckled with that wide grin of his, the one you were used to rolling your eyes at. However, this time you held yourself back, having done that too many times in the last minutes, and now you actually listened to him, stopping your walking to let him catch up.

Mickey flashed a smile when he reached you, accommodating the strap on his shoulder to make sure his backpack wasn't falling to the ground. “We have to cooperate now, we’re a team.”

“Lucky me.” You muttered, and after checking he was finally willing to walk, you resumed your pace with him by your side.

“When are you free?” He asked, choosing to ignore your lack of enthusiasm. 

You truly didn’t understand it — you didn’t hate Mickey, or you guessed so. He was just annoying to you, always saying the exact opposite of what you said just for the hell of getting under your skin. Just a few weeks of classes, and he had finally won the position of your rival, so his amusement for the situation wasn’t really something you could understand.

“Not today.” You chose to say, head shaking to get rid of your cavilations. If you hadn’t known Mickey better, you could have sworn he looked taken aback, so you added, “But Formalism is an easy theory, so we can start researching by ourselves meanwhile.”

“We still have to pick a date.” Mickey insisted, his head cocked to the side and without taking his eyes away from you.

You snorted softly. “What, do you really have a busy enough life to need everything planned to the minute?”

“You’re not getting rid of me.” He replied with a sing-song, without answering your sarcastic question.

“Do I have to tell you now?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Fine.” You stopped dead in your tracks, surprising him, but he immediately turned to look at you, your arms crossed on top of your chest. “Tomorrow after lunch, outside of the library.”

A smile crossed his face, and you could have sworn he blinked at you as he walked away, saying, “Perfect. See you there, then!”

You were late, you knew, and it irked you. It hadn’t being your fault, if you saved the part in which you had agreed to do an extra shift at your job to get some extra money — you were in dire need of cash, and still, your boss hadn’t paid you after that, arguing he would give you all the money he owed you when the official time had come. So, you were tired, late to your date for the project with Mickey, hungry because you hadn’t eaten in the whole day and with no extra money.

At least you hadn’t been late enough to make Mickey leave from the library doors, which relieved you as you quickened your pace to reach him. Mickey watched you without his usual smile, probably annoyed because of the solid fifteen minutes he had been waiting for you; but he only frowned when you folded once you arrived to his side, catching your breath. Have you been running? — Mickey searched for traces of sweat in your forehead and skin, and he found them, little pearls of rushed sweat that exposed you to him forming near your hairline.

“I’m sorry.” You said, before he could open his mouth, and you tried your best to straighten yourself so you could look into his eyes. “I’m late, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Mickey assured with a curious glimmer in his eyes. His head tilted to the side as he watched you breathe heavily. “Is everything alright? You shouldn’t have run.”

“I didn’t run.” You lied rather dryly, and you pushed your hair off your shoulder and away from your face. The sound that came from your starving stomach wasn’t too loud, but Mickey heard it, which only mortified you more — how more could you embarrass yourself? “Sorry, I haven’t eaten anything today. Anyways, should we–?”

Mickey interrupted you quickly. “What do you mean you haven’t eaten?”

You blinked once, processing his question. “I’m running low on money and skipped lunch to do an extra shift at work.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Mickey, drop it. I had no time, and it's not like my fridge is full. We need to work now, I’ll eat something later.”

When you tried to dodge him to finally go into the library, his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “You’re not going in there without eating something first.”

“Excuse you?” You hissed, a frown becoming visible between your eyebrows, astounded that he would have the audacity to tell you what you could and couldn’t do.

“If you die, I’ll have a bad conscience.” Mickey replied, with a little smirk that was even more annoying than the way he was trying to control you. It was for a good reason, sure, but still. “We’ll work at a café, where you can have something to eat.”

You scoffed, and moved your hand away from him so he would let go, which worked. “What part of I’m running low on money you didn’t understand, Altieri? I can’t afford lunch at a café.”

“My treat.” He insisted, as his smirk dropped. It made you realize, that gesture, that he was completely serious about what he was saying.

But for some reason, owing him money of all people made you feel terrible. “I’m not letting you buy me food.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, now as equally annoyed as you were. “Then you’ll pay me back once you get your hands on your money, alright? Please? We’re wasting time here.”

You couldn’t help but click your tongue, but when you took a glance at the watch on your wrist, you realized he was right. With your lateness and the bickering, you two had already lost more than twenty minutes in which you should have been working on your Formalism project. He was right, and you hated that.

“Fine.” You grunted lowly, and he only smiled, before he led the way to one of the cafés outside of campus.

It was awkward, having him buy you lunch. You had always liked to think of yourself as a very independent person, and honestly, you thought you were. College life was stressful but a blessing in this aspect, although the money and tuition fees were certainly something worth bawling your eyes for. You had always had money problems and managed and planned your life on campus around that, but it was also true that you had never gone without having something for breakfast or lunch because of having to save money for something more important. Fortunately, that very same morning you had received a warning that your warning would come late but still come, but that didn’t make the fact of having Mickey behind you and watching what you would choose for him to pay any better.

“You can choose whatever.” He said, after you spent five slow minutes trying to figure out which sandwich from the ones displayed in the cafe’s counter would be less expensive. You looked at Mickey from the corner of your eyes, but he wasn’t looking at you, maybe to make things easier for you. “It’s not like I’m gonna go broke for buying you lunch.”

With a hum, you acknowledged his words. You stared at the sandwiches ahead, and murmured, “Thanks.”

After you had chosen two different sets of sandwiches and some juice that looked delicious — and after Mickey had ordered a coffee with a ridiculously little amount of milk —, you carried your tray to one of the empty tables in the back of the establishment while Mickey paid. You put the folder of information you had found about Formalism next to your tray and started eating without waiting for him.

You watched him walk towards your table, coffee mug in his free hand, while the other carried his black wallet. Now that you were eating, you no longer felt embarrassed for having someone paying for your food once, and for a second, you forgot how little you were used to getting along. It’s not like you hated him — if you did, you wouldn’t have let him buy you anything.

“Better?” Mickey asked as he slid into the seat across from you.

Shortly, you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“There’s no rush.” He said, before he took a sip of his coffee. When you found yourself staring at him too much, finding his unshaven stubble more attractive than usual, you forced yourself to look away. “I know how expensive tuition fees are.”

“Yeah, well, I have a scholarship. The money should be coming, that’s the thing.”

Mickey watched you curiously. “I did not know you had a scholarship.”

“I do.” You murmured. Outside of class, you had never really talked to him much. He was close friends with Randy, sure, but the timing had never been right between you two — and you were always busy, something for which Randy always teased you. “Anyways, I have been doing some research about Formalism. It’s an easy subject, but we’re going to have to explain it really well.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mickey nodded, agreeing with you, and he once again took a sip off his coffee. “Is that folder what you found? You finish your food and I’ll start reading.”

With a hum, you nodded your head and Mickey leaned in to grab your folder and open it. His eyes started scanning over the documents you had printed, and you went back to focusing on your sandwiches, but you noticed the slight smile that appeared in his mouth once he saw your calligraphy in between the documents.

Mickey was actually someone nice to be around, and you slowly discovered that your rivalry had been wrongly directed to a fake image you had of him. If he had ever been annoying with you, arguing for absolutely every single thing you said, it was because he was that kind of funny; and it was rather easy to befriend him after the hours you spent together on the Formalism project. Sooner than later, your project was finished, and college life continued like it always had before that.

Mister Robinson took a whole two weeks to mark all the projects after all the pairs’ presentations were done. Randy had actually confessed to you, after you and Mickey had explained the theory that had been assigned to you with a slide presentation that had been his idea, that you two had probably been one of the best presentations — after his, of course. It was still a compliment, coming from him.

“Star Trek is better than Star Wars, I don’t care.” One of the girls in your class insisted, prompting a bunch of booing and another bunch of claps.

When you lifted your head from laughing at the improvised debate that had formed something Mister Robinson had said while explaining the main themes in film for the last few years — the poor man was probably sick of these debates, but he always listened, aware it was important for his students to communicate their ideas eloquently —, you found that Mickey was profusely shaking his head at what the girl had said. 

“Star Wars is just George Lucas inserted into a different, low budget and worse Star Trek universe.” Another boy said, backing the girl up, and now it was Randy who was shaking his head.

“Comparing Star Wars to Star Trek is absurd.” Randy said, pitched raised slightly so he would be heard. “Not because of one being better than the other, that’s not the point at all. You wouldn’t compare The Godfather with Goodfellas, would you?”

Even Mister Robinson laughed at that, finding that Randy was right — once again. You just shook your head as you laughed when Cici turned to look at you with an incredulous eyebrow raised, like you could actually control all the shit that came from Randy’s mouth.

“Before you leave.” Mister Robinson called out, his eyes raising to the clock on the wall, like he was used to doing now due to the constant introductions during his classes. The humdrum around you, caused by the people gathering their things, didn’t stop you from listening to what he had to say. “You can find the marks for your projects in the cork board.”

You waited seated, recalling the time in which he had said the opposite — that the pairs and subjects could be found in that same place —, and knowing that you wouldn’t be able to see anything if you went with all the people who wanted to see it right then. It surprised you seeing that Randy and Cici made their ways into the masses of people, and then left once they had taken a peak at their marks.

Once the classroom started to empty, you got up from your chair and walked to the cork board, dodging Mickey and another boy talking back at the first’s desk. Before you made your way to the board, the boy left the classroom, and it was only you and Mickey.

“Mickey.” You called out as soon as your eyes identified your names together, your voice almost coming strained. “We got the highest grade.”

“We did?” Mickey laughed, getting up from his desk and walking towards you, his eyes focused on the sheet of paper. “Oh, holy shit, we did.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, but your voice came out as a mutter. “Wow.”

“We make a hell of a good team, then.”

Holding back your smile, you looked up to him — Mickey wasn’t hiding his smile, letting it shine over you, and you didn’t feel the need to roll your eyes anymore. Lately, as you spent more and more time with him, you had forgotten about your need to be annoyed by him, and instead grew into an urge to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. It was like a positive intrusive thought, although still scary.

You blinked once when he called out your name. “You’re staring.”

“Is that bad?” You let out before you could stop yourself, but you started to feel embarrassed.

Before you could look away or cringe at what you had said, Mickey’s smile turned softer as he looked at you. “You tell me.”

You chuckled softly and looked away while shaking your head slightly. It was weird feeling your heart beat so fast against your chest, but you pushed through the feeling.

“Listen, I still have to repay you for that lunch and I was thinking…” Your head lifted again, so you could lock eyes with him, and you almost went breathless when you saw the intensity with which he was looking at you. “Would you have dinner with me?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Mickey asked, his smile growing impossibly wider.

The nerves got the best of you, as you started to stumble, “I mean, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a date but yeah, it could be if you wanted to–”

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” He said, interrupting your embarrassment, and you smiled as a thank you. Mickey looked so pretty as he lowered his head slightly, like he was telling you a secret. “And I’d really like to kiss you right now, if that’s okay.”

Oh, what a rush of dumb happiness was your body receiving right now.

“Yeah, you can kiss me.” You muttered, and as soon as you said it, Mickey moved closer to you.

His hand rested on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and his lips pressed against you in the exact same way you had imagined — just a few times before — they would. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him back.

[4me-yo]

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[pespillo]

Hello! I hope u don't mind my questions, but regarding the Emperor's Acolyte AU, is it possible for you to elaborate further about Raine's relationship with King and his position in the Kingdom of the Red Sun? And what of Edric and Emira and their position in the moon court (i think?) I absolutely LOVE the concept and the possible exploration in the day-to-day life of the people stuck within the kingdom, INCLUDING that incredibly interesting play! How did King even find Luz's manuscript, anyway?

first of all just posted smth explaining the militia so i think thats a good point on where to start thinking abt everyone´s places in all this vv

second of all , King´s been around Raine for as long as they been turned into head of the bard coven , King always holds a certain curiosity for everyone in the castle ,but his interest turned further when he took notice of Eda´s relationship with them when he was "kidnapped" in the Owl House for a bit (if you check my #emperor acolyte au tag for a sec youll see a small fic of a scene between luz n king transcurring at that time)

Since King starts seeing the Owl Lady as a maternal figure for him (it sorta starts off as wanting to get something Luz has but really, King just needs honest affection and Eda´s doesnt feel like it has any ulterior motive) , King sorta turns Raine into a royal "advisor" bard figure but in reality he sorta rlly just wants to matchmaking them n Eda so they can form his own idea of a family ,King likes to hear their music before sleeping and they unequivocally bond over extremely similar trauma in the hands of the Emperor´s Coven, to the point it makes Raine feel extremely guilty they didnt try getting him outta it much sooner considering they are realizing this is a 9 yr old whos been treated like a dog by the worse person in the Isles not even allowed to talk to other people besides the Emperor n Kikimora, in a way this guilt drives Raine further to not leave the castle to the small rebellion that Darius n Eber been forming.

Speaking of Darius n Eber, Darius n King has a small confrontation/argument that lead to their leave, Eber at first didnt actually mind the way King was running things since it was all sorta thrilling and battle oriented , but since hes inseparable from Darius he aint gnna be ditching his buddy ya know. Darius was just trying to get information of his old mentor, because King KNOWS about the way he died because Belos told him , at least his own version of it, but the more heated Darius got at King´s avoidance of the details, he ended up saying something that made the kid snap at him like "You care more about your mentor more than Hunter, where is he now? what would your mentor think about the way you treated him up until now?" which pretty much shut down that whole conversation, parting ways.

Regarding Luz´s manuscript, it was unfinished, she wanted to join that writer´s competition just as she did in the original episode but some other adventure ended up calling up to her ,so she just sorta forgot abt it or decided it leave it for other day. When the Owl House got raided by the Emperor´s coven n everything was sent to a warehouse, King came up to that warehouse to get Owl Lady´s stuff n move it into his new castle basically , he came upon it while just looking thru Luz stuff n decided to read it through because hes nosy ( he did the same with eda´s diary before), he´s never rlly been allowed to write his own stuff even when he was taught to write and read, so he decided to take it upon himself to make it "his" novel, and subsequently his play , as a way to vent all out his feelings of the world , his feelings towards Luz and everything else, plus to make a big statement culturally for the Isles.

for Edric n Emira, they were dragged into the Moon Court for Collector´s favor , because they were essentially living around them for a good while before turning into King´s Right Hand . Odalia´s been disposed off but not killed (because Emira convinced em to Not Kill their mom as much as the twins n Amity hate her because thats already so much trauma), Alador has run off to join Darius growing group as a way to find a solution to this whole, mess.

[visionkept]

If Tomoya was given the chance to settle down and have a peaceful life ( as deserved ), they would choose Chenyu Vale as their new residence. Qiaoying Village as their first option and Yilong Wharf as the second. Being surrounded by nature will forever be required as it brings them a sensation of FREEDOM despite staying in one place. I should also add that the traditions and activities in Qiaoying village would align with Tomo perfectly, taking any available errands such as helping the locals recollect the herbs and tea leaves, guard the supplies if needed, help with the transportation, or meditate by the river while supervising that the kiddos. It would be their kind of IDEAL LIFE after the main events of the games have transcurred and they have traveled almost everywhere.

[loiladadiani]

Photographs: 1. Grand Duke Mikhail Nicholayevich and his wife, Grand Duchess Olga Fyodorovna, with their two eldest children, Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovich and Grand Duchess Anastasia Mikhailovna; 2 and 3: Anastasia as a young girl; 4 and 5: Anastasia as a young woman. In one of the photos, she is wearing Russian court dress; 6. Anastasia with her brother Grand Duke Mikhail Mikhailovich (Miche-Miche); 7. Anastasia with her brother Grand Duke Georgiy Mikhailovich; 8. Anastasia with her brother Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovichl 9. Anastasia with her youngest brother, who died at twenty, Grand Duke Alexis Mikhailovich; 10. Anastasia with her brother Grand Duke Alexander "Sandro" Mikhailovich; 11. Anastasia with her niece Princess Irina Alexandrovna; 12 and 13; Two photos of Anastasia with her fiancee/husband Grand Duke Frederick Francis III of Mecklenburg-Schwerin; 14. Anastasia with her three children; 15 and 16: Two pictures of Anastasia; 17: Anastasia's three children and their spouses: From left to right: Her daughter Alexandrine of Mecklenburg-Schwerin with the future King Christian X of Denmark, Her son, Frederick Francis IV with Alexandra of Hanover and Cumberland, and her daughter Cecilie of Mecklenburg-Schwerin with Crown Prince Wilhelm; 18. Her illegitimate son Alexis Louis de Wenden; 19: Villa Wenden in Nice; 20. The formidable Grand Duchess Anastasia Mikhailovna.

The other Anastaisa

Grand Duchess Anastasia Mikhailovna was born in 1860, the second child and only daughter of Grand Duke Mikhail Nicholaevich and Grand Duchess Olga Feodorovna (nee Princess Cecilie of Baden.) Anastasia was a granddaughter of Nicholas I. The better-known Anastasia (the daughter of Nicholas II) would be born a little over a half-century later, promising to be just as indomitable as her predecessor (she did not have the chance to fulfill that promise.)

Stasi (as her brothers called Anastasia Mikhailovna) was her father's favorite child. Her brothers worshipped her. Her mother was the disciplinarian of the house. The boys were allowed to see their sister only on Sundays.

Anastasia married Frederick Francis III, Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, at 19. Frederick Francis was Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, the Elder's brother. He had very poor health throughout his life; he had asthma and multiple allergies and rashes, and he needed to live during extended periods in the warmer climate of the Mediterranean rather than in Northern Europe; this was just fine with Anastasia, who would never adjust to her adoptive country or gain the affection of the people there. The couple established Villa Wenden in the South of France, and she would live in that area of the world most of her life. Frederick's homosexuality was known throughout Europe, but the couple seemed to have gotten along well. Anastasia spent lavishly at the casinos, and Frederick Francis was glad to provide her with the funds. When the Grand Duke died, she said: "On this day, I have lost my best friend."

They had three children, and all married very well:

Duchess Alexandrine of Mecklenburg-Schwerin (1879 –1952); married King Christian X of Denmark. They had two sons.

Frederick Francis IV, Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin (1882 –1945), married Princess Alexandra of Hanover and Cumberland. They had five children.

Duchess Cecilie of Mecklenburg-Schwerin (1886 –1954.) She married Wilhelm, the German Crown Prince. They had six children.

Up to the death of her husband, Anastasia's life had transcurred without scandal. However, a few years later, she began an affair with Vladimir Alexandrovitch Paltov, her secretary. She soon became pregnant by him and attempted to hide that fact by claiming she was suffering from a tumor. She claimed to have chickenpox when she delivered the child. Her son, Alexis Louis de Wenden, was born in Nice in 1902. She was able to bring him up herself and wrote to him daily when he was away at school. After the scandal became public, she was advised never to live near her daughter, now the Crown Princess of Germany (she was given special permission to visit her daughter for the birth of her first grandson.)

After her father had a stroke, he went to live with Stasi in Villa Wenden. As the senior member of the Romanov clan, "Uncle Misha" received many visitors, including the Tsar. At least one of her brothers was in residence at Villa Wenden at any given time. When her father died in 1909, Anastasia inherited an enormous fortune. She continued to live as she wished, gambling heavily, going to the theater, and dancing.

World War I split the family apart. Her son was the reigning Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, her daughter was the German Emperor's daughter-in-law, she was a Russian Grand Duchess, and her Russian family was fighting on the opposite side. She settled in neutral Switzerland. The war cost her son and daughter their (prospective) crowns. After the war, she returned to Nice. There she founded a charity to help Russian exiles. Vladimir Paltov was the charity's president, perhaps indicating that the relationship continued. She lived in Villa Fantasia in Eze, which is near Cannes.

Anastasia died suddenly after suffering a stroke in 1922. She rests in Ludwigslust next to her husband. All of her children have living descendants today, including her illegitimate son. She certainly lived as she wished. Which is something that the other Anastasia would have probably done should she have been given the chance.

[george228732]

Short fic incoming

Something in the fire

"...Should I even do this on my own...?" He said. "I feel like the world is weighing down on me - the air feels thick like the one of a burning house, the ground feels like it's trying to swallow me whole, and my own tears burn on my skin."

He pondered as he looked at the golden crown they were holding with their feathery hands.

"...Did I give up my humanity and life for a lie, then? That's what I have to get out of this? My suffering was meaningless back home then? It all feels so sudden. From their perspective, millennia have transcurred ever since their downfall at my hands, but for me, it only felt like at the very least a month... My life is only beginning, yet I feel it has already ended. Their suffering is mine too, and all of what I did seemingly didn't do anything to make them happy. I only made myself happy, and even then, it felt so ephemeral. This crown I have in my hands really helped me find that ecstasy from destroying the Ancients, so... I think it's only fair that I return the favor by using this power to make a world rivaling a Paradise..."

The Crown's odd power felt like it was calling out to him, to use it for not only their sake, but for everyone else's. The universe outside the world is a mess. Darkness consuming innocent people, hopelessness all around and safe spaces that can only last for so long.

"Mankind is deceitful, that's disgusting, yet I partake in the same. Maybe the act of receiving could be beneficial for everyone, the truth of the universe is hard to admit, so would it really hurt to live in a beautiful lie? Would they even care? Would it even be a lie if it's real in my eyes?" He thought to himself. "The Lord wouldn't forgive me for doing such things, but is it really that bad when I do it out of love? Love for my siblings, my heroes and the people I swore to protect with my life. We can all play dollhouse forever in a life that would hardly have any complications if the impurity of the universe just... Never gets here. Love makes us do things we wouldn't do in any other situation otherwise, so my act of love, burning with the desire of a happy ending will shape this world."

With that, Fylass placed the crown on his head, faintly hearing as if something was murmuring something to him, it felt so calm yet troublesome, and a prelude for things to come.

His eyes suddenly stopped projecting images, and his feet felt like they were walking through a layer of dark, murky water resembling tar - the place was so dark that the only lights that could be seen were from the eyes that looked at him with curiosity.

"..." Fylass felt as if he was slowly catching on fire, yet his expression was still... Motionless, nonchalant about the situation. He lived through this before, and he can't afford to be scared now, can he?

All of a sudden, he felt like he was tangled through poisonous vines, and sure enough, dark vines and thorns were surrounding his feet, trying to pull him under the water, something that he willingly let happen. His chest was now covered in dark waters and his head followed, leaving nothing behind past the eyes, which were still pointing towards the spot the basilisk once stood.

Afterwards, he opened his eyes. He looked... Different.

"...I rise from the fires of hell like a phoenix and the world that I love will turn into heaven."

[lyramundana]

THREE IS (NOT) A CROWD, (VIVIAN'S POV)

Vivian and Jisung met for the first time through a League of Legends chat, when they were still young teenagers freshly into puberty. Not really the best place to form friendships but somehow that's what pushed them together. After spending most matches just chatting instead of actually playing, they exchanged contacts. And four years later, they're best friends.

Except there's one small problem. Well, a few, actually: She has fallen in love with Jisung...and he has a boyfriend, Minho, whom she hates with passion. Funny enough, this hatred isn't derivated from jealousy.

To make up for the huge distance between them, they decided to simply keep the other updated about every single detail that happened in their lives, and unfortunately, that included relationships. She was the first to know they were dating, just like she was the first person Jisung told about Minho. She had been an unwanted witness to every major aspect that transcurred in their relationship, from the beginning when they were just fooling around to the present time. She had listened to Jisung's rants about it, heard everything there is to know about that Minho guy, and she has come to the conclussion that he's one toxic asshole. Insanely possessive, even worse in jealousy, controlling, manipulative, an ego bigger than his brain. Any trait that makes your mind instantly turn on the "Red Flag" signal, he has it. And to know this kind of man has his claws wrapped around her beautiful Jisung's heart makes her blood boil.

When Jisung brings the man with him on one of his annual trips to visit her, she found out the distaste was a returned feeling. She did her best to act polite and make Jisung happy, but eventually admitted to the Minho guy all she thought of him when the other boy couldn't hear. However, things between them worsened when he found her in a drunken state and she poured out all her feelings, including her hopeless crush on Jisung. In her defense, she didn't recognize him in that state. Now the tension is only bigger because they both know and despise each other more because of this. On top of all, it feels like he's purposedly keeping Jisung away from her now, and living in another fucking continent, she can't exactly intervene.

Until she comes across a schoolarship offer to Seoul for a whole year and a giant bulb lights up inside her head. She grins as she fills up the formulary. If Lee Minho thinks he can use the long-distance card to keep Jisung away from her, he's awfully wrong. Since they can't come visit her, then she'll just have to be the one to take the trip instead, right?

And so she moves in to Seoul with two main goals: Graduate with good grades and protect Jisung from his toxic ass partner. Nothing could go wrong.

@channieandhisgoonsquad

@sweetracha-replies

@2chopsticks2eyes

@moonlightndaydreams

[liriostigre]

SO. I read chapter 35 of the tunnerl because you got me curious about the promising misery that would follow, and I think that I really have to read the whole book to truly understand it - HOWEVER, the wall of glass allegory got me a bit fucked up, if I may say so. You never miss with lietarture !

you know what, i don't don't think it's sad, so idk about that misery hehe maybe you'll feel it, maybe not. the novel is more disturbing than sad. what fascinated me was the style and vision of the author. it's a story about obsession, paranoia and loneliness, narrated by a very unstable individual. so, you know, an unreliable narrator type of situation, and it's a very detailed exposition of his madness.

and yea, that particular chapter in which he explains how he sees his existence is extraordinary, in my opinion. the tunnel is how the character feels his life has transcurred; isolated and lonely, helpless and in darkness.

thanks for that 😬 this one's a Latin American classic, published in 1948, and it's Ernesto Sábato's very first novel. I haven't read The Stranger by Camus but I read somewhere that the novels are similar, and that Camus liked The Tunnel a lot and helped to get it translated and published in France 👍🏻