#and also keep her there to train to be the queen shes destined to be instead of going thru a restless stage like she did

[betterthanyalls]

hey betty wetty bo confetti

How’s about Ares x Reader in which she’s the daughter of Odysseus and and and she’s defending Telemachus & Penelope from the suitors and after getting into a fight with Antinous or however u spell his name, she meets Ares somehow?

BTW DONT FEEL PRESSURED OR FEEL THERES A TIME LIMIT - TAKE YOUR TIME 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

Okay love ya 🤩🤗

that nickname concerns me BUT HIIIII so ion know how good this is :sobs: , i made it in the span of like 2-3 hours from a burst of motivation. HERE YOU GO TAKE THIS AS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Masterlist

Warrior's Blood

Ares x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Action

Words: 1.4K

Published: 11-3-2024 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud belch sounded from the palace’s dining hall, followed by boisterous laughter and unorganized yells. The princess of Ithaca glared down the hallway while she stalked past the dining hall to her destination of the training grounds. “Men,” a loud voice called, the speaker standing up on a wooden bench, “we have been waiting for the throne for far too long. Can’t you see we are being played?”

Y/n slowed her pace, taking a peek into the crowded room to see the one suitor she hates the most speaking. Antinous. 

“I say, we take the throne. That boyish prince and his sister only stand in our way to the queen. Once we are rid of them, we shall have full access to the crown." Cheers and yells followed quickly. The onlooking royalty sneered in disgust. Normally, Y/n would only walk away and tell her mother about the new plan, but something inside her felt different—an urge to fight, a need for conflict. 

Taking a step into the light of the hall, Y/n cleared her throat.

“What would my mother think of this? Threatening to kill both of her children and then seizing her by force?" Y/n had to keep from gagging, not only at the idea of their threat but also the horrid stench of the room. 

Antinous turned to the princess with a look of pure murder and flame.

“Well, if it isn’t the weak girl. If you speak even a word of our plan, I will rip you limb from limb so you can meet your father in the underworld,” he stalked towards the younger girl with a vicious grin. “Now that I’ve thought about it, how about we begin that plan now? Starting with you.”

Y/n was wise enough to duck down, blocking an oncoming punch, only to be nailed in the gut with his knee. Falling to the ground with a sharp gasp, she was pulled to her feet by her hair. “Come on, girlie. You had the strength before to challenge me; where is it now? You’re as weak as your father.”

Staggering and getting out of his grasp, she pulled up a loose fighting position. The princess narrowed her eyes at Antinous’ insults while taking steps back to match his steps forward. Y/n tried to find some sort of strategy to take him down, like how Telemachus taught her. Her brother would always say to fight with wisdom, but there was no wisdom anywhere near this fight. Strategy only works if your opponent has strategy too. Antinous was anything but a planned fighter. 

So with her next best option, Y/n grabbed a nearby vase and chucked it at her rival's head. She missed, making Antinous even more angry. With a yell, a foot made contact with her stomach, throwing the princess to the floor and her head hitting a pillar. Pain shot through her entire body as she struggled to regain her breath. 

‘So, I did this easily. Thanks for the amazing lessons, Tele.’ Her mind wandered, forgetting about her approaching opponent as she took a glance at a nearby wall. There, up high, hung a tapestry by her mother. The twelve Olmpyians were displayed with divine glory. Glory that could help Y/n not die, if only they saw her. With nothing left to lose, the princess sent up a silent prayer before deciding to help herself.

With much pain and huffs, Y/n managed to stand on her feet once more with a sway.

Antinous offered a loud laugh, ricocheting off the stone walls.

“You just can’t stay down, can you? Do you not want to see Odysseus in Hades?”

“Don’t you dare speak my father's name,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She leaned onto the pillar with one hand while her other held her hurt stomach. Something other than pain burned inside her—a yearning to see him hurt, to see Antinous suffer. 

A new energy boosted her body; her muscles didn’t feel as sore, and the pain was dissipating. Deciding not to question this, Y/n dodged another punch aimed for her jaw. With fast footing, she grabbed a spear off the wall beside her and countered another punch.

Antinous grabbed the spear to rip it from Y/n’s grasp. Quickly, Y/n pulled the spear closer to her and kicked Antinous in the ribs. Instead of knocking him down, he only stumbled back. 

‘Left’ A voice spoke in her mind. Y/n was about to question the order until she noticed Antinous barreling towards her and instantly followed the demanded direction. 

Dodging a swipe of his sword, the princess swung her spear down at the man's knees, causing him to trip. Looking down to where he fell, a sudden push of rage flowed through her veins.

‘Blood’

She didn’t need to hear the voice again to know exactly what to do. With momentum, Y/n brought the weapons head down into Anitnous’ thigh, earning a scream from the male. She ripped the weapon from his flesh only to bring it down once more with another bloody cry. Her thoughts seemed barren except for a new order from the unknown voice. 

‘Stop’

That order only seemed to boost her adrenaline. Stop? She couldn’t. Not with all this pent-up anger and frustration she felt for Antinous. Y/n needed to make him learn where he stood as a guest in her kingdom. But as she raised her spear once more, the voice barked a command louder and all her pain and exhaustion rushed in.

‘STOP’

In an instant, her spear clattered to the floor as Y/n held her head with a groan. Antinous was being tended to by his fellow suitors, who had opted to stay on the sidelines. With labored breaths, Y/n managed to stumble away from the dining hall and towards the empty training grounds. 

Exhausted, she slumped to the sandy floor and leaned her back against a rack of swords. Her eyes shut against the glaring sun as the royal attempted to regain her breath. To her pleasure, the heat was blocked by a sudden shadow. The young adult cracked open her eyes to see a darkened figure wearing the full armor of a Spartan soldier. A mixture of emotions flooded into her soul as she recognized the nation's armor. Was this news of her father from serving beside the Spartans? But her hope was snuffed out as the familiar voice spoke.

“Stand up.”

She wanted to argue, but something in her felt compelled to follow the instructions. So, shakily, Y/n stood up in front of the warrior. From a new angle, she could see the stranger's identity. All breath escaped her lungs as she recognized the being from similar statues and paintings.

“Ares.”

The god, who towered over her with his divine form, smirked at the recognition.

“Indeed. I’ve seen your skill, princess of Ithaca. You fight well,” the god of war stalked around the girl in a circle, seeing her state after the fight. 

Finally, the two pieces connected in her mind as she turned to face him.

“It was you. The voice. The orders. That was all you.”

“You follow orders well, except for when you’re told to stop. I like that sort of fight.” Ares stood tall, power and bloodlust radiating off him as his armor seemed to brighten a bloody red in the sun’s light.

“Why’d you stop me anyway? You are the god of bloodlust, are you not? I could’ve killed him and solved the whole problem!” Y/n argued, upset at the missed opportunity.

“Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality? You would have been punished harshly by the gods had I let you continue. Not even I can defy those.” He glared down at her with warning. In response, she looked away with a defeated huff.

“Why’d you even help me then?” She grumbled, looking at the nearby swords; a few training weapons had begun to rust from limited use. 

"You have the ambition needed for the battlefield. Why would I let such skill go to waste with no proper mentor?” This caused Y/n to look at him instantly in shock, meeting the gaze of a grinning god beneath his helmet.

“Mentor?” 

“Y/n of Ithaca. You fight to protect. You fight to the last stand. That is a warrior’s blood. Like your father before you, you have the makings of a legend.” Ares held out his hand like he was shaking for a deal. “Become my champion, and I will help you become stronger than any opponent you shall face.” 

Y/n thought it over for less than a few seconds before grabbing the gods hand in her own and shaking them up and down. 

“Deal.”

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently. 

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.   

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink. 

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there. 

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,”  you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.” 

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.” 

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.” 

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.” 

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.” 

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot. 

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table. 

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.” 

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours.  Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was. 

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.” 

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!” 

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.” 

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?” 

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life. 

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place. 

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick. 

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter. 

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view. 

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon. 

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East. 

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls. 

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music? 

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls. 

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left. 

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle. 

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty. 

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him. 

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back. 

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins. 

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans. 

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag. 

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed. 

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer. 

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind. 

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar. 

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet. 

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home. 

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain. 

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there. 

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid. 

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality. 

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains. 

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night. 

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room. 

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall. 

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall. 

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.” 

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?” 

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole. 

“Loud and clear.” 

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it. 

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass. 

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out. 

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men. 

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over  to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals. 

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.  

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull. 

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath. 

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.” 

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room. 

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet. 

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly,  “she’s his favorite.” 

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time. 

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks. 

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were  cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?” 

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?” 

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle. 

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both. 

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.” 

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.” 

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer. 

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.” 

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste. 

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins. 

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs. 

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh. 

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory. 

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place. 

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples. 

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges. 

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day. 

A day when you were both only thirteen. 

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye. 

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided. 

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks. 

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help. 

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer. 

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone. 

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down. 

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you. 

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim. 

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?” 

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed. 

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it. 

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman. 

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray. 

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them. 

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating. 

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. 

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion. 

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins. 

taglist: @mmunson86 @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @tlclick73 @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @chrrymunson @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @mopeymopeymouse @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @littledemondani @eiightysixbaby @usedtobecooler

[d3lly1000]

SILVAZE FAMILY IS HERE!!!!! I've been thinking a lot about the concepts I wanted to explore with them and their lore and I'm finally satisfied with the result! Even though I'm not a big fan of Silvaze, I think the dynamics between them are interesting to work with. And for my AU, they're quite relevant!

Here are some fun facts about them in my Sonic Next Gen AU:

Blaze and Silver, the Empire of the Guardians.

- Silver and Blaze were together at the end of the Great Incident at the End of the World, a bigger problem that arose and began with Villains already known to them and Sonic's gang. - After Blaze became Queen of the Sun Empire, Blaze lost contact with Sonic and his friends. She could no longer return to their dimension, as she now understood the consequences her Trips there had within the Dimensions. - Her routine became more hectic than ever, although she always remained a responsible and organized Cat in her duties as Royalty. - Silver understood that Blaze was an important part of his life after all the past events, and so he made the Sacrifice of staying by her side in her Dimension. Leaving his future origin and his old team in it, who were now also in good hands and safe, in an emotional farewell. - Even though Silver decided to stay with Blaze, he remained responsible for being the Guardian of Time. Having possession of the Time Stones and ensuring that no one interferes in any event, be it past, present or future. - After time passed, as they were now married, ruling their own Empire and being guardians of powerful jewels with Blaze, Silver always wanted to start a family. But it was a distant thought, since pregnancy between different Species was risky for both the mother and the child. Blaze also didn't like the idea of ​​being a mother very much, even though she knew that at some point, she would need someone to inherit her legacy as Queen coming from the same blood. - After some hesitation, Blaze makes the decision. She would also like to start a family with Silver, and is now more open to the idea. She mentions that he made many sacrifices for her and she was willing to do the same for him.

Chance and Cyrus, the Twins coming from the Sun.

- Chance and Cyrus are twins, born during sunset. Their names refer to Good Luck and Enlightenment. - Chance is worthy of inheriting and ruling the Sun Empire in the future, as she is the first to be born. - Although they were very close when they were younger, Cyrus feels that Chance should not inherit the Throne. Since she feels unprepared and often overestimated, this leads to the birth of a greater Envy. - Chance and Cyrus were conceived with their mother's Pyrokinetic powers. But not only these, they also inherited The Eternal Flames. Their mastery of these is equivalent to the total mastery of fire that will never go out, being lethal if it reaches its Peak. Their powers were dormant within them when they were still young, and neither of them knew about it… Until they became young Adults. - Cyrus can also teleport and create weapons through telekinetic powers. Chance has always been very reluctant about his powers over fire, having much more connection to the Flames than his brother. - Chance, despite being destined for the Throne, never felt confident about it. She talks countless times about her insecurity with her father, with the fear of disappointing everyone. Silver has always been one of her great voices to guide and calm her. While her mother, has always been the inspiration to keep doing the right thing and be determined during her journey. - Cyrus has always shown interest in the throne, but while he has not yet achieved it, he has trained to continue as the protector of Time, like his father. Although he was never able to actually go with him during his time away, he learned a lot from Silver about how time can be treacherous and affect countless events… Something he always reminds himself of.

Nova Del Sol, the Youngest Prince.

- Nova is the youngest child and also the most withdrawn of the other two siblings. Born during the night, this last pregnancy was the calmest Blaze has had, which was a positive surprise, knowing the great risks involved in having children of different species. - Unlike his two siblings, Nova never had any great connections with fire, he always had an irrational fear of large Flames. - He was always very interested in the stars and the waters. - Nova has the ability to create a Gravitational Field, despite being a child, he gained great mastery over his powers. As a baby, his abilities acted erratically and almost always as his feelings took over. - Blaze always comforts him by reading books and telling stories during his nightmares, something that happens quite often. - Silver always enjoyed playing with him, creating stories and helping him with his lessons. Although he is always surprised by his own son's reasoning ability. - There are times when Nova says, "I've seen this before," but in reality, he has brief visions of the future. He still hasn't figured out the purpose of this, perhaps it's to predict something worse coming in the future…

Extra Fun Fact: All 3 children end with "Del Sol" since they are children of mixed species. A concept I put into my Next Gen AU: Although they are not necessarily a mix of species, their names do not end with the animal they are. Which indicates that they are considered hybrid children! (The theory of Amy Rose being part Echidna is interesting to me too lol) Finally, I believe that's it! I've been planning to write and draw some scenes about them. Even though I've already shown a bit of Chance's old concept here, I feel like I ended up giving her a new vision, and besides… I ended up adapting what was already going to happen before >:) See here also my SonAmy kid: Skyler The Hedgehog! See here also my Shadow's kid: Aura The Porcupine! Thank you very much for reading, sorry for the English mistakes! <3

[energon-depo]

WOOO HOO CHARACTER ANALYSIS TIME this is about how optimus sees smokescreen n jack :)

(btw this my first analysis) ANYWAYS LET'S GO

just a heads up this is a LONG LONG POST to get ready! also i HAVENT SEEN THE ENDING OF PRIME YET

okay remember when ratchet said "optimus wasn't always before he was a prime -he was more like jack" AND REMEMBER HOW HE GAVE HIM THE MARTIX KEY? yeah optimus's sees a lot of former self in jack. he CLEARLY DOES same with smokescreen! the first time we saw smokescreen we knew he was a strategist, and prime knew that aswell. when smokey told him he was under the guidance of prime's MENTOR? yeah optimus knew both of them were destined for great things. all they did needed was guidance and maturity. because BOTH did something stupid that was motivated by brashness, remember when Jack was beefing with a bully? he was being immature, BUT he apologized! he took fault for his actions! same with smokey, remember when he took jack(best bros) with him to a mission? yeah well he did and he was sorry! he even apologized to acree directly knowing he scared her the most with that stunt! he didn't even blame jack for going with(he could've, and jack would have gladly took the blame)BUT HE DIDNT! these two know when their wrong and will IMMEDIATELY backpedal if they hurt anyone of their family physically or emotionally! AND THIS IS WERE WE COME TO OPTIMUS! prime knows those two have their heart and spark in the right place, heck! smokey is literally destiny's child. prime REALLY REALLY REALLY sees his former self in these two. and he treated them as EQUALS to team prime not a human child, not a rookie soldier.(could also go for how he treats miko and raf aswell, he sees their potential. miko's high comparison for other's and raf's talent in tech) so when prime gave jack the "ground bridge key"(the matrix key thing), he was confident that jack will not only keep it safe but also figure out what to do with it when the time comes. if he'd given it to let's say acree she would've probably denied it, said ratchet is a better fit due to the fact she has knowledge about it's real purpose. the OTHER reason why he gave it to jack is because; he's a kid, a Human kid, he doesn't know it's real properties. his thoughts were "optimus gave me an important job to keep the ground bridge key safe, with me. I can't let him down" It's his first real solo task! heck he even said "shouldn't ratchet have this?" but prime assured him its his task to bare. as for smokescreen? prime was THIS CLOSE to giving him the matrix. when he was in the worst shape possible and losing hope, he's (nearly) dying words was bestowing smokey with the matrix. smokescreen kept refusing he CAN'T be a prime, if he was a prime that mean optimus is dead and he doesn't want optimus to die, he's his leader, his idol, his hero. he already went out of order with coming back, and he brought optimus the forge of solang(i think? i forgot it's name it the yellow hammer) he's train of thought was "get the hammer from the cons, give to prime, prime fixes himself and its all good!"when optimus told him "the hammer must be used to fix the omega locks -the life of one is not important as the lives of many"[paraphrasing]. smokescreen stuck with his gut, his original train of thought and his compassion for his (found)family. he went out of order again putting the hammer in prime's hand REFUSING that this is the end for Optimus prime. he was rewarded with ya know prime coming back and not dying and practically saving earth basically average day for the goat smokey. i would like to also mention when smokescreen was getting chewed out by acree, prime was trying to get her to stop(no hate towards the based queen acree btw she's awesome) and when smokey stormed off he let him leave, knowing he had some reflecting he needed to do. ALSO when jack backed down from team prime, he understood that, he was upset of course he gotten attached to those humans, but he respected his opinion and didn't force him at all.

Moral of the story prime is best dad, jack and smokey are bros4life and prime team is best family(cheers)

[riseofgrace]

Lupa meeting Jason for the first time, Seeing this small human pup and being reminded of her own human children, Romulus and Remus.

The child trembles, not from fear but from the cold. The image of two babies shivering from the assaulting winds of the wild, clinging on each other, comes flashing through her mind. They. He needs shelter.

The she-wolf is suddenly flooded with necessity of keeping this pup.

She trains him the hardest. She knows he is destined for something enormous, she can feel it. Just like with her other two. But Jason is young, too young. He needs more time under the fire to be molded into a proper child of Rome, someone worthy to call themselves the son of the Kings of the gods.

In the night, she allows him to lay by her side. She tells him stories, about the greatest heroes of Rome, about her children, how her Romulus founded Rome and became its first King, and how her Remus died by his brother’s hand. She doesn’t know if Jason truly understands the weight of the words as she talks about the demise of her child, but the toddler looks at her with a contemplative expression on his round rosy face and after a moment he wraps his small arms around her neck. The act takes the wolf by surprise and when she gains her composure, she bitterly orders him to go to sleep.

Despite the harshness in her tone, she lets him embrace her as he sleeps, covering him with her warm fur and nuzzling his hair.

Other demigods pups come and go but Jason stays. Until Juno comes for her champion.

To put it in mortal terms, it can be said that what came after the arrival of the Queen, is the godly equivalent of a custody battle.

Jason needs to learn how to be the leader of men, Lupa knows this. She also knows that there’s so much that Jason can learn at her side.

But in the end, he is Juno’s. Nothing can’t beat the title of Juno’s champion.

The Queen is eyeing them thoughtfully with an aura of superiority and the she-wolf stand solemn, but the child starts nuzzling her side and she can’t help but reciprocate the affection.

Juno comes and gently picks up Jason and strokes his hair.

As they take their leave from the Wolf House, Lupa watches as the child rest his head on the Queen’s shoulder.

She can’t help to remember the moment when that mortal shepherd took her two children away.

Jason waves goodbye to her as he is taken away. Lupa can’t look back anymore.

[bluelikebruises]

cry of the dragon || aemond targaryen

Aemond Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: after aegon is crowned aemond helps you escape the red keep to ensure your safety in the coming war wc: 2.7k tw: implied incest, reader is aemond's half sister, angst

a/n: finals are killing me but anyways this was inspired by a drabble I wrote a while ago and by the s2 trailer omggg. I might iron this out and write a full fic, not entirely sure right now lol. also not proofread bc finals, okay enjoy :)

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

“You fool!” shouted his grandfather, raising his hand to strike him. But Aemond caught his arm as it neared his face. “She was our bargaining chip, with her at our side the rest of the Houses would bend the knee” 

Aemond stares boredly at his Grandfather, “What does that matter now? Aegon is King”, he tossed his grandfather's arm. 

“Having a true Targaryen would have strengthened Aegon's claim” Alicent says, her eyes swollen as if to cry but no tears came out. 

Aemond knew what his mother meant by the word true. Having a daughter from King Viserys first marriage declare her support for Aegon would sway not only the small folk but many Houses as well. 

“She never would have supported Aegon”, Aemond said sitting.

His grandfather in a huff and puff crosses the room departing in anger, the wooden doors slam behind him. Once her father is out of the room Alicent sits next to Aemond but does not speak. 

“I should put you to the blade for this” Aegon speaks, “For letting the prisoner escape” 

Aemond shot up approaching his brother with deadly intentions, “Prisoner? She is my sister”

Aegon snickers, “Your sister is a traitor and so it seems are you” his eyes never left Aemond both staring at the other waiting for the other to act. Aemond’s hand hovered just above the hilt of his sword, tempted to pull it out. 

“Enough” Alicent said, “No one is a traitor, your sister was kidnapped. Taken by force against her will. A plot we discovered your uncle was behind. That is what we will tell the people. We will discredit Rhaenyra and Daemon before they can retaliate”

Aemond backed away from his brother, slowly stalking backwards towards where his mother sat. Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes as he left the room.

“What did she tell you?” she reached for his hands, “What were the last words she uttered?’ she asked desperately. He looked at his mother, removing his hands from hers. He stared at the seat across from him for a moment, it was quiet he had almost forgotten his mother sat besides him.

“Aemond,” she pleads. He ignored her reaching for the cup of wine on the table in front of him.

He looked at his hold on the cup before responding, “To protect Helaena” he brought the cup to his lips. 

He sat wondering where exactly you were at that very moment. Were you still flying over Blackwater Bay? Or had you reached your destination? He had not asked you where you would go, he knew. A part of him hoped you had flown somewhere far away from King’s Landing and Dragonstone. But he knew better than that, he prided himself on knowing his favorite sister. His older sister who took him on his first dragon ride, who stayed by his side the night he lost his eye, who would storm into his room and tell him all about her travels. He laughed as he remembered her fierceness.

Alicent's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she watched her son laugh, “What could you find amusing at a time like this?” The dowager Queen did not expect an answer from her son, accustomed to his rash emotions and actions. But Aemond ignored her stern voice and simply stated your name. 

“When she shot your loyal watchdog right between his armor, piercing his shoulder”

Alicent half smiled, sadness filled her heart at the loss of her husband and now her daughter.

“He had made training unbearable that day, and she had seen all of it. She let her arrow fly upon hearing Aegon’s laugh, and when it hit Criston, his face became so serious. She stalked up to him, pulled the arrow and said, ‘You are to train both princes’ not favor one and ridicule the other’. After, when we were called to the small counsel fathers eyes beamed when he heard what she had done” 

Aemond pauses sipping on the wine, “Never had I seen pride encompass his face, he never looked at any of us like that. Not even the realms delight. She was his favorite—I understood why. She was my favorite too” 

In his silence Alicent tried reaching towards him, Aemond simply stood and exited the room. Left alone Alicent no longer could stop the tears that had built in her eyes, she wept silently. 

—

Unbeknownst to the Hightowers you flew above the back of your dragon over the Blackwater Bay. You had not known how long you had been flying for or if you were heading in the right direction. Tears were clouding your vision over what had transpired only some days ago.

You had been locked in your chambers for the past two days. Your only visitor had been your mother, though Alicent had not bore you she had raised you. You had been only a babe when your mother had died giving birth to Baelon. When the Queen had entered your chambers she had informed you of the death of your father. 

Through sobs she holds you, once your tears have dried she tells you for your safety you had to be kept in your room. Confused, you ask why but she does not respond, instead she hastily leaves your chambers. You chase after her but the doors slam in front of your face, fist meet the wooden doors, you’re shouting but to no avail. 

By the second day the Queen returns with your grandfather at her side informing you of Aegon’s coronation. You’re appalled, shaking your head in disbelief. Instantly you understand why you were kept in your room. They knew you would not have bent the knee. You would not have let them follow through with their seize. Despite how you felt about Alicent or Otto, you knew this had been planned long before your fathers death. The disdain Otto held for your sister and her family was no secret. 

Hours passed unbearably slow after the Queen leaves, you’re pacing your chambers trying to figure out what would come next. 

It had been the dead of night when Aemond came to your chambers rushing you out. He didn’t allow you any time to pack a satchel, simply and quickly stating you had to make haste. Buttoning your coat, Aemond wrapped a cloak around you. 

You knew the repercussions that would occur, the danger that he was putting himself in front of. Both Aegon and your grandfather would take his actions as treachery. Going against the family was the most unforgivable treason. 

And though you did not want to believe it you knew he had aided in crowning Aegon. Of course he would, Aemon was loyal to a fault to his mother, her word was law. Even when her words were Otto’s.

“You helped Aegon be crowned, so why are you doing this?” you asked. 

Aemond did not respond as he led you through the quiet halls of the Red Keep. He held your arm bringing you close whenever you passed a servant or guard. 

The air outside the palace hit your nose, the city smelled of ash and iron. All was quiet except for the drunks that stumbled throughout the streets. The silence of the city provided a great opportunity to think. But the only word that was alive in your mind was, ‘why’. Why would your brother risk his life helping you return to Dragonstone, to your sister? You were now by all accounts considered the enemy, for you would never bend the knee to Aegon.

Frustration with a lack of answers caused you to stop in your tracks, “Aemond, why are you helping me?” 

He turned to you, the moonlight illuminated the blue in his eye, it practically glowed. He paid no attention to your words simply grabbing your arm pulling you forward 

“We have to keep moving,” he said

You moved away from his grasp, “Why are you risking your life? This will only end in more disputes, more conflicts” 

“I will welcome disputes and conflicts for the rest of my life as long as you are safe”. His words rang in your head, as long as you are safe, he was doing this to protect you.  From what? From who? You had not felt your life threatened when you spoke to your mother or grandfather, but family means little to a power hungry man. 

“Aegon has been crowned and I know you will not submit to his rule. They’ll grow frustrated and I know not for how long I will be able to protect you”. Aemond knew there was nothing he would not do for you. He also knew that he would kill anyone who hurt you and that included his own brother Aegon.

You did not argue when Aemond pulled you forward a second time, your feet simply followed. Your heart sped up with questions of whether Aegon, your brother, was capable of ordering your death. Was your grandfather? Of course he would, you were not of his blood. A sorrow filled your chest, Otto was still by all means your grandfather, the man who told you all about the flowers in Old Town. Who brought you a single wilted flower when he returned to the palace. Yet now he posed a threat to you. 

Aemond stopped walking, you stopped with him. You turned to look back, the palace stood enwrapped in shadows; it was so far and yet so close. From the distance you knew where you stood the Dragonpit in front of you. You walked towards it half expecting Aemond to follow but he did not. 

You know the answer but still you ask, “You are not coming with me?” 

He laughed, “Our older sister and her husband do not take kindly to me” 

“I will change their minds,” you said, stepping forward towards him. There was pause from both of you as you moved. “Come with me” 

“They would never accept me—“ 

Without thinking you blurt out, “To the seven hells with Dragonstone, with Kings Landing. Come with me”, you reached for his hands holding them. “We could go anywhere, anywhere you want”

Aemond did not say a word, he simply studied your face. 

It was an offer you’re not sure you would be able to see through, but you would try anything to keep Aemond safe. You simply wanted him away from the bloodshed that was to come. The war that loomed over once your sister was informed of your fathers death and the usurpation. 

“We could see the world, chart new lands that have yet been seen. This is not our war, we do not have to die in it”. 

The truth was it was your war, a war that had been started the moment your mother had died in childbirth, a war that was set into motion the day your father married Alicent Hightower. And no one from either side would come out unscathed. 

His eye found the floor, he thought your words over as he examined the dirt and rocks. You could see he was thinking about your proposition. You squeezed his hands in a silent plea. 

“All you have to do is say the word and I will not go to Dragonstone” you smiled half heartedly already knowing his answer.

When his eye returns to yours he finally speaks, “You live in a fantasy land sister”, pulling his hands from yours. His voice was low and deathly serious, taking you by surprise. Aemond’s voice never dropped when he spoke to you, the words that would come next would be venomous. “You would mark us both as traitors and what of Helaena? Her children?”

“They would come with us” there was an urgency in your voice. Your hand raises to his face, placing your palms against his cheeks.You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince, him or yourself. There was no getting out of your situation, despite your best efforts to convince Aemond. Yet you tried, “I know of your love of Helaena, it is the same love your harbor for me. I would never leave her”. 

Aemond’s feelings towards you had never been a secret, especially from you. His adoration and fondness were clear as a spring day. Always casting away the rogue Lord who would try to win your favor. Placing gentle good night kisses against your cheeks. Afternoons spent reading shoulder to shoulder, and when you would look up his lips were a breath away. You would be lying if you said they weren’t reciprocated but it had never occurred to you to act upon them. There were always other things that preoccupied your mind than a love affair with Aemond. 

You're brought back to reality when you feel Aemond lean into your touch. But as quickly as he leaned towards it he removed your hands. 

“You know nothing, you would rid ourselves of our family? Of our honor? Of our duty?”

The sadness and urgency in your voice was replaced with growing anger. All you were trying to do was ensure his safety and yet he was insulting you. 

“Duty?” you laugh, “You think I do not know of duty?” you stepped back. Unsure who the brother that stood before you was. 

“I do not expect you to understand. You have never committed yourself to anything but your freedom. But not all get that luxury” he spat. His words pained you, filling your heart woe, you had always thought Aemond of all people understood your sense of travel. You had often though he even admired you for never staying in place. 

“I just want something good for you Aemond, for you to know happiness and peace . . . I see the way mother relies on you, you her confidant, you her son. How you clean Aegon’s messes, how you protect Helaena. None of that is your duty”. A lump formed at your throat and you fought to swallow it. You had always managed to hold yourself together, no emotion but joy ever shown on your face. No one but Rhaenyra had ever seen the extent of your emotions.

“Family is my duty!” he shouted. You don’t flinch, your eyes lowered filling with sadness and anger.

“Do you care so little of the people you love? How selfish can you be?” Aemond did not stop his verbal attack until he brought down the final blow, “Grandfather was right . . . all you care about is your own amusement, your own pleasure. You have no regard for others.”

His final blow broke the dam of tears you had been holding back. Though you did not cry out or sob, tears slid down your face. Aemond who you had loved ever since he was born was cutting into your skin with every word he spoke. He thought you selfish and uncaring, holding no love or loyalty for your family. 

Perhaps it was because you never dove into the politics of the Hightowers and the Targaryens. You never wanted to be caught in the web of hate and distrust. Yet you stood across Aemond both on opposite sides of the war. A war you had not chosen to participate in but were born into and now it was time to choose your allegiance. In doing so you would ensure the loss of your brother, your youngest sister and your mother. Half of your family would be lost, half of your heart would be gone.

You could continue to beg—to convince Aemond to go with you, or you could stay. Tell him you would return to the palace and forget the night happened. But that would mean bending the knee to Aegon and condemning Rhaenyra, and you would rather die than toss your beloved older sister aside. 

Words flooded your head, you wanted to form a sentence but no words came out. 

“Go before I change my mind and alert the Kingsguard” 

You step away from him, swallowing the lump in your throat. You form a coherent sentence, “Keep Helaena safe” before disappearing in the Dragonpit. 

As he watched you go Aemond did not believe a word he said. There was no truth in his words. The only thing he believed was that if you kept talking about leaving together he would have. And he could not have that. Breaking your heart was the easiest way to get you to leave, to get you to safety. 

[that1emowitch]

I NEED IDEAS FOR A JUSTICE LEAGUE HIGH SCHOOL AU!!!

Okay just imagine Bruce, Clark, Diana, Ollie, Hal, Barry, Dinah, Shiera, Carter, the Johns, Ray, Kyle, Guy—ALL OF THEM in the same high school, each of them just starting off as a hero. Except. The others don't know.

I'd imagine Bruce as the one guy everyone thinks is an emo kid (in canon he only became *Brucie* after coming back from Batman training). He doesn't talk to anyone except for these two smart kids Harvey Dent and Harleen Qunizel. But this one popular cheerleader (who's secretly a kleptomaniac), Selina, keeps trying to ask him out. Bruce, on the other hand? He's obsessed with becoming Batman, spends his time trying to find the location of LoA so he can convince them to train him.

Clark. Beloved boy, plays basketball, lacrosse, soccer, football, is on the student committee, helps out his Ma and Pa. And in his free time, he stares at Bruce Wayne. His best friend, Diana, calls him out on it many times, a teasing smile on her face. And Clark absolutely *hates* that bald rich boy who acts like he's better than everyone—Lex.

Diana, she's recently been sent to Man's World to learn their traditions, expand her horizons and shit. Kinda like Diana from dc super hero girls. She plays all the sports Clark does, the main reason they ended up as friends. There's this one popular girl—Selina's friend—who ticks her off, for some reason she can't figure out. Barbara Minerva. But Diana's friends, Shiera and Dinah, stop her from acting on it. The three have confided in each other—they know Diana is an Amazon, know Shiera and Carter are Hawkman—but Dinah doesn't know she has powers, yet. She only knows that powers run in her family.

Dinah, meanwhile, is on-and-off dating the playboy rich kid, Oliver fucking Queen. He's... stereotypical, at times. He buys her roses and shows up to every one of her choir concerts, buys her Starbucks every morning... then on weekends, he brings her to his private shooting range, shows her his "mad archery skills". At this point, Ollie is debating whether or not to become Green Arrow. Dinah, she's currently a singer. She's in the choir, she's going to do a solo at her school's talent show. Little do they know, *that's* when her powers will show up. While she's screaming into a fucking mic.

Barry Allen. Has a crush on this girl, Iris. Like, he's down BAD. Iris and her friend Lois Lane, they both run the school paper, so Barry decides to do something they'll want to cover. He starts working on something he hopes will get their attention, but it blows up, Barry is hospitalized... and wakes up with powers.

John Stewart and Guy Gardener are upperclassmen, both seniors, so close to graduating when they find out a freshman (Kyle) and sophomore (Hal) have been given the rings. Of course, they don't have a choice but to mentor them, and, yk, make sure they don't die. John tries his best to be a good mentor, pointing out mistakes and making time for Hal and Kyle, while Guy is a little shit as always. Oh yeah, Guy and John r both also studying for their SATs while being green lanterns.

Carter and Shiera? Power couple. Been together since freshman year, will always *be* together. Plus, being Hawkman and Hawkgirl is prime bonding time. They're literally destined to always be together.

John Jones. Everyone always thinks there's something... *different* about him. When John notices that *Clark* isn't like these humans either, he approaches him, helps him realize he's Kryptonian. The two randomly becoming friends makes Bruce suspicious... and that's how Batman figures out that they're not humans. (Side note, when Bruce starts asking Clark tons of questions out of no where, instead of being suspicious, he reads it as a love language)

(...is it too obvious that I'm a SuperBat shipper)

ANYWAY yeah that's all I have for now. Just vague ideas of dynamics and stuff, with no actual storyline... but if you guys have any more ideas or things you'd like to see, PLEASE let me know! I rlly rlly rlly wanna read this and write this fic but I don't know what to writeee 😭

[bonefall]

Are you going to keep Goosefeather's curse? If so are you going to change anything about it? From my memory the book was... depressing.

It will probably get rolled into Pinestar's Crusade, building it up into an SE rather than just a novella. There's actually a lot going on in that specific moment, and it makes sense to go over it all at once.

So to answer your question, yes, most of Goosefeather's Curse is staying. Most of the Crusade Generation have depressing stories to tell. If the Thistle Period is defined by the fact that Thistle Law metastasized and went terminal, and if the Campaign Era was when it was newly born, then the Crusade Era was when it was first conceived.

I've been thinking about Pinestar's Crusade idly and mentioned it a few times, but here's my fragments so far;

PINESTAR'S CRUSADE (Fuses Pinestar's Choice and Goosefeather's Curse)

We start in the Crusade Era; there is now more focus on 3 major characters, though it's still built around Pinestar as the POV

Pinestar, Goosefeather, and eventually Pinepaw's apprentice Speckletail.

Pinepaw is born into the start of the Crusades, a bloody period where the Clans are invading Chelford and brutalizing cats in the hopes of appeasing StarClan. He only begins to learn the full story of what happened in Darkstar's Commandment once he begins going to Gatherings as a warrior

The truth being that Oakstar came up with this idea because he couldn't take an L

But even as an apprentice, it becomes quickly apparent to him that what they're doing is evil. They were brutalizing kittypets who aren't trained to fight back.

During his first raid as an apprentice, he allows a ginger-and-white mother and her kittens to escape

This came back years later, when that queen, Crystal, forms BloodClan in response to the Crusades.

Pineheart watches Oakstar die barely a year later to the queen he saved, using early claw extenders to cut right through him. Even if he hadn't been on his last life, it would have ended him.

But, Crystal lets Pineheart go, recognizing the Clan cat who had saved her life.

Watching his dad die along with several friends, and countless more innocent Chelford, plus being released by Crystal, is a Formative Moment.

Doestar continues the Crusades in the name of revenge for Oakstar, but now that BloodClan exists and is ARMED, the easy raids become bloodbaths.

They slowly peter out, not with a bang but with a whimper. She never announces an official end, eventually she just stops organizing them. No one gets closure, especially not Pineheart.

But the 'peace' doesn't last. Just before Heatherstar takes power from Smallstar and begins the Campaign to take the Mothermouth Moorland, ThunderClan deals with the Great Hunger

Pineheart and Goosefeather become very good friends, part of a little buddy group that also included Tawnyspots and Pheasantfeather (who will become One-eye later)

Pineheart was given his first apprentice, a rowdy little one and the niece of Doestar, Specklepaw. He's tasked with helping her fill the pawsteps of greatness she's destined to walk in.

Just like canon, Goose predicts the Great Hunger... though, he is an adult this time around because of some timeline changes.

And, like canon, it fails. They couldn't stockpile enough food to last an entire year of famine, a scorching summer and a frozen winter, they end up losing a huge stock of their food as if it was destiny.

Goosefeather was forced into a role he hates, given horrible visions of the future, and argues ferociously with Pineheart; if they hadn't tried to stockpile, they wouldn't have lost all that food to begin with.

It is in this moment, he comes to realize that every time he's fought back and used his visions like a warning, it's backfired.

So, perhaps, they are instruction.

But, meanwhile, Pineheart can't loose his apprentice or his friends. While others were hunting desperately, he was keeping cats alive through scouting for grubs, foraying into other territories, and...

Every bite of kittypet food he took for himself was a morsel in someone else's mouth. But this... this he kept quiet.

It started a "bad habit" he could never break.

Having lost the previous deputy to starvation and on her deathbed, Doestar nominates Pineheart to the position. He was shocked and upset by this, but he was the obvious choice.

Son of Oakstar, Hero of the Hunger, the cat who had kept Specklepaw alive when all the other kits and apprentices starved.

But, Pinestar took the helm to extreme controversy.

Everything Pinestar's ever done that worked was nonviolent. He's never seen battle do anything but bring harm, and the thought of leading people into war... it makes him feel sick.

But the rest of the Clan can't see what he sees. They yearn for the glory days (even though they were not glorious at all), itch to die for a cause, and leave this old, disgusting subsistence survival behind them. ThunderClan wants blood and Pinestar just wants peace.

Taking back Sunningrocks is an example of this. To avoid losing Clanmates, he proposed to Hailstar that they would have a Joust, instead.

ThunderClan's strongest against RiverClan's strongest. Adderfang vs Mudfur.

It didn't go well.

The problem with those sorts of situations is you have to abide by the deal. RiverClan took Sunningrocks for 6 months. It was humiliating for ThunderClan.

Even the cats he'd saved from the famine were furious with him

The only things that DID seem to please the Clan was when he would throw them fully into battle. Such as Goosefeather's prophecy that WindClan's herbs needed to be destroyed...

Every time a situation like that happened, where Goosefeather would phrase things as a Holy Struggle, Pinestar was thrown right back to the Crusades

Terrified eyes, screeching, cats begging for mercy, his father dead at his paws and feeling horror and relief swirling

Sitting vigil for old friends killed in these horrible fights, like Moonflower, it made him feel like how he felt the day he buried Oakstar.

And the bile rose in his throat, remembering that Oakstar was not there at his Leadership Ceremony, damned to the Dark Forest.

A thought was born, here. What does StarClan truly want? What do they expect of him? If they will send the architect of the Crusades there...

What of a cat who stayed fed on human food and fed grubs to his Clanmates? Or a leader who never knows the right thing to do?

When Mumblefoot retired and Sunfall became deputy, the Clan seemed to love him more than Pinestar. He found himself just... sitting back, and allowing Sunfall to call the shots.

It was towards the end, when Leopardfoot proposed an Honor Siring. He was from a glorious legacy, she wanted kits... and on his end, he wanted the peace that raising kittens could bring.

The warmth of human dens was calling him, but perhaps the warmth of love for children could keep him home.

UNLIKE CANON; Nothing about Tigerkit was born evil.

There was no StarClan vision of Tigerstar; Goosefeather knew full well that Thistlestar was the Leader of Prophecy.

But Pinestar would never give Thistleclaw an apprentice in time. Nor would he ever give his own little son to a cat as vicious as him.

Goosefeather never hurt anyone... but Pinestar just needed a push.

Pinestar was already anxious, unhappy, clinging to the goodness that was his little kits. Even as two of them were lost to minor illnesses, shortly after receiving their names.

It wasn't a lie. It was just half of the truth.

"Pinestar... you have a choice to make. StarClan has given me a vision of blood and war, and Tigerkit will have a role to play in it."

He DID have a vision... of Thistlestar. Not Tigerkit. But that was enough for Pinestar, his fear and trauma took the helm from there.

He'd seen his friends, his apprentice, the kits who had been born and died in his rule, all of them turn into the monsters Clan Culture demanded

Nothing he did ever seemed to work, why would THIS moment be different?

How could he prevent Tigerkit from becoming like that too?! Was StarClan telling him to KILL his son??

Pinestar's never had a vision from StarClan. He doesn't have the aptitude like a Cleric... what he has is a nightmare, of Tigerkit growing so large he crushes the whole camp under his claws

After a week of agony, Pinestar unknowingly creates a prophecy of his own,

"Can only the death of a child break fate?"

Sensing he was close to victory, Goosefeather dipped his head, not denying his question.

And it's the last straw.

And that is the climax of Pinestar's Crusade. Broken from his experiences, every turn taken for peace causing him more pain, the idea that he might have to hurt his own son plaguing his mind, he makes the choice to leave.

It wasn't hard, he'd still had that old bad habit of taking bites of kittypet food, a couple friends on the other side. But what he doesn't know is that by leaving with his life... he prevents Sunstar from acquiring his own.

Sunstar had ONE single life, StarClan was not able to give him more with the previous leader still alive. For leaving his Clan, for unknowingly preventing the transfer of power, and for dismissing the Warrior Code, Pinestar is sent to the Dark Forest after his death.

He can choose to walk there, or spend time in the mortal plane as just a spirit, but StarClan offers him no place in the cosmos.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

A Copolla's Dracula fix it where Mina is the reincarnation of Dracula's past wife but she is still pretty much our train bissexual queen and a past life married to a despote is not going to make her forgive him for killing her best friend and traumatizing her fiance. She might have loved him once. But she doesn't anymore. No, now she loves Jonathan and loved Lucy and she loves her new friends (the Crew of Light) and is just a good person not keen on Dracula killing and terrorizing inocent people.

Jonathan chooses her through and through, Jonathan who would abandon his god and became what he hates and fears the most for her. That writes down the train schedules of places she never went because he knows she loves trains. That smilles when someone compliments her and keeps fishing for it because he just loves to hear about how his wife is amazing. And she chooses Jonathan. Could never not to.

And even if she never had met him she would still not have chosen Dracula again. What she and Vlad had ended long ago. Dracula like the asshole he is does not get the memo and thinks Mina is meant to be his, that they are destined to be together and all that. (alternativaly that but also Crew of Light Polycule)

[warninq496]

Here’s a part 2 on my ideas for Wish if I rewrote it!

So I realized I didn’t explain why Magnifico was experimenting between wishes and memories and here is why. Wishes are an “if” thing that Magnifico tries to use as an “always” thing but it doesn’t have as much power as he would like to take. But memories were always an “always” thing, therefore having more power for him to take. The only memories he took from was a young Asha. This is because she was right there and easy “to work with” since she was his daughter. But when he tries to only extract the memory from the night, it backfires causing him to almost take most of the memories from her childhood. Including the memory of Cyrus and the seven friends. And this does affect Asha and show the repercussions of destroying someone’s wish or memory. When Asha was younger she used to be competitive and always ready for a challenge, making her witty but at moments having those little spots were she was sweet and most of all, kind. But when Magnifico’s extraction spell backfired, it caused a complete shift in Asha’s personality, making her lose all memory of who she was in those memories taken away. Which is why she is emotionless, strict, monotone, and at times lash out at people at the beginning of my version. Her whole life, she only remembers training to be the queen she was destined to be. But in the beginning of the movie before Asha’s “saying of wish ceremony” when her parents tell her she can’t become queen on her birthday it makes her start to think and ask questions. And when she meets Cyrus and re-meets the seven friends, she slowly finds her way back to her old self with some help over the course of the movie.

I do want there to be a scene where Cyrus and the seven friends discover the memory and a book going along with it. This book will be the certain book missing when Asha, Cyrus, and the seven friends look through Magnifico’s old observatory for answers on Cyrus and if there were other like him. This is also the place we’re Asha’s birthday ball will be held which is suspicious and starts up some questions as well. But the scene will look a little like this: Cyrus and the seven friends break into the study to try and steal back all of the wishes from the royal family(after Asha and Cyrus were separated after Simon split them up somehow by convincing Asha that Cyrus’ family tried to kill her’s and got his wish) and find the missing book. But what was inside shocks them and Cyrus immediately drops the book sprints out of the study and they all follow him. The camera then pans to the open book that reveals his plan to steal the life forces of all of the guests at the ball. It also reveals the studies and experiments he has done on Asha and plans to take the rest of her memories as well.(the memory he currently has is also in his scepter so after he is defeated, Cyrus takes the memory from Magnifico)

Also I have been seeing many people talking about the demo of “At All Costs” and it being a duet between the star boy and Asha and I LOVE that idea. It would fit into my version like this: while Asha, Cyrus, and the seven friends are searching Magnifico’s old observatory, they all split up into groups. Safi, Bazeema, Dahlia will be a group. Hal, Dario, and Gabo would be a group. And Asha, Valentino, Cyrus will be a group. Once they all split up Asha and Cyrus explore the main part of the building which is where the ball is supposed to be held. And to their surprise, some of the wishes have been moved to this location which is weird because Magnifico keeps the wishes with him all of the time. But when Cyrus is looking through some old books, he turns around and sees Asha practicing dancing with an imaginary partner for the ball. He sees this and admires her for a moment before a voice in the background starts singing the beginning of he demo of “At All Costs” as if it was Cyrus singing it.(He is mute in my version so he can’t actually sing it, it will be something like “Can You Feel The Love Tonight”) Throughout the song Cyrus shows Asha the importance of these wishes to her people and they also partner dance in it. They ALMOST kiss but Gabo interrupts the by complaining that they didn’t find anything other than star maps.

There will also be another important change in the version and that is having Queen Amaya die trying to save Asha. Amaya’s character development will represent a parent trying to fix her ways of parenting. Near the end of the movie she confronts Magnifico and tells him to stop bringing Asha into their villain business. Magnifico would usually stop at the mention of Asha but with the book taking over his mind, he disagrees and traps her in a prison made of a green shield, and doesn’t even try to break out of it because of how heartbroken she is seeing Magnifico like this. During the battle she realizes what she has to do and the green shield melts away at this realization. She enters the main area of the ball and sees Magnifico fighting Cyrus and Asha with her magic wand. Amaya quickly runs over and blocks some of his attacks but Magnifico also uses verbal abuse to try and bring Asha and Amaya’s spirits down to make them weaker. Under the influence of the corrupted spirit of the book, he decides to try the “taking away life force” spell on them both first. Amaya doesn’t hesitate to tell Cyrus to get Asha out of there. Asha refuses at first but then Amaya tells her she needs some time to recover from her casting all of those spells. Asha still refuses while Cyrus is hesitant about leaving the queen. Amaya then tells Cyrus to get her out of there and that that’s an order. Cyrus takes Asha’s hands while Amaya says to Asha that she is sorry she didn’t try to be a good mother while she could. Asha is taken back by this and Amaya tells her again to go with Cyrus. Cyrus tries his best to get her out of there as gently as possible while Asha fights against him. Once they make it near one of the exits from the main room, the camera will shift into slow-motion as Asha is reaching out her hand to her mother as a blast from Magnifico’s scepter hits her. This will prove that Amaya would’ve done anything for her daughter which results in Asha forgiving her mother after she dies.

I would also like to talk about the music. The music in this movie is good music but not good music for this certain movie. I think they should’ve done the same thing when combining the old with the new with the animation. I think they should’ve had some song writers that are strong in orchestral music like in the renaissance era of Disney along with some modern song writers used in movies like Enchanto. Having those types of songwriters work together would be difficult but it would’ve brought something creative to the table for this movie.

[byoldervine]

Character Info - Anessa Cantor

General Info

Name: Anessa Cantor

Nicknames:

• Nessa

• Ness

• Princess of Tyrion (title)

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Unexplored

Species: Celestial Tyrion

Place Of Birth: Cantor Palace, Tyrion

Current Home: Cantor Palace, Tyrion

Appearance

Anessa has long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her skin is fair and smooth. She looks very stereotypically angelic, and when she was young everyone agreed she was the most beautiful child in all the realms. She also has feathery wing-like ears just as her father does

Anessa usually wears white or other light pastel colours, and wears dresses and simple jewellery befitting her status as heir to the throne

Personality

Aegis has been training Anessa for rule all her life, and Anessa has taken it all in stride. She’s adopted her father’s patience and strategic mindset, as well as his keenness for order and organisation. She can come off as a little stoic at times, but she’s confident in herself and her decisions. Out of all her siblings, she’s probably the best at admitting to a fault or mistake, but this is partially due to her having the most ease with spotting and correcting them without getting frustrated in herself. This is where Aegis and Anessa differ; she’s able to accept it more easily when things don’t go to plan and keep a level head that allows her to swiftly find a new solution, whereas it would greatly upset Aegis unless he had a backup plan already prepared

Likes:

• Spending time with her family

• Proving her skills to Aegis

• Ducks

Dislikes:

• Being stuck in the palace all the time

• Aegis taking her siblings to meetings

• The implication of her training

Known Abilities

• Flight - Like all Tyrions, Anessa is able to fly using her retractable wings

• Illusions - Like all Tyrions, Anessa is able to cast mirage illusions, and is also able to cast holographic illusions due to her advanced skillset

Relationships

Family:

• Aegis Cantor (father)

• Lazulai Cantor (younger sister)

• Sy Cantor (younger sibling)

• Mullo Cantor (younger brother)

Friends/Allies:

• General Harkrow (suck up)

• The Guardians

Enemies: N/A

Backstory

Anessa has been raised to be the future queen for as long as she can remember, and honestly doesn’t know much outside of this predetermined path she’s on. It’s left her quite sheltered in terms of the general world around her, something all her siblings have to some extent but aren’t nearly as restricted as Anessa is. Due to this, she’s struggled to find interests outside of her training and studies.

Anessa is additionally sheltered in that she rarely gets to go on business trips away from Tyrion, since Aegis will take either Lazulai or Mullo depending on his destination, leaving Anessa to rule in his absence. Anessa feels some jealousy about that, even if she understands it logically and is happy that it means her siblings get time with Aegis too

Anessa has always been the golden child of the family, and all the siblings except for her are well aware that she’s the favourite. Anessa knows she gets the most of Aegis’ time, but believes it’s purely down to her needing more training than the others since she’s his heir. She can’t fathom why she’d be the favourite when it’s brought up to her since she finds the others so much more interesting than her - why would she be favoured as the boring one?

Despite her life’s work and purpose being to prepare to be queen, the idea of it is quite frightening to her; it would mean that something had happened to her father, and she loves Aegis dearly. It worries her how sure he is that she’ll soon be queen, and she’s concerned about his health due to it, but she’s largely brushed it off as just another of his plans that she’s not entirely privy to

Fun Facts

• Anessa was born in the year 2000, the same year that Byoldervine died

• Anessa mostly tries to copy what her siblings do when she spends time with them; she doesn’t know much of what else to do with others

• Anessa is content with being the future queen, and there’s no doubt that she’d make a good one, but her complacency in her role is definitely impacted by her lack of other options; she’ll be happy as queen, but she has no idea if there’s something else out there or not that would make her happier

[mother-homunculus]

Land of Death and Sorrow - Chapter 6

Summary: Alyssa's first breath was her mother's last. She survived the day of her birth - unlike her mother Aemma and her brother Baelon. The death of her twin leaves a tear in the young princess's heart that is not easy to heal. Because no matter what she does, the scars remain. She finds comfort not only in her older sister Rhaenyra and her younger brother Aemond, who as the second-born is destined to have a similar fate to Alyssa, but also in the old stories about Queen Visenya and her fearsome she-dragon Vhagar. But life is not an old legend of dragon fire and heroic tales. It is cruel and unpredictable, and at some point Alyssa must decide who she wants to be.

Warnings: 18+, Incest, Sibling Incest, Targcest | Targaryen Incest, Violence, Blood, Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con, Sexual Tension, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, Jealous Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen

Chapter 6: Conviction

Alyssa’s footsteps rang out sharply against the stone floors of the Red Keep, echoing in the labyrinth of corridors as she pressed onward, her focus narrowing with each turn she took. Her search for Harwin Strong had so far yielded little more than vague gestures and uncertain directions from servants and guards who had no idea where the Lord Commander of the City Watch was. But where could he be? She had already checked the training yard, the stables, and even the small council chamber, but each search had ended in frustration. Someone must know where he is, she thought fiercely, brushing her silver hair from her face. He can’t just vanish into thin air... She literally ran through the courtyard, her sharp eyes scanning the area with quick precision. Alyssa couldn't help but smile, as the Septa had always taught them that girls and women, especially princesses, should not run.

Alyssa's resolve wavered slightly as she approached the courtyard overlooking the south gate. The shadows of the Red Keep were growing longer, the flickering torchlight casting uneasy shapes against the high walls. Her heart sank as she carefully scanned the space, realizing that Harwin Strong was nowhere in sight. The guards stationed there gave her little more than polite nods, uninterested in the reason for her presence. She noticed a group of knights from the City Watch who seemed to have just returned from patrol. Their armor shimmered faintly in the light of a nearby wall lamp. She hesitated for a moment. Most of the guards were men she had seen in passing but never spoken to. She was unsure whether they would offer any real assistance, but her determination outweighed her discomfort.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with urgency.

A young guard with a slightly crooked nose stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully. “Princess Alyssa, how can I help?”

“I am looking for your Lord Commander. Do you know where I might find him?” Her tone carried the authority of her name but remained polite.

The guard exchanged a glance with his companions before answering. "He was with us earlier, my lady, but he left some time ago.”

Alyssa couldn't hide her disappointment but forced a slight smile and then sighed. "Thank you for your help, my Lord." She bowed briefly and disappeared around the next corner, leaving the group of knights with a questioning look behind. Just as she debated whether to head back to her chambers and try again at another time of the day, she spotted a figure moving with a familiar, slow pace at the far end of the hall: Larys Strong.

A sharp, rhythmic tap accompanied his steps; the sound of his cane echoing faintly off the stone walls made him instantly recognizable. The younger brother of Harwin, Larys always carried an air of quiet observation, his ever-watchful eyes marking him as a man who noticed far more than he let on.

“My Lord, Larys!” Alyssa called out, her voice ringing with urgency; she didn’t bother to mask. She picked up her pace, her skirt swishing around her feet as she strode toward him.

He paused, turning his head slowly. His expression was as composed as ever, his sharp eyes flickering with curiosity as they settled on her.

“Princess Alyssa," he greeted, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. His tone was calm, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe this honor? I hope you are not lost.”

Alyssa stopped before him, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her flushed face. She clasped her hands together, trying to appear composed despite her obvious impatience.

"No, I am not lost, my Lord. I’m looking for your brother. Do you know where he is?”

Larys tilted his head, his gaze never wavering from hers. He seemed to take a moment to consider her question, though his smile suggested he already knew the answer.

“My brother’s duties keep him quite occupied, I’m afraid,” he said with an apologetic tone that felt anything but genuine.

Alyssa’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had hoped for a more definitive answer, but Larys was as ambiguous as ever. “I see,” she said. “Thank you, my Lord. I shall continue my search.”

“Perhaps if you shared the nature of your business, I might be of more assistance. What business would the younger daughter of the king have with the Lord Commander of the City Watch?”

Alyssa frowned, shifting her weight. His question was innocent on the surface, but she sensed the underlying curiosity in his tone. She straightened her posture, unwilling to share too much, adopting the composed air she’d learned from court. She didn’t trust Larys, though she could never articulate precisely why. It wasn’t just his quiet demeanor or the way he always seemed to linger in the background. There was something about his watchfulness—the way he appeared to study people like they were pieces on a cyvasse board—that unsettled her. Still, he was her only lead.

“It is a private matter, my Lord,” she replied carefully. "It's not urgent, but it holds significance for me." I would prefer to speak with him directly.”

Larys smiled, though it never reached his eyes. “You have a singular determination about you tonight, my lady. A trait, I imagine, that will serve you well.” His tone was dripping with civility. He leaned slightly on his cane, his eyes studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

Alyssa felt her patience thinning but kept a polite tone. “If you know where he is, I would be grateful for your help.”

Larys’ eyes flickered with interest, though his expression remained neutral. “If I had to guess, Princess, I would suggest the barracks or perhaps the courtyard near the Gate of the Gods. Harwin often inspects the watchmen stationed there around this time of day.”

Alyssa’s face brightened slightly at the suggestion, a small spark of hope reigniting. “Thank you,” she said with a polite nod, already preparing to turn away, but Larys stopped her.

But Larys’ voice stopped her. “One moment, Princess,” he said, his tone light but deliberate.

Alyssa turned back to him, her silver brows furrowing in mild confusion. “What is it?”

“But he could just as well be with your sister, princess.”

The way he said it—so casual yet so deliberate—made Alyssa pause. There was no overt malice in his voice, but the implication lingered in the air between them like an unspoken secret. She shifted uncomfortably, immediately understanding what he was getting at without him needing to say more. Heat had risen to her cheeks, and not just from embarrassment. Of course, she knew the rumors. Everyone did, and they were as persistent as they were damning. Rumors suggested that Ser Harwin Strong, the heir to Harrenhal, and her sister Rhaenyra, the Realm's Delight, had a closer relationship than was appropriate. They circulated for years, growing louder with every passing moon. They spoke of stolen glances and too-frequent companionship—of lingering touches that betrayed something deeper. Alyssa had dismissed them, as a loyal sister should, refusing to give them any weight. But hearing the insinuation spoken aloud—and by Larys, no less—forced her to confront the unease she had buried.

He responded to her silence with a slight tilt of his head and a faint smile on his thin lips. “I assume you are aware of their... closeness,” he had added, the pause before the final word as deliberate as the rest of his sentence.

Her lips parted to respond, but she found herself at a loss for words. Larys continued to watch her, his expression one of detached curiosity, as though he were studying her reaction like a scholar examining a rare artifact.

“I see,” she had replied stiffly, keeping her voice as neutral as she could manage. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. “Do you know where they are?”

Larys tilted his head slightly. "Alas, no, Princess, I do not. But I imagine they are somewhere... secluded. Maybe they're in a place where they can have uninterrupted conversations." The way he had said “secluded” made her stomach twist. She had nodded briskly; her tone clipped as she thanked him. “You’ve been most helpful, Lord Larys,” she said stiffly, inclining her head in a curt nod.

His bow had been slow and deliberate, his voice carrying that same note of amusement as he replied, “It is always my pleasure to assist you, Princess. After all, your family’s affairs are... important to us all.”

The way he said “affairs” made her spine stiffen, and she turned away before he could see the irritation flash across her face. She didn’t want to give him satisfaction. As she walked briskly down the corridor, her mind raced with conflicting emotions. As she moved farther from him, she felt the weight of his gaze on her back, lingering longer than it should. A chill ran down her spine, but she shook it off, focusing instead on her determination to find Harwin.

She detested Larys' apparent delight in the power of his knowledge and his skillful use of subtle insinuations. But what troubled her more was the kernel of truth she couldn’t ignore: the rumors. She had never asked Rhaenyra directly about her relationship with Harwin Strong. Nor had she dared to voice the question that lingered at the edges of those whispers: could her nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, truly be Harwin’s sons? The idea was too dangerous to speak aloud, even in the privacy of her own mind. However, Larys's tone and insinuations made it impossible to completely dismiss the thought. Many people at court commented on how Rhaenyra's husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, didn't resemble her nephews. The boys, Jacaerys and Lucerys, were fair-skinned with dark brown hair, not the striking silver-white of Velaryon or Targaryen lineage. They look strong; some whispered with smirks barely concealed behind cups of wine. The name carried more weight than it should have, heavy with insinuation.

Alyssa vividly recalled the argument she'd had with Aemond. It had started with an off-hand comment during a quiet meal, Aemond voicing what Alyssa could only assume he'd overheard from the older courtiers or even his own mother. Alyssa had snapped back, defending her sister and her nephews fiercely. The quarrel escalated quickly, with Aemond insisting that everyone could see the truth, while Alyssa accused him of repeating gossip like an ignorant lordling. She remembered the sting of her words and how his eyes had hardened with hurt pride.

For days afterward, neither of them exchanged a single word with the other. Aemond avoided her gaze during lessons, and Alyssa refused to sit near him during meals. Yet the silence had been unbearable for both. When they finally reconciled, it had been Aemond who muttered an apology first, and Alyssa who softened, realizing how much she hated being at odds with him. Even now, whenever Aegon or Edmund brought up the rumors about her nephews, Alyssa’s voice sharpened in defense, though she couldn't completely shake her own doubts. Deep down, she clung to her belief in her sister's honor, fearing that admitting otherwise would unravel too much.

But now, standing there in the echoing hall of the Red Keep, she felt that familiar unease creeping in. Shaking her head, Alyssa quickened her pace. She needed to find Harwin and ask for his help with her sword training. That was all that mattered right now. Rhaenyra was her elder, a sister she adored and respected. She tried to convince herself that confronting Rhaenyra would be inappropriate, as any personal issues he might have with her sister were not her concern.

The path to Rhaenyra's chambers was quiet at this hour. Alyssa couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she walked, realizing that her quest might intrude on her sister’s time. When she reached the corridor leading to Rhaenyra’s chambers, she paused, smoothing her hands over her skirts as she steadied herself. As she approached the large, ornately carved door, the guards stationed outside straightened to attention. Alyssa drew a steady breath as he opened the door to announce her.

“Princess Alyssa Targaryen."

As Alyssa stepped inside, her gaze immediately fell upon Rhaenyra and Harwin Strong, seated near the chamber’s grand windows. Sunlight bathed the room, catching the glint of Rhaenyra’s silvery hair and illuminating the dark curls of Harwin’s. They sat opposite each other at a polished wooden table, their expressions relaxed. Rhaenyra sat with an air of quiet authority, her hands folded neatly before her. Her face was composed, her posture as regal as ever, though there was a slight flush to her cheeks, while Harwin leaned back slightly in his chair, his arms resting comfortably on its wooden frame. Whatever they had been discussing came to an abrupt halt as both turned their attention to her. She briefly perceived a hint of surprise on Rhaenyra's face, but it swiftly gave way to a warm smile. Alyssa hesitated, her gaze darting between them. There was nothing in their demeanor that seemed improper or suggested intimacy or anything untoward—no furtive glances, no lingering touches, only the relaxed air of conversation. He was her sworn protector; there was nothing indecent about him sitting here with her.

They both stood up from their seats, and Rhaenyra walked towards her sister without hesitation, after setting aside the goblet in her hand.

“Little sister,” Rhaenyra greeted warmly, though her brows lifted in faint surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you here?” She gave Alyssa a warm hug, which she returned.

Harwin turned as well, his expression shifting from surprise to his characteristic good-natured calm. "Princess," he greeted with a slight bow.

Alyssa felt a flush of nervousness but pressed forward. "Forgive the interruption," she began, looking between them. "I’ve been searching for you, Ser Harwin. There is something I wish to discuss with you—if you can spare a moment."

Rhaenyra tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her features. "You’ve been searching for Harwin? What could my dear sister possibly need from the Lord Commander of the City Watch?" Her tone was teasing but kind, and Alyssa gave her a small smile.

"It’s...a matter I hope he might help me with," Alyssa replied, glancing at Harwin. "If it’s not too much trouble."

Harwin’s brows lifted slightly, his expression one of polite curiosity.

"Of course, my lady. If the princess permits it, I am at your service."

He glanced at Rhaenyra, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and waved a hand dismissively, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Go on, then. But you'll explain everything to me later, won't you, Alyssa?" She nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing.

Grateful for her sister’s understanding, she fully turned her attention to Harwin. "If we could speak somewhere private?"

Harwin inclined his head and gestured toward the door. "Lead the way, my lady."

Together, they exited the chamber. Once the door had closed behind them with a quiet thud and they were alone in the corridor, she turned to Harwin, who was watching her with the same calm demeanor he always carried. But he was just as curious as her sister; she could tell that from his look.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alyssa began, her words tumbling out quickly. "I didn’t mean to intrude."

"You didn’t," he assured her, his tone kind. "What can I do for you, Princess?"

Alyssa hesitated for only a moment, steadying herself. "I need your help," she began, her voice quieter now. "I want to learn how to fight, and I need someone to teach me."

Harwin’s brows lifted in surprise, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You want to learn how to fight?"

“Yes,” she said firmly, her confidence returning. “My father has already agreed, but I need someone to teach me. Someone skilled. Someone I can trust.”

“And you thought of me?”

"You are an excellent swordsman," Alyssa said earnestly, her words coming out quickly. “And you are patient. I… I know I am not as strong as my brothers or nephews, but I am quick, and I can learn. Please, Ser Harwin.”

For a long moment that felt like an eternity, Harwin said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Very well,” he said. "But understand, Princess, this will not be easy." If you want to learn, you will have to work hard. There will be no special treatment, no leniency because of who you are.”

Alyssa nodded eagerly. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

“Good,” Harwin said, his tone firm but encouraging. “We’ll start on the morrow at dawn.”

Relief and excitement flooded Alyssa’s chest, her cheeks flushing as she nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Ser Harwin,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet, Princess,” he said. “Wait until you see what the training truly entails.”

Alyssa could not contain her grin as she thanked him, her earlier doubts and insecurities melting away. As she walked back through the winding halls of the Red Keep, her mind raced with anticipation. She had taken her first step toward her goal—and found an ally in the process.

As evening descends upon the Red Keep, the entire fortress transforms under the twilight sky, exuding an aura that is both majestic and foreboding. The reddish-pink stones of its towering walls seem to deepen in hue, absorbing the fading light of the sun. Shadows spill across the courtyard and battlements, stretching long and dark as the castle stands watch over King’s Landing, an unyielding silhouette against the vibrant tapestry of the sunset. The air grows cooler, carrying the mingling scents of salt from the Blackwater Bay, whose waves crash rhythmically against the cliffs below, their roar ever-present, a reminder of the city's connection to the sea. Ships anchored in the harbor sway gently, their lanterns swinging like fireflies on the dark water.

Meanwhile, the courtyard bustles with activity even as night approaches. Stable hands lead horses back to their stalls; the clang of swords echoes faintly from the training yard, where the evening’s final sparring sessions wind down. Nearby, a pair of guards exchange stories, their voices low but laced with amusement as they lean on their spears. Inside, the halls of the Red Keep are alive with the muted sounds of preparation for nightfall. Servants scurry along the corridors, lighting sconces and adjusting drapes to shield against the creeping chill of evening. The warm glow of hearths and candles spill through open doors, and the air carries the comforting scents of roasted meat, spices, and freshly baked bread wafting up from the kitchens. By now, people have lit torches along the walls, their flickering flames casting a golden glow that dances across the intricate carvings of dragons and Targaryen lore etched into the architecture. The shadows they create seem alive, shifting and slithering like the creatures they depict.

From her window, Alyssa may look out over the city and see the chaos and vibrancy of King’s Landing stretching out before her. The Street of Silk begins to hum with activity, its vibrant establishments glowing as they welcome their nightly patrons. The Great Sept of Baelor looms in the distance, starkly illuminated against the deepening sky, commanding attention as Septons chant their evening prayers, the solemn tones faintly audible on the breeze.

She sat cross-legged on the thickly cushioned bench, a leather-bound book spread open on her lap. Her fingers skimmed over illustrations of battle stances and notes about the best techniques for defense and attack; her brow furrowed in concentration. She tilted her head, studying the stance with interest. Her hand instinctively moved to mimic the drawing, her fingers curling around an imaginary sword hilt, her elbow angled precisely as described.

A faint breeze from the open window tugged at the edges of the books scattered around her, some precariously stacked and others sprawled haphazardly, their bindings creaking under their newfound use.

Despite her enthusiasm, Alyssa occasionally glanced at the pile of borrowed books with a flicker of guilt. She had gone to the library earlier that day and sought out Septon Rok, the elderly and somewhat curmudgeonly keeper of the Red Keep’s collection of books and scrolls. She knew she was asking much of him, especially after her history of “borrowing” books and conveniently forgetting to return them in a timely manner.

“Princess Alyssa,” Septon Rok had raised a single, skeptical brow as she approached him at his desk in the library, his weathered hands steepled before him. “I presume this visit concerns the seven books currently missing from my collection. Are these the same books that, according to your pledge, you ought to have given back two weeks ago?

Alyssa had offered her most disarming smile, the kind of smile that had softened even her father’s sternest reprimands, though she could see that Septon wasn’t impressed.

“Septon Rok, surely you understand these books are treasures, and treasures are meant to be appreciated. I’ve simply been safeguarding them.”

Rok’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles, though there was the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. “Safety,” he repeated. “If you have such noble intentions, Princess, then I expect the return of the six—no, seven—books currently in your possession.”

“Of course, Septon,” Alyssa had said quickly. I was on the verge of returning them. But you know, I was hoping to borrow a few more. For an important matter. Very important.”

“And what matter is that?”

She moved slightly closer to his desk and motioned with her hand for him to join her, ensuring that no one could overhear her enigmatic explanation in the unlikely event that someone spontaneously decided to visit the library. Septon Rok gave in and leaned towards her.

“Sword fight,” her voice tinged with enthusiasm. “The art of battle. The balance of the blade. The legacy of the conquerors.”

“Sword fight," he repeated, leaning back in his chair and having stared at her for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “I would have thought a princess might take up a more traditional pursuit, like embroidery or poetry.”

“Septon Rok,” she had said with mock solemnity, “there is no tapestry in existence that could compare to the tales woven by the sword.”

His laughter had been dry and reluctant, but it had been enough. "Fine, but only these—and I expect the rest to be returned immediately." A short while later, she had left the library with a neat stack of books balanced in her arms, and Rok was muttering about how books were not dowries.

She chuckled now at the memory, her laughter dissipating quickly as she returned her focus to the words before her.

Hours later, Alyssa found herself utterly engrossed in the contents. The book contained a detailed treatise on the art of combat, written by an old Dornish knight who had chronicled his life of duels and battles. Diagrams showed the positioning of a swordsman’s feet, the angle of the blade during a parry, and even how to recover balance when overstepping in an attack. She turned to another text, this one chronicling the exploits of Visenya Targaryen, a woman she had long admired. The passages detailed Visenya's strength and precision, describing her as a warrior queen who commanded respect, with her blade, Dark Sister, serving as a trusted ally in combat. Alyssa’s fingers lingered on a finely drawn illustration of Visenya, standing tall and imposing, her sword ready for battle.

“One day,” she whispered to herself, imagining what it might feel like to hold a sword with such confidence.

A sudden knock at the door startled her from reading, and she hastily stacked the books to one side, trying to look composed despite the chaos of her workspace. The door creaked open, revealing Fryda, who entered with a polite curtsying before she spoke.

The maid softly said, "Princess Alyssa, supper will be ready soon. Shall I assist you in preparing?”

"Yes," Alyssa nodded, her voice distracted. “Thank you, Fryda.”

Fryda moved efficiently about the room, tidying as she went, but Alyssa remained in her seat by the window, her gaze drifting back to the books. She mentally committed to returning at least one or two of the borrowed books to Septon Rok during her next visit. But tonight, these treasures would remain close, just as she had promised him.

The thrill of anticipation stirred in her chest again as she thought about her upcoming training with Ser Harwin. She imagined the first lesson, the feel of a real sword in her hand, and how she might one day stand tall, as confident as Visenya herself.

[chapterbychapterstories]

Hero x Villain

This is part of a larger story. Here is the link to Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Sewer water rushed around them as the Villains made it to the end. An open grate that poured the water down into large smelly pools of filth. Undercrust layer 50. The trio took the maintenance ladder down to the catwalks that led all over the city. 

People knew better than to push and shove. Sure the catwalks were crowded, but the streets were flooded with crap, literally, so you just moved with the flow, keeping an eye out for the bridge that led to your destination. The patched up rope bridge soon came into view. Built out of anything they could get a hold of, it had metal, wood, plastic, and even a particularly dangerous rubber patch. Tele led them over it, using their power to ensure they didn’t fall. 

The sketchy bridge led to a patch work building, a neon sign above spelled out “Bar Keeps Tavern” which to the three was home. Metal clanged together as Tele pushed open the door. “Welcome!” A large man popped up from behind the bar. His shaggy black and white hair draped over his eyes. “Children! Welcome back! How was the Uppercrust? Did you do anything fun?” He also talked a lot.

“Hey Keeper, the Uppercrust was bright, we had a ton of fun, and made good use of all those bombs.” Tele could also talk a lot.

“Good good, good to have you all back. More Drones around lately, it puts me on edge when you all are away. Drones make bad customers, but they always pay so it’s not so bad.”

“The Drones came in for a drink?” WC took her usual seat on the bar. 

“They’ve come in twice now. Weren’t very talkative.”

WC glances a Tele, “Well Keep if they come in again close up. They aren’t the kind we want hanging around.”

“Right, that’s a good idea. Thanks Wixie.” 

She jumped off the counter, going to the trap door that led to their hideout. “Anytime Keep.” The trap door was light, made out of some metal they salvaged. Down a couple steps, and a narrow tunnel, they found themselves in a large room. A table with maps of the Uppercrust, held down by a dud bomb, and a metal arm. Against the far wall was a fan that blew a cool breeze through the room and out the other side. It also brought the smell inside. Rot and crap, the smell of layer 50. 

Tele dropped their bag on the floor, heading for their hammock. “Home sweet, smelly home.” They collapsed into the makeshift bed causing the wall to groan. 

“I wonder how they picked the heroes.” Barrier leaned over the table tracing the route we took to the Queen’s mansion. 

“Through careful evaluation and training that killed a few ‘subjects’. Not that it matters, we need to plan how we are going to take down the Hero Program.” WC stood across the table from him. 

A remote hovered in the air in front of WC. “Oh, that reminds me!” Tele sat up in their  hammock, sitting in it like a swing. They had to be using their powers because if WC tried sitting in it like that she’d fall over. “I wanted to see if we made it in the nightly report.”

The remote clicked, a whirring noise came from a small projector above. A flicker, then a projected image of the nightly report came up on the wall behind her. She turned to see a grainy image of herself shooting a laser pistol at Flight. 

“Eeeeeeee!” Tele squealed. “Look, we’re celebrities!”

The video cut right after WC pulled out her sword, a stiff looking woman came on. “That video was taken earilier today by a Queen’s hover Drone outside her personal residence. Two of the Villains have been identified as 04061327096 codename Telekinesis,” an even blurrier  image of Tele came up, “ and 10011327056 codename Barrier-”

“Ah! Bair bair look, we’re famous.” Tele was jumping in their seat.

 “The unnatural one has yet to be identified. All three are said to be armed and dangerous. Any information on these villains must be reported to the Hero Program immediately.”

“Awe, WC they didn’t recognize you.” Tele slumped back into the hammock.

“That’s because I finally got all that junk they put into my hair and eyes out.”

“Yeah, stupid of them now they don’t know what you look like.”

“It also means they don’t know my power yet.”

“Well, now that we are celebrities I’m sure more people will follow us. Soon we will have the whole Undercrust fighting with us. Tonight I vote we eat and sleep.” A pack of food rations floated up from their stockpile, into Tele’s lap.

Barrier glanced at WC before grabbing a ration pack for himself, and settling into the hammock under Tele. “I, uh - I second that.”

This is why they couldn’t vote on anything. “Ugh, fine.” WC grabbed a ration pack for herself. “But tomorrow we plot the destruction of an empire.” She settled into a dingy couch. 

Above them in the bar Keep spoke with a few customers that came in, walking back and forth to serve drink orders. And just like a lullaby it puts her to sleep

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Lady Whistledown Returns: Chapter 6

Penelope makes a midnight run for England to speak to Anthony. Will she be able to pull off her plan?

Need to catch up? Find previous chapters and works on AO3.

This chapter does not have content warnings.

A very sunburned Penelope had been delayed in following Worth and Colin back to England by hours because she was loathe to tell Byron or the Shelleys what was going on. Worth’s letter had also recommended that she return to England quickly, as though she lacked the sense to do exactly that. She had sat, teeth gritted, through supper—excusing Colin’s absence by his persistent headache—and waited for everyone to retire to bed. Then she packed Colin’s saddlebags, left a note for Mary—inventing the excuse of a family emergency that required her and Colin’s immediate departure and requesting that their things be shipped back to England to Bridgerton House—and took her pony to ride into the nearest town and hire herself a hack to take her to a point where she could cross the channel.

She had managed to distract herself through dinner by focusing on behaving utterly above suspicion and while riding with remaining in the saddle—Colin had taught her how to ride astride at speed, but that had been meant to get her out of any potential danger they might meet on the road, and she still lacked confidence at a full gallop. These distractions had been sufficient to keep her on her feet, thinking, and moving. However, trapped in a hired hack with hours of travel ahead of her, Penelope could not escape the great, yawing hole in her chest that had torn her world asunder when she had opened the bedroom door to find Colin’s unsheathed sword on the floor and a letter addressed to her on the bed.

She wasn’t sure how long she had leaned against the closed door, trying to get up her courage to pick up that sword. It had to be sheathed; anyone coming in and finding it would lead to questions she could not answer. That there was no obvious pool of blood on the floor was all that kept Penelope on her feet; she didn’t know how she would manage if she picked up the blade and found blood on it. Eventually, she talked herself into it, and as soon as she took the first step, a curtain seemed to descend between her and the world. Her fear was still present, but felt detached, and she found that she could breathe and think. If everything felt a bit unreal and floaty, well, she could manage that better than sheer panic.

There had been no blood on the sword. She had wiped it down carefully with a handkerchief to be sure and to prevent the blade that had saved both her life and Colin’s on the road from rusting in its sheath. She had hesitated over taking it with her before she left Villa Diodati, but in addition to having exactly no idea how to use a sword, this was Colin’s sword, and he had nearly a foot of height over her and significantly more strength. The simple fact was that even had she fencing training, his sword was too big for her. And if its presence with her provoked anyone into challenging her, it would be more of an impediment than a help. She had left it hanging in the armoire. What she had taken was Colin’s overcoat, because it was warmer than her Spencer jackets and less bulky than her cloaks, while still managing to cover a similar amount of her. And it smelled like Colin.

The pre-dawn sky racing past the hackney’s windows had sufficiently lightened to allow her to read, so Penelope pulled out Worth’s letter to review.

Dame Penelope,

I write to you both on behalf of Her Royal Majesty Charlotte, Queen Consort of Great Britain and Ireland and Electress and Queen Consort of Hanover, and on my own humble behalf.

I first assure you that Mr. Bridgerton is safe and in good health; my fellow agents and I took great care as to his well-being when we collected him on behalf of the queen. Unfortunately, I am not permitted to inform you of our destination; the queen has decreed that Mr. Bridgerton’s residence shall be shrouded in utmost secrecy, on pain of grievous bodily harm to Mr. Bridgerton.

What I am permitted to tell is as follows. Mr. Bridgerton will remain a secret guest of Her Majesty to ensure that you refrain from publishing as Lady Whistledown again. Should you disregard this letter and publish, Mr. Bridgerton will pay the price. Additionally—and in case the previous paragraph was not entirely clear—you are prohibited from telling anyone about this situation. This includes through publication, correspondence, or in person. Not even the Bridgerton family is to know of this. The consequences of disobeying this edict will, again, be paid by Mr. Bridgerton.

I am sorry to say that I cannot give you any information about how and when Mr. Bridgerton may be released. You may apply privately to Her Majesty, if you wish, with no penalty to Mr. Bridgerton.

If I may take this juncture to offer some personal opinions on the matter: I do not know when Her Majesty intends to release Mr. Bridgerton, and I would recommend returning to England as quickly as possible and maintaining a low social profile to avoid any awkward questions. Remaining cloistered in your home may be best. I also reiterate my recommendation from Lord Byron’s fete: You must not publish. Until and unless you do so, Her Majesty does not dare harm Mr. Bridgerton. Should you publish again, I cannot guarantee your husband’s safety, or even his life.  

I understand that both the separation and the limitation on your activities may be difficult to bear, but capitulation and submission are the most effective strategies with Her Majesty. Should you demonstrate your willingness to obey, I do not doubt that eventually the queen will see reason and return Mr. Bridgerton to you. At the risk of taking liberties, I urge you to be steadfast, Penelope. Surrender Whistledown and you will see Colin again.

Yours dutifully,

Worth

On first read, all Penelope had been able to focus on was that Colin was all right—as much as anyone who had been unceremoniously kidnapped could be—and that she had to get home without telling anyone anything. Now, however, having been given time to become accustomed to the news and with many hours before her to plan, the burn of anger made itself known in her chest as voices howled in her mind.

“Be steadfast, Penelope.”

“You must not publish, Penelope.”

“Be silent, Penelope.”

“Obey, Penelope.”

Her sisters, her Mama, Cressida Cowper, Viscount Bridgerton, the queen, all of society had said those words to her, over and over. And she had tried, from the time she was handed off to a bevy of governesses to her presentation, to burying Lady Whistledown. Silence and obedience were simply not who she was. For Worth to insist that she sit silently in the parlor of her home and wait for the queen to feel magnanimous enough to release her husband was entirely too much to ask.

And yet there was the queen’s explicit threat to Colin should she do anything. The thorny bit of the problem, according to the part of Penelope’s mind that was Whistledown, was that the queen was in the wrong and she clearly knew that—she had contrived a pyrrhic situation in which she, Penelope, and Colin would all burn if Penelope chose not to play by the rules she had set. And yet there was simply no endgame otherwise. This was Colin, he could not be left as a hostage again Penelope’s good behavior. He was too social, too entwined in his family to manage isolation well, and were Penelope to be honest, she missed him dearly already. She would not—could not—play this game and win.

So distracted in her thoughts was Penelope that she nearly broke her nose on the opposite wall of the coach as it abruptly halted. Jolted back to reality, she could hear waves and smell saltwater. Making sure that her hair was tucked securely away beneath a scarf and that her hat was pulled low to conceal her hair and as much of her face as feasible, Penelope exited the carriage and made for the shipping office to book herself passage across the Channel.

Standing in the prow of the ship, face to the wind and the rising sun, Penelope could feel the ghost of Colin’s hands about her waist. Breathing deeply, Pen closed her eyes, remembering. Colin’s grin when he was feeling wicked, the press of his lips on hers, the safe warmth of being held in his arms, and the strength she found standing next to him, hand-in-hand, as they faced the world together. She tried to think through the conversation she wanted to have with him. The decision she was loathe to make alone, but she had little choice. She did not know if he would agree with her choice. That uncertainty cut her nearly as deeply as her certainty that it was the only choice she could possibly make.

The remaining hours of her crossing, still standing in the prow of the ship, were not enough for Penelope to talk herself out of her newly formed plan. She did try, but as she descended the gangway and hired herself another hack—and as she changed hacks several times, to avoid prying eyes—she found herself resolute. The resolution stayed with her as she bulled past Varley into the hall of her mother’s house, as she crept out the back kitchen door, as she crossed the square to Bridgerton House, and as she used a key she wasn’t sure Eloise knew she still had to slip in a side door. Her resolve began to waver as she padded quietly through the halls and stopped before Anthony’s study door.

The hand Penelope lifted to knock hung suspended in the air for long moments. She was reluctant to break the spell of silence in the hallway, and she was disinclined to potentially draw attention to herself. She also did not want anyone else who might be in the study to know that she was in the house. She did not intend to stay, and the fewer people who knew she had been here, the better.

And standing before the door like a ninny with your hand in the air is certainly not going to help, she scolded herself. Dropping her hand, Penelope listened. She heard no voices in the room, just the sound of liquid splashing into a crystal glass. Another ten or fifteen seconds of listening to papers shuffle, and Penelope rolled her shoulders back before slipping into the room and pulling the door softly shut behind her.

Anthony jerked to his feet behind his desk as the door opened, eyes snapping in fury. When Penelope pulled off her hat and scarf, his jaw physically dropped. The cool, analytical part of Penelope’s brain whispered, I don’t believe I have ever seen that happen outside an Austen novel. She remained quiet and still as Anthony’s eyes took in Colin’s coat wrapped around her, her general rumpled air, and whatever her countenance was doing—she truly was uncertain.

“What in God’s name has happened?” asked Anthony.

It took an almost shamefully short time for Penelope to explain the situation. Anthony began standing bolt upright behind his desk, but quickly shifted to settle his fists on the desk surface and lean forward before nearly falling back into his chair. The parts of Penelope’s mind not focused on keeping her upright and speaking slowly and clearly noted that not once did Anthony reach for the crystal decanter or still-full glass on his desk. That was bad; Anthony tended to reach for his drink the way a small child reached for a blanket or soft toy. The impulse was to comfort oneself, to ensure that one could handle what was to come. Penelope had seen him simply pour a glass and hold it during particularly intense family meetings. Benedict would invariably throw a glass back, but if Anthony needed to be Viscount Bridgerton, he rarely took more than an initial polite sip. That he had failed to even reach for it as she spoke meant that they were in uncharted, treacherous waters.

When Anthony held out a hand, Penelope put Worth’s letter into it and then turned to face the small fire in the study as he read. This would be her last moment to make a different choice, to change the path she was about to put herself, Colin, and the Bridgerton family on. Did she want to? Was she still sure that Colin would stand behind her choice?

Nausea rose in Penelope’s throat, and she leaned forward, head resting against her forearm, which was in turn resting awkwardly below the lip of the mantelpiece—which was designed for people several inches taller than she. The lower edge dug uncomfortably into her scalp as she breathed deeply, trying to calm her roiling stomach and slow her racing heart. She felt cold, despite the perspiration she could feel on her forehead from the heat of the flames.

Anthony’s hands were gentle on her shoulders as he pulled her away from the fire, turned her around, and gently pushed her down into one of a pair of comfortable armchairs. She looked up and met his eyes, mostly to distract herself from wishing that the hands on her shoulders were Colin’s. They were not, and if she did not act, they may never be again.

“It will be all right, Penelope,” said Anthony, in a tone that Pen was sure was meant to be reassuring but somehow came out vaguely accusatory. “You did the right thing by coming to me. I shall take care of everything. You must—”

“No,” interrupted Penelope. “No, Anthony. I am not here to ask your help or your blessing. I must put out a special edition of Whistledown telling the world what the queen has done.”

Anthony turned purple. His jaw worked for long moments before he turned on his heel and walked away from her. Face dropped into her hands, Penelope listened. Anthony’s footsteps were erratic, faster then slower, then faster again. Decanter and glass clinked together, then both were slammed onto the desktop. The window opened, and a breeze ruffled Penelope’s hair for a long moment until the crash of sash hitting sill echoed. Books thumped on shelves. There was the distinctive snap of a breaking quill.

For her part, Penelope suddenly felt lighter. Her nausea evaporated, and she felt really, truly calm for the first time since walking into her room at Villa Diodati. The pain and deep sadness of knowing the consequences for Colin of her decision sharpened into a stake through her heart, but it wasn’t the sort of stake that said she was making the wrong decision. Sitting in limbo forever, never knowing if or when she would see Colin again, dying slowly by inches, and agonizing over every possible decision and action to prevent a capricious, petty, and terrified autocrat from harming her husband would have been unlivable. Eventually, Penelope would have had to break the stalemate, and losing time in the stalemate meant a longer captivity for Colin. Better to simply force the queen’s hand now.

The heat of the fire on the backs of her hands cut off suddenly. “We haven’t any other choice, Anthony. The queen’s position of power rests entirely on her actions remaining secret. The House of Lords will never stand for her actions; she will have no choice but to release Colin. The ton may riot when they hear of this.” Lowering her hands, Penelope started. Anthony’s still immensely purple, furious face was bare inches from her own. His hands were on the arms of the chair, and she heard it creak as he leaned more of his weight on his hands and arms.

“Were you anything other than a gently bred lady,” Anthony hissed through clenched teeth, “I would challenge you to a duel here and now.” He shoved himself back from the chair so violently that it tipped back on its rear legs for a long moment, sending Penelope’s heart into her mouth. As the chair rocked forward, she stood, watching Anthony pace the room. Waiting.

“Do you love Colin at all, or is it simply that he is so besotted with you that he is easy to manipulate, and you married him so you could continue to publish as Whistledown?” Anthony managed not to yell—he had no more wish to attract the attention of the household than Penelope did—but his tone was vicious, and his words cut deep.

“Of course I love him,” she exclaimed.

“Ah, you love him so much you are content to doom him to torture. How silly of me to mistake your affection!”

“You cannot imagine she wouldn’t find any excuse to do it anyway if we do nothing!”

“You cannot know that! All we do know is that if you give the queen a reason to hurt Colin, she has said explicitly that she will. It is our duty to keep that from occurring.”

“Anthony…” Penelope’s voice trailed away. She walked to his desk and poured herself a small glass of scotch from his decanter. Catching sight of a copy of An Englishman in Italy on the desk with a bookmark about a third of the way through caused a lump to spring up in Penelope’s throat. Swallowing hard and taking both glasses in her hands, Penelope handed a poleaxed Anthony his glass, clinked hers against his, and took a sip. Anthony followed suit automatically. 

“We cannot stop the queen hurting Colin,” she said, striving for a matter-of-fact tone. “Either she will find an excuse to carry out her threat or holding him captive will slowly eat away his spirit. Can you imagine Colin if he cannot go traveling?” The spike in her heart wormed its way a few inches deeper as Anthony’s face twisted at the thought of Colin so restrained. The pained twist of Anthony’s face turned to anger again quickly, however.

“At least in those cases we are not actively taking part in the harm,” Anthony said. “I would wait for Kate forever if it kept her safe and unharmed.”

“The queen can always choose not to go through with her threat, and doing nothing is simply a choice to expose him to a different kind of harm. There is no good choice here, Anthony. I have no tools at my disposal without blood on them. The absolute best I can do is not draw this out indefinitely. I shall go home now, and write.” She set her glass down on the desk again, and tucked her hair up into her hat; the scarf went in the pocket of Colin’s coat.

“If you walk out that door now, Penelope, you will never be welcome under this roof again.” Anthony hadn’t moved, but Penelope had never heard him sound so deadly serious. “I cannot stop you from publishing if you insist upon it; I’m sure you knew what kind of power the queen’s conditions gave you before you ever walked through this door. But know this: If so much as a single hair on Colin’s head is harmed, I shall hold you personally responsible. You will be banned from Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall. I shall see to it that you never see your nephews. You shall have no correspondence with Eloise, Francesca, or Hyacinth, and if I could prevent you corresponding with Daphne, I would do so. Neither you personally nor any member of the Featherington family shall have my support in any form. What say you?”

“I’m not the one hurting Colin, Anthony.” Without waiting for a response, Penelope pivoted on her heel and walked out the door. She waited for a long moment, listening. The sound of a crystal glass shattering against the wall and full-chested sobs haunted her steps as she made her way back to her and Colin’s Mayfair house. The sun was rising again as she slipped inside the back door.

Her steps echoed. The furniture was covered in sheets to prevent the dust, and the house was truly empty because they had given their household a vacation while they were abroad. The housekeeper would check the house over every few days to ensure nothing untoward happened, but the rest of the staff had been released to their families. She hadn’t sent word ahead that she would be returning. And yet, when she saw the uncovered front hall table with its polished salver uncovered and holding a letter addressed “Dame Penelope” in Worth’s now-familiar hand, she was entirely unsurprised. She was simply exhausted beyond words.

She opened the letter, and was perversely grateful to see that it was only a few short lines telling her that he had personally been following her since she crossed the Channel, but that he was not reporting that she was back because his belief was that she was following his advice. He reiterated that Colin was well as of the writing of his letter and reminded her not to publish. She used the letter to light the stove to make herself a cup of tea to avoid having to go upstairs to an empty bedroom. Ultimately, she fell asleep on the settee in Colin’s study, his coat still wrapped around her.

In lieu of trying to comb out her hopelessly tangled curls when she woke up, Penelope opened her travel writing desk and wrote her special issue of Whistledown. It didn’t take long; this was less a scandal report than it was an excoriation and cry for rule of law. She then dressed in the plainest gown she had, threw an apron and short cloak over the whole thing—listening to her stomach growl all the while—and at the last moment remembered to pin her lace cap over her hair. Striding out into the afternoon sunlight, Penelope made for her original printer’s shop.

Rounding the corner, the crowd abruptly thinned, revealing something of a wasteland where she was accustomed to seeing bustling crowds. The print shop itself was ominously dark, and there may have been boards inside the window. Penelope tried the door and found it very firmly locked. A surreptitious jiggle of the door and careful peering through the windows confirmed that the door and window had been boarded over from the inside. She could also see an explosion of paper, moveable type blocks all over the floor, and the handle of the press itself sat at a hideously incorrect angle.

There was no notice on the door, no obvious explanation for what had happened. Penelope’s breath came hard; she had to be able to print and distribute this issue of Whistledown. She truly had no recourse if she could not get this done. Catching herself leaning against the door nearly in tears, Penelope forced herself to take a slow, deep breath. She had run her operation alone for years. She could problem solve this, and she knew all the printers in this part of London; it would be simple enough to try another. Just a street over was a printer who had done excellent work for her in the past.

I will be calm, and I will do this, she told herself. If she ran more than walked the distance, she simply looked like a maid on a mission for a persnickety mistress. Or so she told herself.

The next printer’s shop was blessedly open. The door itself was propped open to catch errant breezes, and the print master was overseeing a print run—his journeymen were setting type and the apprentices were doing the heavy lifting of pressing and hanging pressed pages to dry. The broadly built print master had done enough business with Penelope in this guise to recognize her.

“Your mistress is writing again, eh lass?” he asked, long years in England nearly but not quite hiding the brogue of his childhood in Scotland.

“You might say so, sure enough,” she said, imitating her cousins in Ireland out of sheer habit. Pulling the closely written sheets of paper from her pocket, Penelope said, “My mistress needs this for noon tomorrow, and she’s willing to take a smaller cut than usual for your prompt work.”

“That’s mighty generous of her,” he said. “I’ll just be needing to see the writ of crown approval and then we can get underway.”

“Writ of crown approval?”

“Surely your mistress has heard that the crown is enforcing an old law now. Old Abernathy was ruined when he published a pamphlet on dog breeding without a writ of approval last week.”

Penelope’s heart jittered. That explained what had happened to her first printer. She would have to see what she and Colin could do for the poor man once Colin was free. But first she had to get this printed. “My mistress and I have been on the continent, we only just returned,” she began, but petered off as the print master frowned and shook his head.

“Then you shall have to convey my apologies to your mistress. I shan’t risk a thousand-pound fine and worse for publishing without a writ of approval.”

“I’m sure my mistress would be willing to cover the fee.”

“The fee perhaps, but we should never be considered for crown publishing projects again, lass. And your mistress surely cannot pay for that loss of income. You have my apologies, and my promise that your mistress shall be at the front of the queue as soon as you have a writ of approval. That’s the best I can do, lass. Now be along, we have work to do.”

Penelope retreated. The print master was correct, she could not cover the loss of crown commissions, and that was clearly a more powerful consideration than the quick payday that a Whistledown issue would bring. And while she absolutely would pay the fine, if a printer were willing to print anyway, it would not be an insignificant sum from their coffers. Heart pounding, mouth dry, and feeling increasingly frantic, Penelope elbowed her way through the crowded streets from print shop to print shop with increasing aggression.

At each and every shop, she received the same answer. Nobody, not even the least reputable printers she could find in parts of London that terrified her to walk through alone, would print without a writ of crown approval. Whatever spectacle the queen’s men had put on at Abernathy’s shop had apparently terrified the rest of the printers into compliance. She endured leers, grabbing hands, rudeness, anger, dismissal, and ridicule, and still she failed. When the last print shop she had been directed to slammed its doors in her face, Penelope nearly dissolved then and there. She could not give up, but she had no sense of what to do next. The sounds of a raucous, certainly drunk group of men startled her, and she picked up her skirts and ran.

[butterflyintochains]

Euron Greyjoy, The Night King, and The Bloodstone Emperor.

They are the same person, Cersei is also the Night's Queen, and here's why. Keep in mind, we have not actually seen the Night King yet in the books, he wasn't reported to have been present at Hardhome, or at the Fist.

Euron is clearly plotting some kind of massive eldritch apocalypse type event, I believe he is plotting the second Long Night. Remember, it doesn't start snowing in KL until after he returns from Essos.

So, here's where the three connect for me. I honestly think I'm alone in this theory, but here I go...

The Bloodstone Emperor initiated the first Long Night in Essos by conducting the 'Blood Betrayal' - overthrowing his sister, the Amethyst Empress, in a massive imperial coup. He founded the Church of Starry Wisdom, worshipped a black stone that had fallen from the sky, and took a 'Tiger Woman' to be his wife. He may have also founded Asshai and been a dragon lord.

The Night King was a brother of the Night's Watch, garrisoned at the Nightfort. He too began worshipping strange gods, deserted his post, and married an Other called the 'Night's Queen'. He also may have been a Stark, but that's not important.

Euron prays to the drowned god, but has green dreams of some sort. Has Valyrian steel armour, has possession of Dragonbinder, overthrows both Balon and Asha's claim to the Seastone throne (a blood betrayal), and has been training magic in Qarth - taking Shade of the Evening. He is plotting his very own apocalypse.

So, here's where things get hairy. But, I think Euron's plan as Bloodstone Emperor reborn and future Night King is as follows.

Take some kind of throne, to give himself legitimacy.✔

Take possession of magical relics.✔

Study seeing in order to access past memories of his past self.✔

Overthrow a relative who has a stronger right to the throne.✔

Marry a powerful woman.

Attain a dragon.

Bring down The Wall.

Start the second Long Night.

Spread chaos around the known world.

But, it is mentioned that the Wall can only be brought down by the Horn of Joramun, currently in possession of Sam Tarly who is in Oldtown studying to become a Maester. However, Euron is currently en route to Oldtown, I believe he will attain Joramun's horn at this stage, taking possession of both horns.

I therefore believe the Dragonbinder will be used to resurrect either an Ice Dragon, or to revive the possible dragon ridden by the Bloodstone Emperor.

Euron's Powerful Wife

Euron states his intent quite early in his time in the books to marry Daenerys for her dragons. But, I don't believe he'll actually get there. Because:

She's already married to Hizdahr at this stage, and has no polygamist leanings as far as we know.

Every hint in the books tells us she is destined to marry Jon Snow, they are the Prince and Princess Who Are Promised, the divine dichotomy of the story.

This, I believe, is where Cersei comes in.

The Night King's wife is noted to already be a Queen when they get together, Dany is becoming a queen and will most likely be titled as an Empress if she wins her throne. Cersei, however, has been queen for most of her adult life, and is a cold hearted woman. Dany is all warmth and fire, not exactly Night's Queen material, is she?

The Bloodstone Emperor married a supposed 'tiger woman'. A woman themed around big cats became an evil emperor's empress. Cersei is a Lannister, a 'lion woman' of sorts. George loves to play with history repeating itself off-center like this. Euron will get his Night's Queen in a Lion Woman, becoming both Night King and Bloodstone Emperor reborn.

So, Euron and Cersei are the ultimate big bads of the story. But, by the time Jon and Dany step into their joint role as Azor Ahai reborn, they won't be Euron and Cersei anymore.

Euron will:

Become the Night King/Bloodstone Emperor.

Take Cersei as his wife.

Go north.

Resurrect his past self's dragon in the Heart of Winter.

And bring down the wall.

Cersei at his side for all of it.

They're all the same: Bloodstone Emperor, Night King, Crow's Eye. Night's Queen, Tiger Woman, Queen Lioness. All are the wheel, spinning around in perpetuity, crushing those beneath them, and new ones will arise to take their place if the cycle isn't broken. So, dear reader, you may be asking...

Where Do Jon and Dany Come In?

Jon and Dany will have to be united, theirs will be the new song of ice and fire. I fully believe they'll venture deep into the north together, possibly in an effort to kill Euron and Cersei before any larger scale war can break out.

Jon and Dany will likely find out about their bond before they get married, and will absolutely step up as co-saviours of the world. You see, Euron hasn't accounted for one saviour, let alone two.

They'll initiate things from Castle Black, alone at first. Then, the fight moves south to Winterfell, where they will command the living against the others. Then, another Battle Above the God's Eye. I think Cersei by this point will already be dead, killed by either Jaime or by Dany with Dark Sister - retrieved from Bloodraven's cave.

Then, an epic aerial battle above Dragonstone, a final fight against Euron achingly close to the Red Keep.

This is it, their last stand, if this doesn't work, nothing will. Their armies are a month away by land, their naval force are at White Harbour. It's down to them, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion.

The undead dragon is taken down by the triplets, leaving Jon and Dany to try and kill Euron on land. And, they do, Dany plunging Dark Sister through his back, Jon attacking from the front with Longclaw.

At Winterfell, all will go silent, as the sky clears for the first time in over a year, the wights falling in their droves, and the war is over. Euron's apocalypse is averted, and Cersei is dead.

At Dragonstone, Jon and Daenerys collapse on the sand, alive, but so tired from all the fighting. The triplets fly in rings above the island, their riders triumphant.

And so begins, the restoration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tell me your thoughts, but this has been a pet theory of mine for ages. To me it just makes so much sense, especially with George's love of narrative balance. If Jon is gonna face the Night King who is a dark reflection of himself, Dany will have to contend with a Night's Queen who is a dark reflection of herself.

[lee-hakhyun]

lee hakhyun hears sentences in his head. he doesn't know if they're from wos, or from shin yoosung's mind, but she's losing confidence.

lhh's incite has powered up a lot since he got his first story. it's level 9 now! he encourages her, and incite improves her taming. she's able to start taming nagaks, and a deadly dance starts. shin yoosung works on taming while lee hakhyun dodges and hides in a nagak shell when he can't avoid the attacks. eventually, the ancient nagak gets pissed and starts moving.

using the blade of faith, while he couldn't scratch it before, he uses the story he received from the beggars sect. using the story, he's able to cut off a leg. he realizes then just how great the people of murim are. people who focused on honing only one skill for so long. if they're this powerful, how much training had yoo joonghyuk, breaking the sky sword saint, and kyrgios gone through to reach that level?

he has a thought. 「I want to watch, and write, those stories.」

the ancient nagak prepares to attack again, and lhh instinctively hides in a nagak shell. ...but why is there no sound? moments later, a crunching sound is heard. the ancient nagak drilled through the shell instead of attacking. he can't avoid it now, and he can't die now. if he does, shin yoosung will also die. as all the nagaks are about to attack, he uses incite and incites himself as a nagak. this confuses the ensemble, and lessens the attack to a point where it was survivable. the ancient nagak was confused for a bit, but still decides to attack.

cutting off another leg, the nagak no longer cares about shin yoosung. his blade of faith is rejected by thought, and though he could use incite it was getting harded to keep the blade of faith up. he looks back at shin yoosung. this is the 41st turn. in the end, she will become the disaster of floods. but again, just because a story is a tragedy, is it better to not exist?

kim dokja promised to watch his story. so he'll write the story he wants to. even if, in the end, he's destined to not change anything.

he tries to activate ☐☐, but the skill has been restricted by the star stream. instead, it's changed into a weaker skill. 'sentence enhancement', where he can write a sentence to enhance it. he's given the sentence 'cheon inho ☐☐', and he writes 'cheon inho uses 'incite''. incite is strengthened, and he suddenly feels like he can do anything. now, instead of just imitating the personality of his incitement, he can actually imitate their skills and stigmas (within probability). to get out of there, there's only one person who could do it without killing the nagaks.

he tries to incite himself as the disaster of floods. and... he can't do it. she's at a level way above what lhh can do. he has to incite himself as someone at a lower level. if it's not the 'disaster of floods' sys, then what about a sys from a time when she was less powerful?

sentences from orv start going by in his mind. shin yoosung, chasing kim dokja who had become an outer god. shin yoosung, who participated in the banquet between good and evil. shin yoosung, who was the first to figure out the giant squid's identity.

shin yoosung, who keep calling for kim dokja, over and over. and finally, the shin yoosung who tamed queen mirabad. lee hakhyun uses incite.