#and him guiding her out of the spirit realm

[serialsunset]

Rewatching the ‘leave Annette alone’ sequence 15 billion times just to feel something

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡��𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[queenvhagar]

My perhaps controversial take on the HOTD characters, the GOT characters the writers are trying to mold them into, and the GOT characters they actually most resemble in the books (in my opinion - feel free to disagree).

Disclaimer: these are entirely disconnected series with unique characters, so it's impossible to do what the writers of HOTD seemed to be trying to do in season 1 i.e. mold the characters from Fire and Blood to fit the characters of GOT to try to recreate the success of the early seasons. Given this, I tried to choose one single character analogue from GOT that each HOTD/FB character is most like, but oftentimes the reality is that if any single character from Fire and Blood resembles a Game of Thrones character it is likely that they are a combination of more than one. All of this said, here is who I think the writers are trying to fit certain HOTD characters into vs the character they are actually most like (according to Fire and Blood):

Rhaenyra Targaryen: obviously the show wants her to be the new and improved Daenerys, a protagonist everyone can root for who wants to revolutionize the existing order. In reality, Rhaenyra is most like Cersei: a woman who seeks to use her three bastards to usurp thrones and gain even more power than she already has, all while committing incest with a family member and using her power to punish and silence her enemies. She uses the existing system to raise herself up and keep others below her. She does reach her goal of ultimate power but ultimately she is unable to hold it. In pursuit of holding onto power or gaining more of it, she watches as her children die early deaths. The smallfolk despise her for her methods of ruling. Eventually, she will cause her own downfall and die before her time.

Alicent Hightower: the show wants her to be Cersei, a mean-spirited, jealous woman protecting her problematic children and using her status as queen to put others in their place (they even used Cersei scenes as audition material for the role). In reality, I see Alicent as most like Catelyn - a flawed woman, mother to a king, seeking to further the rights of her son in the hopes of protecting her family from those who would harm them, guided by her own sense of justice, honor, and understanding of the laws of the land (and of course, hyper aware of the bastards in the room). All she wants is her and her children's safety, and she is willing to go to war for it. In the end, however, she watches as every last child is taken from her before she herself dies alone.

Viserys I Targaryen: the show wants us to see him as the ultimate father who loves his child unconditionally and always supports her, and that his view of right and wrong should be what guides the world. In reality, he is most like Robert Baratheon: a weak king unsuitable for rule whose mistakes and complacency lead to civil war after his death. His preoccupation with past events and people, and his role in a former love's demise, leads him to neglect his current wife and their children and make decisions that create long-term issues for his family and the realm.

Criston Cole: as soon as Criston turns away from Rhaenyra, the show wants you to view him as a Meryn Trant type of Kingsguard - a man unconcerned with honor and violently anti-women, more than willing to carry out terrible acts commanded of him. In reality, Criston is like more like Jaime: he seeks to make a name for himself as a knight, guided by his own sense of honor and justice, though he is judged by others as lacking such principles. His devotion to his position on the Kingsguard and his love for the royal family motivates him. Occasionally his self-confidence and delight in goading his enemies can make him appear callous and proud. Although he is not officially the royal children's "father," he has guided and protected them and their mother from early on in the absence of their official father.

Daemon Targaryen: the show wants you to both love and hate Daemon. It seems he should fill many roles that Jaime did - a sword fighter whose swagger and danger mix together, whose dishonorable acts follow him through the world. He acts primarily out of love or his pursuit of it, whether for his brother or his lover and her children. The viewer is supposed to see that deep down he is a good guy, no matter how many characters say that he's not. In reality, I see Daemon as a more capable Viserys III: a man adamant in his family's racial superiority, who believes he and his loved ones should have access to unchecked power because they're better than everyone else. A man who enjoys exercising his power over others and demanding obedience out of fear of his wrath. A man who uses his younger family member to further his own interests without much thought to her own wishes or agency and willing to hurt her if she doesn't act the way he wants her to.

Otto Hightower: the show wants you to view Otto as a new Littlefinger, someone sly about his intentions who uses spies, information, and unsavory methods to take advantage of the ruling family and further his own interests and increase his own power. I see him instead as more similar to Tywin: a Hand of the King seeking to put his family close to the throne in pursuit of legacy and advancing his family's station, a man who arranged for his daughter to marry the king so his blood would sit the Iron Throne and bring his family power for generations, a man acutely aware of the political world and how the game is played and willing to get his hands dirty to play it.

The Strong boys: the show wants you to root for Rhaenyra's perfect, good natured and pure intentioned sons as if they were the Stark boys (mixed with Jon Snow). Raised in a good family, these boys know right from wrong and love each other. Yet some people unfairly think less of them for their birth. In reality, the Strong boys are closest to Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella. Bastards set to inherit positions they have no claim to, they are coddled by their mother and protected from any consequences to their actions. When one attacks another child, their mother demands that the other child's family is punished for their actions (and doesn't even reprimand the child for his role in the conflict). The result is the child has no remorse for the harm done, and the other child's family festers resentment against the child. Some people uncover the truth of their birth and object to their place in the line of succession, and these people are killed for speaking the truth. Eventually, a war is fought to keep them and their mother away from the throne, resulting in all of them being killed.

Aegon II Targaryen: the show wants you to see him as Joffrey 2.0. A man interested in viewing sadistic acts for his own pleasure, who abuses women for his own enjoyment, and who is unfit to rule. In reality I see Aegon as closest to Robb: a first born son reluctant to rule as king once his father dies but who rises to the occasion to try to keep his remaining family safe. A king willing to fight his battles alongside his men, no matter the risk it might pose to him. A king who tries his best to rule but makes mistakes along the way that cost him dearly. In the end, he watches as he loses everything, and he dies young.

[arcielee]

dōna mandia

Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game of hide-and-seek. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader Word Count: 4085 WARNINGS/THIS IS A DARK FIC: Targcest, with she/her pronouns, MDNI, 18+ Dubcon, inexperience, fingering, implied sexual themes, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, anal, double penetration, rough sex.  Author's Note: Thank you @hamatoanne​​ for being my muse and inspiring this depravity. Thank you to @sylas-the-grim​​ for beta reading and perfecting. And a huge thank you to @aemonds-fire​​ for helping me with my Tumblr settings that had me ripping my hair out. 💜 Anyway, this is what you wanted from this poll. I hope you are all happy with yourselves. 😂   

Valyrian translations: mēre, lanta, hāre is one, two, three dōna mandia is sweet sister

Tumblr kindred spirits: @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @httpsdoll​ @theromanticegoist​ @assortedseaglass​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @theoneeyedprince​ @hb8301​ @lovelykhaleesiii​ 

“Come, sweet sister,” Aegon whispered into the shell of her ear. She felt the warmth of his palms through the layers of silk worn, her robe and her nightgown, with his intimate touch to her lower back to guide her.

She paused for a moment and peered back at her twin. Aemond had covered his one eye, his sapphire glinting from the lighting of the room as his timbre rumbled the numbers off in Old Valyria. “Mēre,” he began, with a slight curl to his lips.

“With me,” Aegon urged, his other hand interlacing with her own to pull, and she could not help the giggle that slipped from her lips as she followed him.

Aemond continued behind them, a low echo against the cobblestone. “...lanta…hāre…”

It was childish, she supposed, but welcomed after the somber family meal earlier this evening. Her brothers then stole away to her chambers, the mischievous grin paired with the suggestion from Aegon that they play hide-and-seek, as they had as children.

But that had been a lifetime ago, long before the internal warfare of the House of the Dragon inevitably spilled its destruction across Westeros.

Her brothers, Daeron as well, had all fought valiantly and victory was had–but at what cost, she often wondered. Rhaenyra was dead, along with their uncle and nephews, and their dragons as well. The smaller children, the ones with the blood of Old Valyria apparent in their veins, had been sent to Old Town with the assurance to raise them with the absolute truth of what happened.

But she knew that the truth would be written by the victors.

Their grandsire served as Lord Hand still, an advocate to reinstate the peace disrupted. This burden shifted on her and her siblings, as Aegon was now king without question, and now the sole focus was to mend the rift between realms, a new age of serenity with his reign. As part of this, their grandsire announced her betrothal to a Northern house, as if she were an olive branch to be extended to the perpetual snow to never be retrieved.

Her pain was written plainly on her lovely features, but their grandsire spoke his words with a sense of finality; it seemed to be no hope to dissuade his mind.

This was how her brothers found her–“Sulking prettily,” Aegon cooed as her handmaiden finished braiding her silver tresses back, dressed already in a pale silk and ready for bed.

Once they were alone, Aegon had brought up this childhood game. What had convinced her, though, was when her twin, Aemond, who was the personified reason knitted amongst them all, seemed almost akin to the idea. His perpetual smirk played at his lips when he offered to be the seeker first.

And now she padded softly along to keep pace with Aegon, breathless, almost gleeful, as they tore through the empty corridors, hands held as they weaved through the silent castle before coming to a door she recognized all too well.

“This is Aemond’s room,” and her voice trailed off with its uncertainty.

Aegon returned his hand to her lower back, his other now grasping onto her forearm. There was a darkness that flickered over his features, but his smirk was quick to brighten, an emotion gone with a heartbeat before she could even register. A coaxing whisper to guide her across the threshold: “This is the one place he would not think us to go.”

It was a room she knew with an intimate familiarity, with an ingress that connected and weaved through the walls, leading back to her own. When they were children, Aemond often would slip into her bed at night, her honeyed tones to soothe him to sleep, and when he had lost his eye, she would go visit with him and listen while Vhagar’s roars reverberated throughout the Keep.

It was tidy, as always, maintained and meticulous, which suited her twin. His musk lingered over, something that was so uniquely his own: the hint of smoke with leather, his skin scrubbed clean with the bath oils gifted from Dorne, the amber and the ash.

It was something that held onto her clothes whenever she would return to her room in the early mornings.

Now, she followed Aegon with timid steps as he moved towards the wardrobe further back, standing tall and solid. He opened to be greeted with the smell of Aemond, mixed with the cedar chips placed to keep the moths away. He then stepped in first, turning to reach for her once he realized her hesitation rooted her to the cobblestone; his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in, closing the door behind.

It was dark, save the crack between the paneled doors that allowed the bit of golden light from the hearth and the tapers still lit to spill in. Aegon nestled against her, a warmth emitting from him, and her backside flushed against his chest. His one hand moved to her hip while the other began to draw soothing circles against her stomach, an almost tingling sensation through her silk.

She squirmed slightly, an inadvertent hum from his touch; the close proximity and his clashing scent–a soothing mixture of lavender and tea tree oil–caught her breath in her throat. She blushed, her hand fumbling on top of his own, so small in comparison, and he pressed the imprint of his palm to her stomach, the other gripping into her hip bone.

She shivered from his hold, from the warmth that began to pool between her thighs. “Aegon,” she breathed.

He moved to place his hand over her mouth. “Quiet, sister,” and his chin pressed onto her shoulder, his hot whisper tickled with his low baritone and his hold tightened around her waist.

She paused, alert for an indication that Aemond had finally come to the room to find them, but there was only a heavy silence punctuated by the crackle from the fireplace. Aegon burned against her, a pillar of warmth that settled over like a fog, thick with the quiet, almost suffocating in the enclosed space. His hold on her hip loosened and his hand began to trail the flow of silk to the soft divot between her thighs, his fingers moving to trace the outline of her cunt against the thin material.

“Sister,” his tone was dark, but she felt the curl of his lips against her ear. “You are bare beneath this.”

Only his hold on her mouth kept her from reminding him that she had meant to go to bed, but instead she had been caught up in this insipid game–but the thought choked on the fog from his continued motion. His fingers deftly found her slit and he dragged his center digit upwards between, a featherlight touch that seemed to scorch through the length of her spine. She moaned, soft and muted, against his palm.

“Pull up your skirt,” he hissed, moving to cup her cunt fully.

She jolted from his touch, scrambling to bunch the fabric around her hips; the air was cool against her thighs and the wetness between.

Aegon groaned against her skin. “So wet for me, sweet sister,” and he pulled her closer, grinding against her backside, his defined hardness pressing into the softness of her arse.

She mewled and it was muffled still, drawing a dark chuckle of satisfaction from Aegon. “You like that?” and he repeated the movement, his fingers now spreading her silken folds and the silver hair that lined them. “If I remove my hand, will you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?”

His hold only relaxed with the frantic bob of her head and his hand moved to push aside her braid to allow his tongue to run the column of her neck to behind her ear, almost panting against her skin. She shuddered against him. “So soft,” and her skin prickled with the low rumble of his praise, “so wet,” and his one finger curled within, searching until she began to melt, arching against him with a desperation to feel the friction again, his length hard and heavy against.

She pressed backwards and Aegon drew a sharp intake of air before he tilted his chin, his teeth sinking into the junction of her neck, suckling until she left out a small whine, “–Aegon.”

“Quiet,” he hissed again before returning his focus to the curl of his fingers within her velvet walls, to the movement of his hips grinding against. His touch was practiced, precise, and he was now knuckle deep, which allowed the ridge of his palm enough pressure that further ignited the coiled passion building in her lower abdomen.

She gasped with each stroke as he continued his simultaneous ministrations, the mixture of his kisses and nibbles on the curve of her neck, the love bites that would linger but right now brought her to the precipice of something she had never felt before–

–and the doors swung open, where Aemond stood, arms wide, his hair disheveled and his expression unreadable.

Her eyes widened, burning from her embarrassment, burning from her release; she tried to close her thighs, but Aegon pulled it from her, against her own volition and with a startled cry. She trembled from her peak, the flush of color that spilled from her cheeks, to her neck and to her chest, her nipples pressing against the silk and her chest heaving with her labored breath.

Aegon wore his smug satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her neck and his eyes never leaving Aemond.

But his sharp features seemed unsurprised by the spectacle. “You are insatiable, brother,” and he grabbed her, pulling her from the confines of the wardrobe. “Your impatience knows no end.”

The silk spilled to cover her leaden legs, her steps staggered but he was quick to catch her. His large palms held her steady, to meet with his bicolor gaze; his sapphire gleamed and his lavender eye trailed her curves, almost admiring. He then dragged her towards the bed, pushing her backwards against it.

“Oh, but I have only prepared her for you,” Aegon continued as he stepped out, his silver hair mussed and his satisfaction bold on his features as he licked his fingers clean.

She wished her voice to not sound so childish with her question. “P-prepare me?”

Aegon tutted condescendingly. “Just as we did with Helaena, and she took us both so well,” he grinned, relishing in the new flush of color that stained her cheeks with the implication of his tone. “You cannot truly believe we would ever allow you to be off to some Northern house as a prize?”

Her heart fluttered with hope, like a captured bird against its cage, and her fingers pressing into the mattress to hold herself upright to look back at Aemond. He stepped closer to touch her, his hand large and warm, his slender fingers sliding to hold the back of her neck, to hold her attention. “I would never allow that,” he vowed, and then he pulled her to stand again.

She had always considered her twin to be handsome, as breathtaking as the sapphire stone he had placed in his scarred socket. It was his melancholy mien that called to her heart; there was a severity that lined his features, that sharpened as the years passed and chiseled away at the remains of his boyhood. After the war was won, she often wondered, she hoped, that she would be given to him, as Helaena had been given to Aegon…

Her eyelashes fluttered when she looked up at him, warming from the close proximity. “Aemond…”

“Trust me,” and Aemond pressed closer.

It was her first kiss and it swept the air from her lungs, his mouth soft and warm and wanting against her own. A soft moan spilled from her and his tongue curled against her own, his gradual pace to allow her time to taste, to allow her own want to begin rekindling within.

Her hands trembled when they reached for his collar, pulling him closer, and he hummed his satisfaction, a vibration throughout; his arm wrapped around the small of her waist, a guiding press back against the bed edge. Her layers of silk were disrobed and puddled on the cobblestone, a heat radiating from her bareness now shown to Aemond and she saw how his pupil swallowed the color of his eye.

Aemond discarded his tunic, his long and lithe form decorated with scars from the Dance of the Dragons, bold colors with some fading to silver. He pressed between her plush thighs, his slender fingers now digging into their softness for hold, pulling her towards the edge until her cunt pressed against the bulge of his trousers.

Another moan spilled from her kiss-swollen lips from the clothed pressure, and Aemond dipped forward, the soft tickle of his silver hair against her skin and his lips trailing the curve of her jaw with an open mouth kiss to the soft divot beneath her ear.

“Lay back on the bed,” was his breathless command.

She trembled to move herself but paused when her eyes darted back to see Aegon in the shadows, still standing, still watching rapt. His tunic was now untucked and showed off the hard peaks of his chest beneath, his hand dipping past his waistline with a slow palming of the length of his shaft, with wine stained blotches on his cheeks.

Aemond captured her mouth, pushing her back onto the bed, his kiss searing with his desperation, his hunger, with the clash of teeth and his tongue curling against the roof of her mouth. She panted, flustered from the attention, flustered with the echo of Aegon’s words–she took us both so well. Even then, plumes of pink bloomed on her pale skin as his kiss stoke the embers of her passion. “Aemond,” she breathed him in, her head light.

He hummed against her neck, moving lower so his mouth could appreciate her curves. He paused at her chest, his tongue flickering over the peaks of her nipples before trailing lower to the soft of her stomach with hot, wet kisses moving towards her core.

She sighed, she squirmed with each placed kiss and as he nestled between, his breath warm against the glisten from her first climax, and her arousal from his touches.

“She tastes so sweet, brother,” Aegon rasped.

Aemond hummed against her cunt, his fingers soft to touch, his lips pressing an intimate kiss to the bloom above her entrance. She arched her back with a sharp cry, sensitive still, and he pinched her thigh.

“Dōna mandia,” his husky tone sent bolts up her spine. “Be quiet.”

Her hands clamped over her mouth as he began to lap the bundle of nerves discovered this night, and he drank her essence unabashedly. His fingers curled within, his touch somewhat similar to Aegon’s but thoughtful, searching until he felt the beginning flutter of her walls. There was the sinful squelch of her wet cunt and she let out a choked sound against her palm, the threat of tears pearling in her eyes–

Then he stopped.

She let out a whine and pushed to her elbows, the flush of rose that tinged her intimately in all the right places, the rise and fall of her chest and her nipples still peaked with her denied pleasure. Aemond watched her, removing his trousers, the hint of satisfaction fleeting with how her eyes widened at the sight of him bare; he then moved to the cradle of her hips, his head dipping with the glisten on his lips and chin, an unfamiliar taste with his sweet kiss.

Aemond pressed against her, hot and heavy. “Sweet sister,” and he sounded apologetic. “This will hurt.”

Once again a hand clamped over her mouth, halting her gasp as he lined to press against her entrance. Aemond groaned into her neck with his gentle thrusts that burned, that stretched as he pushed into her and she writhed pitifully beneath him, the tears now spilling with her muffled sob.

“I know, I know,” his low tone was soothing, his breath tickling the curve of her neck as he continued the slow rut of his hips against her, his hold relaxing for a chaste kiss.

She gasped against his mouth. The burn, the ache dimming with his each thrust and she felt the blossom of a newer sensation that began to trickle through her veins, a coiling passion as he filled her; It was something deeper than neither his hands of Aegon’s reached before. She shuddered against him, her cheeks wet and her fingers curling into his slim hips, his pace rhythmic to her internal flutter pulling her towards an edge.

She let out a soft cry: “Aemond.”

His lips curled and he praised her. “Yes, just like that,” his pace continued, unrelenting. She felt her muscles clenching, spasming with the bloom of her climax spilling through, her sweet moans mixing with his sharp intake of air through his clenched teeth. Aemond stilled his hips, savoring how she shuddered beneath him, her rapid heartbeat and wet eyes that watched him intently.

A whine cut through them both. “Aemond,” and only then did they remember Aegon.

She felt empty when Aemond pulled away, her cresting pleasure fading. The bed dipped as he shifted, his large hands now moving her, coaxing her onto her hands and knees so she now faced the edge of the bed to watch as Aegon moved closer.

He had shed the last of his clothes, his swaggered step that showed his length, his girth, that hung heavy between his thighs. His touch felt clammy against her skin, cupping her jaw and tilting her head back to meet with the glitter of his lilac eyes. “Will you return me the favor?” he mused, his thumb pressing to her lower lip.

Her older brother always held a haunted beauty about him. There were splotches of wine stains, bold on his porcelain skin, and something almost sinister that brimmed beneath the dark shadows that framed his lovely eyes. Aegon watched her, his digit stroking underneath her chin as he watched for her to acknowledge his words.

Behind her, the bed dipped again as her twin moved to place his hands on her hips. Her grip balled into the linen, to try and hold her trembling still; he dragged the tip of his cock through her folds to coat himself in her release, allowing an easier glide as he sheathed back into her cunt; his groan reverberated throughout them both.

She shuddered and felt Aegon squeeze her jaw, looking up at him through the new tears that clung to her eyelashes. “Open your mouth,” was his low command, his hand wrapping around his base and pressing his swollen cockhead to her lips.

It was a tentative taste before she opened to take him bit by bit. “Watch your teeth,” and she widened her jaw, her tongue flattening against the underside of him. “Yes, good girl,” Aegon hissed, his head tilting back.

She gagged when Aemond slammed into her, his hip bones digging into the softness of her arse–this new angle choked a moan from her, and its vibration had Aegon almost giggling. His fingers combed through her silver hair that spilled from the braid, holding her head as he now bucked his hips into her mouth. She gagged again, hollowing her cheeks, saliva spilling from the corners of her mouth and dripping down the sides.

The brothers were in tandem, the brutal pace of her twin and the sensual pull of her hair by Aegon and his large hands. She trembled as she tried her best to balance on one hand, her other trying to wrap around the last bit of Aegon she could not swallow, flushed from the lack of oxygen and her muscles tensing again.

Then it stopped, the satisfying pop as Aegon removed himself from her mouth, an emptiness as Aemond pulled away. She wished to melt into the sheets, but felt hands pulled to straddle the slender waist of Aemond, who was now splayed against the pillows, the flush of color bright on his sharp features. She saw his erection pressed up against his stomach, a glossy sheen of her arousal coating him.

She sighed from his touch, lifting her hips with a soft mewl as he dragged his tip through her silken folds again, allowing her to slowly sink on top with her soft cries. He bucked beneath her, a slow pace to fill and it plumed new pleasure that sparked at her spine, fluttering throughout. Her nipples were rosy and pebbled, her small hands bracing against his chest with the imprint of of red, half-crescent moons littering on his skin.

Aemond moved his hands to cradle her lower back and pulled her forward until she was flushed against his chest. He captured her lips with a renewed fervor, biting her bottom lip, and she whimpered mercifully against his mouth. He broke away and she buried into his neck with a soft kiss, while Aemond gave a silent gesture to Aegon, who retrieved a small vial and palmed himself as he continued watching them.

“You wish to make me feel as good as I made you,” Aegon asked and the bed sank as he climbed onto it, “isn’t that right, sweet sister?”

She twisted to face him, an unintelligible moan to reply as Aemond continued his languid pace beneath her. Her eyes were glassy, soft noises spilling, and there was a movement of silver when she nodded her head.

Aegon hummed with a curl of his lips, moving behind her, pouring more from the vial into his palm. Aemond reached to find her lips again, tightening his hold as she jerked from Aegon’s touch. He made a soothing sound and she relaxed as he slowly circled her rim, a genial coat of oil, so tender it almost tickled.

It stopped and her trepidation fluttered her spine as his thick head pressed against her hole, a searing burn that speared the base as he began to push until he was fully sheathed and flushed against her ass. She trembled and Aegon let out a low groan as he leaned over her, a soft bite and kiss to her shoulder blade. “So tight,” he gasped.

Aemond had stilled his hips, swallowing her cries with his kiss, and only pulling back to lick her tears, his soothing words muted from the roar of blood that was rushing to her ears. He continued to sing small praises while Aegon moved agonizingly slow, his thrusts eventually coaxing a heat in her lower back that began to spread and press to her seams.

Aemond cupped her face to reclaim her attention, her breathy moans fanning his cheeks and her fist knotting into the linen as she shuddered against his chest. He moved his warm palms to her sides, slowly rolling his hips at an alternating pace with Aegon.

The fullness from their hungry, cyclical pace continued the crescendo building in her lower abdomen. It came with sparks of white that flashed before her eyes, the release of that coiled passion flushing her skin with their rhythm. Her tension snapped, painfully, pleasurable, sharing her bones beneath and leaving her weightless with a sobbed release.

She shuddered from the crests of pleasure that continued to crash against her, feeling Aegon’s hips stuttering with his own peak before pulling out his softening cock. And then Aemond gripped into her hips, a biting hold as he rutted upwards to chase after the high, his cock pulsing inside her velvet walls and her lips parting with a wordless cry.

She then crumpled against her twin and he moved her carefully to the side. She was breathless and could feel their pearly seed spilling from her holes and seeping into the linen. Aegon was first to move, to dress and leave the room, but Aemond took a moment, washcloths rung to wipe her clean, taking the time to blow softly on her skin and watch it ripple with gooseflesh.

When he finally finished, he crawled beneath the covers and pulled her against his chest; she sighed as she melted against him, her fingers moving to play with the silver strands of his hair. Her lips pursed a moment. “What do we do now, brother?”

His fingertips stemmed pleasantly against her ribs and she flushed from the vibration of his low hum. “I intend to speak to the Lord Hand tomorrow about making you my wife,” he said as if it was already decided.

Her tongue wet her lips. “What if he is adamant to send me to the North?”

His grin was almost wicked. “Then I will parade these corridors with these very sheets to show you are no longer a maiden,” and he pushed her as she giggled, rolling her onto her back and enjoying the natural spill of her breasts; his narrow waist knitted between her thighs and she sighed, feeling him pressed against the inside of her thigh, heavy and ready once again.

Aemond captured her mouth and his kiss heated her cheeks. He stopped a moment, his tone dark and heady, “I will not be denied. Iksā ñuhon, dōna mandia.”

You are mine, sweet sister. 

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Please Don't Prove I'm Right

This is based on the song Please Please Please (Epic Version) - by Morgan Clae. I haven't written in a long time; my mental health has taken a significant toll not too long ago. I have been going to some consistent therapy as well as taking things slowly on my own terms. I thank my support and followers right next to me as I recover. The banners are all from @venomhound. Please reach out to them for some excellent help with the Tumblr blog. They have been a big help to me. @literallurker is their main account. Thank you everyone for bearing with me. You are all amazing. My moons~

TW: AFAB Reader, Hurt, Graphic Details of Harm, Religious Truama's, Yandere Reader for a moment

In the beginning, heaven was a breathtaking expanse of glistening white, where clouds floated like soft pillows in an endless sky. The angels above drifted gracefully among them, their laughter echoing with pure joy, and the air held an ethereal light that felt almost alive. It was a realm of boundless beauty reserved solely for God’s beloved.

But everything changed when Lucifer, once the most cherished of all angels, was cast down. The pristine clouds darkened, their softness replaced by a bitter heaviness that weighed down the heavens. The once-gleaming landscape morphed into a realm of towering structures and watchful exorcists. The loss was palpable, as if the heavens themselves mourned the fall of its brightest star.

When you first encountered Lucifer, you were just a baby angel, a mere child of the heavens. You were newly formed, wide-eyed, and full of wonder, destined to guide the three humans wandering in the paradise of Eden. You felt an unshakeable bond with him—a connection transcending mere friendship. He was your sun, your air, the essence of your existence in this perfect world. 

Lucifer was intoxicatingly brilliant, his spirit igniting something that felt sinful within you. Yet, whispers of his rumored affections for a human stirred around you. It was said that he had fallen for one of them—impossible, you thought. God’s favorite should follow divine order, untouched by earthly desires, especially for a mortal once destined for Adam and soon rejected.

As you flitted anxiously through the heavens, awaiting his return, you could feel the eyes of the other angels upon you, judgment simmering in their stares. Sera, a newly appointed Seraphim, approached her voice a gentle choir against your rummaging thoughts. 

“Y/N, you seem troubled. Is everything all right?” Her youthful features were unmarred by the weight of time, yet you could sense the unspoken warnings in her tone.

“I’m just waiting for Lucifer,” you replied, forcing a smile. “He’s never taken this long before.” 

You could hear the skepticism in her voice before you even looked up. “Y/N, he’s trouble. He doesn’t see you the way he sees that woman. His heart is blind to your devotion, lost to her instead.”

Each word struck like a dagger, stinging your eyes with tears. “No, Sera. He cares for me. He tells me everything about his adventures in Eden. He will come back for me.” Your voice trembled with hope and desperation as if your sadness could summon him.

Just then, like a flash of lightning, Lucifer burst through the gates, the embodiment of energy and life. He swooped down, wrapping you in a joyous embrace, spinning you through the clouds, laughter spilling from his lips like music. You could feel Sera’s disdain radiating from behind, but you didn’t care. In that moment, you were weightless, untouchable...his.

In an instant, he whisked you away to a secluded corner of heaven, where you could gaze down upon Eden. Confusion washed over you as you settled on a fluffy cloud, watching him pace with uncontainable excitement, his wings shimmering behind him. He was always so proud of his beautiful wings.

“Y/N! I’ve discovered how to make Father recognize the humans as equals!” he declared, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Why would you want that?” you asked, a knot tightening in your chest. “We’re different for a reason. We’re not meant to be like them.”

His face fell as he paused, the thrill evaporating. “I need them to be seen as equals so I can bring them to heaven with us! Don’t you remember everything I’ve shared? All the dreams I have?” 

The ache in your heart deepened. You wanted to forget, to lose yourself in his bright hair and vibrant blue eyes, but the thought of Adam, Eve, and Lilith standing beside you twisted like a knife, no, not beside you...beside him. Two perfect couples, it seemed.

“Of course, I remember,” you said, forcing a smile. “Please, continue.” But inside, a storm raged between your heart and mind. 

What if you could just keep him for yourself? What if you shattered his wings, leaving him grounded and broken? What if you descended into the chaos below and extinguished Lilith’s light? What if you bound him to your will, claiming him as your own?

In that moment, you felt the weight of your thoughts, and the realization stung sharper than any blade. He was meant for her, not for you. There is no way when he spoke of you to her, if he did that, she had these thoughts...were you even an angel?

A chill ran down your spine as these dark fantasies engulfed your mind, each thought more treacherous than the last. You gasped, the air thick with dread, realizing you were still with Lucifer, his presence a paradox of comfort and ongoing torment. 

He rushed to you, his fingers brushing your cheek with a heavenly and cruel tenderness. His soothing yet distant voice echoed in your ears as a haunting melody. He was perfection incarnate, and you couldn’t fathom why those mere mortals deserved even a fraction of his devotion. You were willing to sin to keep him all to yourself...

After countless attempts to gain your attention, he realized it was futile. With a gentle sweep, he lifted you into the air, his wings unfurling majestically as he flew you to your resting zone—a serene haven that now felt like a ticking clock counting down to your last moment of peace. 

If only you had known this would be your final day in his embrace, perhaps you would have listened more intently, held him tighter against the wind, and begged him to affirm that your bond was real—that his heart belonged to you, not to that woman on the surface.

But morning shattered the tranquility, a sudden onslaught of light and chaos. Angels gathered, their faces a storm of judgment as Lucifer stood before them, shackled and tormented, bound to that woman from below. 

Tears blurred your vision as the reality of betrayal washed over you. He had chosen her, and in a cruel twist of fate, you were forced to witness your shame laid bare before God and all the Angels you shared home with. 

Then came the searing pain—the molten metal of chains biting into your neck and wrists, dragging you toward the center of the circle of wrath. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you locked eyes with Sera, whose disdainful glance pierced through your confusion like a dagger.

“Y/N, DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’VE BEEN SUMMONED HERE WITH THESE TWO TRAITORS?” The voice boomed, a thunderous echo that reverberated through your very essence. You looked past Sera to see Him—the man the Archangels called Father, his presence both majestic and terrifying. With a shaky breath, you swallowed your fear and shook your head.

“No, Father, I don’t understand. Why am I being punished?” Each word felt like a desperate plea, even as the burning sensation clawed at your skin, choking you of your right to breathe.

“Father, please! Y/N is innocent! She knew nothing of my plans; she was ill when I confided in her last night!” Lucifer’s voice, once a safe haven for your soul, now felt like salt in an open wound. The sincerity in his plea twisted your heart, revealing the depths of betrayal you had yet to fully grasp.

“Silence, Lucifer, for God speaks! The matter at hand isn’t who has wronged whom but that this angel knew of your treachery and chose to remain silent!” Your world crumbled hearing Sera’s voice. You were to fall alongside those who had deceived you, tethered to the very man who had strung you along with promises and soft whispers late in the night, now choosing to partake in those nights with Lilith instead.

“FOR YOUR PUNISHMENT, Y/N, YOU WILL BE THE JUDGE OF THE SPACE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. YOU WILL DETERMINE THE FATE OF SOULS, FOR YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO WALK AMONG BOTH SIDES! YOU WILL FACE ETERNAL LONELINESS AND ISOLATION FOR YOUR TRANGRESSIONS UPON HEAVEN AND EDEN!” Fear engulfed you, a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume all hope. You were to be cast into a purgatory of your own making, alone and forsaken.

“Release her shackles!” As Sera’s voice cut through the air like a blade, you felt the chains around you dissolve, yet the burn marks remained, a permanent reminder of your choices. You were thrust away from Lucifer, your heart pounding against the confines of your chest, and when your eyes finally met his, you saw the flicker of concern. It ignited a deep-seated rage within you.

Pain shot through your back like lightning as your wings began to transform from gleaming white to a deep, obsidian black. Your halo, once a radiant gold, dulled to bronze, and your skin took on a gray hue. The purity of your existence was now tainted by your one-sided love for Lucifer.

“FATHER, NO! SPARE HER!” Lucifer’s desperate cries echoed through the heavens, but they fell on deaf ears. You stood there, hollowed out, your heart aching not for the punishment before you but for the betrayal that had led you here.

As the Archangel Michael took his stance next to Lucifer, he raised his sword, poised to sever Lucifer's wings. You were forced to witness the agony of his fall. His screams of anguish faded into the abyss as the clouds beneath you crumbled, sending you spiraling into your new reality.

For years, you lingered in purgatory, a silent reaper of the soul’s passage, guiding some to Heaven’s light and casting others into the depths of Hell. With each soul that passed through your hands, your heart grew heavy with bitterness, festering into a resentment that twisted into distaste. You found yourself haunted by thoughts of Lucifer—by the life he now shared with her, the woman who claimed his heart and turned your world upside down.

Then came the day you were summoned to Heaven, tasked with presenting your report on the balance of Winners and Sinners. It was there, amid the looming towers and the changed landscape of your once home, that you first laid eyes on her—Charlie Morningstar, a living echo of Lucifer, with his fiery spirit shimmering in her every gesture.

As you sat in the grand jury meeting, the air thick with tension, you listened to the murmurs of angels discussing Lucifer and Lilith’s child. Your heart ached as you watched Charlie fight for her dreams, her passion reminiscent of his—how he had once battled for his aspirations, now he was seemingly forgotten till Charlie showed up.

Then, as if summoned by fate, Adam snapped his fingers, opening a portal to cast Charlie and her partner back to hell. Just as it threatened to close, a surge of instinct propelled you forward, a desperate need to reach him again, the man you loved, to grasp the fleeting connection you had lost. You rushed toward the portal, your heart racing, your soul crying out to see him missing you.

On the other side, Lucifer stood, his eyes wide with shock and recognition. Amidst his hand, a cold golden band sat, showing where his commitments lie. Time froze as you locked gazes, every unspoken word hanging heavy between you. He extended his hand, a lifeline reaching through the veil, but the portal snapped shut instantly, severing the moment like a blade.

Tears welled in your eyes as despair washed over you, your head drooping low as the chamber emptied around you. Sera approached her presence, a gentle reminder of all those years ago, offering solace amid your sadness.

"It's time to let go, Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft yet firm. You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in your chest. With a trembling hand, you reached out to the wall where the portal had been, yearning for the connection that had vanished.

As Sera sighed and stepped away, you whispered, “Please, please, please prove I’m right...Please, please, please don’t bring me to tears for one more night...” 

Years of pent-up emotions, longing, and heartache surged in a wave. A soft black glow began to envelop you. It consumed you, drawing you back into the solitude that Lucifer had unwittingly gifted you—a prison of your own making. Purgatory was your new and forever home.

Instead of proving you right, Lucifer had always been a master of disappointment, a beacon of hope that burned too bright yet always flickered just out of reach. He would continue to choose her, leaving you alone in the shadows, grappling with the remnants of a love that had never truly belonged to you. Or...did it...

Thank you again, everyone, for the support; I will slowly take steps back into the community one foot at a time. I hope you enjoy my pieces and stick around for my growth <3

[alwynwitch]

The Talamasca in AMC IWTV: Raglan, Marius, Daniel, Rashid and Sam

Earlier I wrote a post (and an older one) about why I think Raglan James is actually Marius de Romanus or he is Raglan but sent by his superior Marius. @romaroy also made an excellent post about this (and I know @nalyra-dreaming and @chicalepidopterareblogs talked about this theory as well). Now we know vampire Sam Barclay was also working with the Talamasca and I'm connecting the dots.

In summary, in the books the Talamasca is secretly founded by vampire Teskhamen and two spirits. They are the secret elders, guiding it. I think in the show Marius will have this role. And he is already present in the story and watching Armand with the help of Sam and Rashid. There are visual clues that Rashid is actually working for Marius (the painting). Marius probably helped publishing Daniel's memoir (at Roman Weiss Publishing House) and maybe the book Interview with the Vampire.

I will elaborate on these points under the cut.

1) The Talamasca is founded by vampires and spirits and led by them as secret elders

So, in the books vampire Teskhamen and spirits are the secret founders and elders of the Talamasca, who are leading them from the background (without the humans knowing). I think the same will be true in the AMC show, because it is shown that Sam, a vampire, is working with them. This is what Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis says about how vampire Teskhamen is leading them:

"The Order is stable now, quite harmless to you. But we've never stopped watching over them. [...] We know everything. We watch them as they watch the supernatural phenomena of the world. [...] When it comes time for the Talamasca to die, we will dispatch it."

So, the humans who watch the vampires are not the ones in charge, the vampire who is secretly leading them is. 3D-chess game! They guide the humans who watch the vampires:

"They are pitiful mortals, simple mortals, honest mortals, scholars and nothing more. [...] We are guiding them. I told you."

Who is Teskhamen? He is the maker of Marius. And the other founder? Gremt, a spirit who follows spirit Amel (who started the vampire race by going into Akasha) to earth. There he meets Pandora who gives him her philosophical vision that becomes the mission of the Talamasca. Who is Pandora? Marius's first fledgling and his great love.

And the reason why the Talamasca is founded? It is heavily motivated by watching the spirit Amel who is in Akasha. So basically, to watch Those Who Must Be Kept. They are already mentioned several times in the show... (just as the Great Conversion, which is also connected to this!) and Marius is their Keeper. Which leads to...

2) Speculation: in the AMC show Marius will be the secret founder/elder of the Talamasca

Character-wise it makes a lot of sense. The AMC show is very much character-driven and the books have simply too many characters to flesh them all out. Teskhamen is not fleshed out well in the books. So it makes sense to give Marius this role. (And hopefully, Pandora can have a role as well!)

Marius is known not only for being a nerd, bookish and scholarly, but also for spying on others and invading their privacy and boundaries. When Marius is introduced for the first time, in The Vampire Lestat, he tells Lestat he knows every detail of his life and has been spying on him:

"How do you know what's been happening to me?" I asked. Again, he smiled. He almost laughed.

"I know things that happen to our kind all over the world. [...] There are moments when I can hear what is happening with our kind in Rome or even in Paris. And when another calls to me as you have done, I can hear the call over amazing distances."

"And I've heard of you from others. And sometimes you and I have been near to each other – nearer than you ever supposed – and I have heard your thoughts."

"Then you know all that, too." "Yes, everything," he said, dismissing that.

And in his own book Blood and Gold Marius says he is also spying on Armand:

For though I had spied upon Amadeo more than once, I saw nothing in him, but the same heartbreaking sadness that I had known in Venice. 

Yeah, Marius is a Total Creep. And guess who else is creepy? The Talamasca. Their motto is: We watch and we are always there. Marius would fit perfectly with them. He could have placed agents Sam and Rashid near Armand. Big Marius is watching you.

3) The role of Marius and the Talamasca by Daniel's books

Raglan James (Marius?) told Daniel that the Talamasca can publish his book but other publishers would reject it. At the end of 2x08 we see this happening. Daniel's book is published by the Talamasca. And Daniel complains they have been heavily editing it. Why? I think because they want to control the narrative about what will be publicly known about vampires.

Has this happened before? Yes! Daniel's first memoir was published by Roman Weiss Publishing House. Roman Weiss seems to refer to Marius. And the memoir is heavily connected to Daniel's memory loss regarding Armand and Louis. So this is an important clue that not only Daniel and Marius have met before, but also that Marius and his publishing activities are connected to the Talamasca. Because Marius is the secret founder/elder? I think so!

[selineram3421]

🌊The Water-Bending Sun Warrior☀

Zuko X Reader

Part 1

Prologue

The first time you entered the spirit world was when the moon died.

Everything was red for a bit and then you felt a deep ache in your heart before falling into darkness. It was strange at first, being awake but your body asleep. Seeing visions of a giant water-like creature commanding the waves.

Upon awakening, you heard your father speaking to the chief of the tribe.

"Please explain, I don't understand what's going on!", he cried.

"Your child is fine. They will wake soon and come back to the physical realm.", the chief replied.

The next few days were odd, you kept leaving your body, traveling to places you've never seen before. Strange spirits were everywhere and you learned to be extra careful.

You've tried to tell your father about your journeys but he refused to listen or believe it. It confused you how he could trust the word of the chief but not yours.

A few months have passed since then.

Sitting near a small stream of water, you moved your hand back and forth, following the flow. The water following your command.

The first time you made the discovery that you were a water-bender was when you were helping the healers in your village.

You didn't tell anyone but the old man who had helped you out of the spirit world when you fainted on the day of the dead moon.

His home was near the healers as he knew more about chakras and spiritual energies, being able to take care of wounds that would normally take longer to heal due to lingering trauma or evil spirits.

"A water-bender, the same as your mother.", the old man, Xbalanque explained. "You flow with the tide and the moon gives you strength."

"Is that why I lost consciousness that day?", you asked.

"Yes.", he nodded. "You are a little more sensitive to such things since you were born during an eclipse. Thankfully your mother heeded my warning and wore red, so it is not as bad as it could have been."

"Is there any way for me to control it? I feel like this won't be the last time.", you say with some concern.

There is a strong feeling in your gut that this "ability" would not cease.

"Ah, so you've felt it.", Xbalanque chuckles. "Yes, it will continue. And I have just the thing.", he says and stands up.

He walks over towards a shelf and begins to move various things, all trinkets that might be for fun or carry some importance. There were a lot of little things, some hung on the walls and some were bigger and had to be placed on the floor. All of them were colorful.

"Here we are!", the old man says and brings back a box as he walks over to you. "This was something I gave to your father and he gave it to your mother.", he explained and opened the box, taking out a necklace.

The ribbon fabric was like fresh red blood, the stone was obsidian with a carving on the surface that had gold in between to make out the image of a flame with a water drop in the middle.

"I gave him this stone and blessed it with protection.", he said and placed the necklace in your hands. "Your father used it to propose to your mother, as her customs from the North were for the person of interest to be presented with a betrothal necklace."

You stared down at the jewelry in your hand in awe.

There aren't many depictions of your mother, you can't really imagine her with anything at home. This gives you a small glimpse though.

Why is it here? You wondered.

"It was hard on your father when she passed. He gave this back to me with a foul tongue, saying it didn't work.", Xbalanque sighed. "But nothing can stand in the way of fate's plans."

Apá...

"You can keep it. I have no use for it and I feel like your mother would have wanted you to take it.", he says. "Obsidian is used to contact ancestors, so you can always have a guide when you travel."

How convenient.

"Thank you.", you smiled and put the necklace on.

Visits to his house became common for you as you had many questions.

Now, looking at your reflection in the water, you still wore the necklace.

You haven't traveled recently but you have paid more visits to Xbalanque's residence, having more questions about the obsidian stone and its properties. His response was for you to meditate with it.

So that's what your plans were for today.

Maybe things will get more interesting after doing so.

Wow, it's been a long while. I was stuck thinking about what to write for this part. This fic will update slowly.

Read tags for more details.

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 2

🌊TW-BSW☀️ | Zuko ML

[justpoliteconversations]

Graveyard Waltz [Deity!Reader + Fallen!Time]

One deity's failure is another's champion, or something like that.

Reveling in the new smell of uncommon trash.

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

Hylia's destined hero was small, even by the standards of his species. His hands were smooth with youth and a life of peace among the Kokiri, face still plush with baby fat, shoulders thin below a delicate neck.

Red. All the softness of childhood was bathed in the red of his lifeblood, still warm against his pale skin. His eyes open wide and frozen in childish horror, the realization of death's inevitability settled upon his features like the masks he so loves.

Hylia has always been cold to her champions, but never had she been so callous. To send a child so young is not new to her, but to cast him aside so readily. Your own divine sensibilities bristled, displeased at the thought.

It was your nature. To love and cherish that which has been discarded. You are the Deity of Passing after all, the one to comfort those who have been torn from the world of the living. Be them saint, child or sinner, you accept them all.

The power of Hylia's favor has long gone stale on this one's young body, her grace long left him even before Death had laid its hands upon him.

In the distance, 6 sages cast their power over the entity known as Ganon (an unnatural creature, far removed from the cycle of death and passing), sealing him away in the Sacred Realm. It is sacrilegious, to cast such a creature into the Goddess' cradle. But what else can they do.

A dead hero, an unawoken princess, an abandoned world. What else can mortals do against the might of a being whom even the Goddess herself had failed to strike down.

You pay the happenings of the living world no mind, for that is not your duty. It lies instead in this fallen hero, this child of the forest, still clinging to his mortal body with childish determination. Still so desperate to live, despite the fear festering within his heart.

The strength of mortal spirits. How you adore the bright spark of firelight in the vast stretch of eternity, fluttering like ambers in the night.

"Little one." You call to him, sweetly, as you have always called to the ones taken too young. "You need not fear, for pain will not find you here. You are safe."

"No!" A young voice raises in defiance, a single blue eye peeking out from within the still body bathed in the cooling red of blood. It is a small spirit, barely big enough to fill the body it once resided in. Nothing like his predecessors, who possessed souls so strong and unyielding you'd had to call upon your divine might to take them across the dead realms.

The sight of him, so small but possessing a spirit so potent, was enough to pull at the reigns of your instincts. The will to take this young soul as your own, to call upon your right to choose a champion.

"Link, child of the forest. It is your time to pass on from this plain of existence. I will guide you, and across the realms of the dead, you will find peace." You coaxed, maintaining careful distance from the young, belligerent soul.

The small soul glares at you, still hiding from your gentle, patient gaze. You are tempted to step closer, to take the lost being in your arms and comfort him, but you hold back. Faded though it may be, the remnants of Hylia's power still lingers on the boy, ready to lash out at the insult.

She has ever been a jealous goddess. That she would withdraw her favor from her own chosen, before even the inevitability of death, is incomprehensible to you.

She had clung to the Hero of Skies for years after he'd passed, until Death itself had come to reap him from her arms. She'd latched with divine fiery to the Hero of Man and Minish with steadfast defiance, until the influence of Death's touch had severed the bond between them.

Yet she would leave this one to perish, deprived of her favor and the Sword of Legend that was her gift to those who possessed it. To not even fight for his life as she had for those before, leaving him to face the burdens of passing alone.

Abandoned. Forgotten. Even by the sages who spared not a glance for the broken body laying at thier feet. Still clinging futilely to life, staring down a messenger of death with the will to live pulsing through his diminutive spiritual form.

It was too pathetic. Not even the weeping hearts of poets could capture the pain that seared through you at this tragety.

You kneeled down beside the frightened soul, quietly waiting.

Your decision was made. Hylia be damned for her callousness, but you were willing to fight for this one's soul if she chose to return to this place.

Hours passed, days. The sages had long left, taking the young body with them. The soul it once housed had been left behind, bound to the place in which he'd died.

He'd cried and raged as they'd taken his body, small hands grasping at the limp flesh with desperate strength. Though it had meant nothing against the influence of the living. The dead were not meant to transverse the realms of flesh and blood, after all.

He'd stared to you with fear then, a bone deep grief at the inevitability of death. Not much different to his final expression, faced against forces he did not understand nor could he defeat. Helplessness brought to his feet by a destiny that'd long abandoned him.

You'd waited. Until his fear turned to confusion. Till confusion turned to apprehension. Until apprehension turned to boredom. And in that boredom, the child came forth.

"I'm not going to die yet!" He proclaimed quite suddenly many weeks later, standing before you with feet apart and hands on his hips. You merely nodded at that, and he faulted, not expecting such easy acceptance.

"Good!" He pushed on regardless, though his voice was shaken. "So you should return me to my body!"

You shook your head, and for the first time in weeks, spoke. "It is not within my power to return souls to departed flesh."

His lips pulled downwards, looking annoyed. You knew though, by the wavering of his soul, that he was scared of what that meant. That he understood to some extent, even if he did not.

"Then, what do we do?" He asked, and you ached at the unsaid admission. A lost child, torn from everything he'd ever known and seeking guidance in a world that was suddenly so big and so unknown.

Guidance he'd been denied once before. The absence of which had brought him here, at your side, seeking that guidance from a messenger of the dead.

You gave it to him, because you had already decided.

"I will bestow upon you my favor. Should you accept, you will become my champion and I will grant you a body of my own divine essence."

He blinked, unnecessarily, then frowned. "But I'm Hylia's champion." He said simply, not quite denying, but bordering on incredulous.

You stared at him, taking the measure of his soul. He knew, but he needed it said. Even if he'd known for some time, the mortal heart is stubborn and defiant.

Sometimes you have to break it honestly for it to heal.

"She abandoned you. Long before you passed from the living world." You didn't bother to soften your words, wouldn't give him the chance to hide from the truth any longer. No now. Not ever again.

Lies are for the living. Neither of you have that luxury anymore. Not you, and now, not him either.

Your champion.

He didn't fight as you moved closer, he didn't fight as you reached down to cup his small face in your hands. He didn't shed a single tear, just met your gaze with steely determination. That fighter's spirit shining though, hardened by the harshness of a spoken truth.

"Okay." He said, and it echoed within the furthest reaches of his heart, like fire burning away the stagnant rot. "I will be your hero."

You smiled. The fires of divinity burst forth from your hands and cast him aflame, burning away the golden light of Hylia and pouring forth the somber gray of your essence. Like the dim light of an overcast day, like fog rolling over the land.

He didn't shy away, didn't avert his eyes. Just stared up at you with acceptance. Then the flames reached his eyes, cast away the veil of mortality upon them, and the light of divine clarity entered them. He beheld you for the first time as you were, and his spirit burned too with understanding.

'Do you see me, my Champion.' You spoke, not with your lips, but with the pulsing of your essence running through his veins.

He nodded, entranced by your soft, divine light. So different from Hylia's wrathful gold, gentle like shade upon the eyes. Sweet and cool. Accepting of all. Rejecting none.

'Then go forth, my Champion.' You whispered into his heart, your hands upon his narrow shoulders. 'Carry my will with you, always. Bring back the lost souls tainted by Ganon's wrathful malice. Slay them with righteous fiery.'

You placed you forehead to his, and he reached out, grabbed your face with devoted care.

'Bring them home to me.'

"I will not fail you." He vowed, never breaking your gaze as he gave his first solemn promise. "I will liberate my brothers and sisters from the bondage of hatred. I will bring them back to your grace."

'Then go. Fear not the inevitability of Death's touch. For I shall be there beside it, to guide you across the realms one final time.'

He nodded, and you kissed his forehead. Sealing the promise between you, the black symbol of deliverance blooming upon his brow.

'Now live free of divine burden. For you are not alone.'

He closed his eyes. The world disappears around him. Your touch turning inward, settling like warm coals into his heart.

You were gone, but you were not. You'd spoken truth. He would never be alone again.

Suddenly, the warmth of sun is upon his face, the soft give of grass and wet soil beneath his feet the sweetest of homecomings. Fresh, cool air enters his lungs, heavy with the promise of early spring.

He opens his eyes, and below him lies a grassland as far as the eye can see. And within it, trailing great lines within the tall grass, 9 men.

'Your brothers.' He felt your whisper, pushing him forward. 'Go to them. For they are yours still, even if they are not yet mine.'

And he did. Walking into an uncertain future, with you in his heart and his brothers by his side.

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

7. 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓮

The governess had begun her tutelage several weeks ago, immersing (Y/n) in a world of etiquette, reading, writing, and history. (Y/n)'s nights unfolded like the pages of a meticulously crafted novel as the governess wove a tapestry of refinement and knowledge around her. In the vast library that echoed with the whispers of ancient books, (Y/n) delved into the intricacies of literature, guided by the cold and rigorous teacher.

To make things more intense, she had been attending dance lessons with the vampire. As twilight enveloped the mansion, (Y/n) exchanged her quill for dance shoes, stepping into a realm where elegance and danger danced in tandem. The vampire nobleman led her through a series of intricate steps under the flickering candlelight of the chandelier. Each movement was a symphony of precision. The vampire was truly a demanding instructor. After each lesson, her feet ached, and the simple act of walking became an arduous task. The nobleman had relentlessly drilled her in dance, squeezing months of instruction into mere weeks.

Before the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last golden rays upon the world, he roused (Y/n) from her slumber with an urgency that hinted at the gravity of the impending event. In the soft glow of dawn, he requested that she don her most exquisite evening gown, a garment he had purchased just for these types of occasions.They were to attend a grand ball, a rare outing that (Y/n) was looking forward to after her time of confinement within the manor's walls.

Following a soothing bath, a maid arrived to assist her in dressing. The process was notably more time-consuming tonight due to the intricate hairstyle and the numerous layers of her dress. Her gown was an exquisite blend of black and crimson, exuding an air of sophistication. She wore long gloves that extended up to her elbows, and a glistening ruby necklace adorned her neck. A red bow adorned her hair, and she completed the look with dainty satin red shoes.

"We will be departing soon, child," she heard the vampire call from the corridor outside her bedroom. "You ought to be prepa—" His sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as he stepped into the room and abruptly came to a standstill, his eyes fixated on (Y/n).

(Y/n) flinched as she wondered if she had inadvertently done something wrong, causing the vampire's sudden pause. He, however, broke the silence with an unexpected smile—a genuine one that reached the depths of his crimson-tinged eyes.

The vampire closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate yet filled with an odd warmth. A fondness colored his words as he addressed her. "Oh, my dear doll," he beamed, his voice full of fondness. "Crimson suits you impeccably. Smile for me," he gushed, his fingers delicately cupping her face, as if sculpting a moment in time.

His reaction was entirely unexpected, and she had never witnessed him being so effusive. The vampire's gaze, once intense and inscrutable, softened into something akin to paternal affection. With a subtle nod, (Y/n) complied, summoning a hesitant yet genuine smile to grace her features. She attempted to swat his hands away, but his genuine enthusiasm was uncontainable as he continued to coo and lavish her with compliments.

The vampire's smile widened, his satisfaction evident. "There, my dear, that is the spirit," he praised, his tone a melodic cadence that echoed in the room. “You look so much better when you behave.”

The vampire's outfit matched hers as he was wearing a red and black frock coat paired with a high-collared vest with silver buttons. As accessories, he wore short cream-white satin gloves and a single-layer jabot with a ruby brooch.

They eventually left the manor, once the man had stopped gushing about her clothing. As (Y/n) walked out. The moon was bright in the cloudless sky and stars shone brightly. The night was a bit chilly and she felt a cold breeze in the air.

A grand black carriage and a coachman were waiting for them by the entrance. She marveled at the beautiful horses. They were tall and imposing, one was black and the other was white. (Y/n) tried approaching them, then the vampire slapped her hand away and tutted. She glared, rubbing her hand to soothe it as they entered the carriage.

As the carriage journeyed toward their destination, (Y/n) couldn't help but confess, "I've never been to a ball before," she admitted with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, her eyes reflecting the glint of uncertainty. "I hope I won't make a fool out of myself."

"Do not concern yourself with such matters," the nobleman dismissed with a lazy, yet elegant wave of his hand. "You've learned everything you need to know, and you shall fit in perfectly."

Her gaze met his, finding solace in the conviction of his words. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a flicker of gratitude for the guidance he had provided in the weeks leading up to this momentous night. With a subtle nod, (Y/n) redirected her eyes on the road for the rest of the journey.

The carriage came to a regal halt in front of the grand estate. It loomed like a castle in the moonlit night. (Y/n), stepping out onto the cobblestone courtyard, couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu as the estate's dark and gloomy façade reminded her of the mansion where she had resided for the previous months. As she was observing the place, she wondered if all aristocratic residences were eerie.

They approached the entrance gates, where vigilant guards admitted them upon presentation of the vampire's invitation. Proceeding toward the colossal entrance doors, they were momentarily halted by a figure standing next to a butler.

"Duke de Beauvoir," he greeted politely. A subtle hush fell upon the conversation as he leaned in, adding in a voice barely above a whisper, "Madame Rossignol has been eagerly anticipating your arrival."

With the vampire's hand resting on (Y/n)'s shoulder, she only faintly registered the conversation, her mind wandering elsewhere. The duke's lips tightened as he responded, an undercurrent of frustration palpable in his tone, "This woman is quite persistent."

"As you are aware," the other nobleman continued, "with your companion's frequent absences, people are starting to inquire."

He squeezed (Y/n)'s shoulder absentmindedly. "I wasn't aware you had taken up the habit of conversing with coffee-sisters*, Marquis de Sauge," he inquired with an icy demeanor, his gaze piercing through the veil of polite exchanges.

The marquis, momentarily taken aback, appeared somewhat affronted. "Not at all," he hastily clarified. "I merely wanted to inform you that Madame Rossignol still maintains her interest."

A flicker of annoyance crossed the duke's expression. "I am not interested in that harlot," he responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Thank you for the warning, Marquis de Sauge," he stated, effectively closing the conversation and dismissing the man, who seemed to have received the unspoken message.

The butler approached, extending a red ribbon to the vampire. He declined it, squeezing (Y/n)'s shoulder once more. "She is accompanying me," he declared firmly, a possessive edge in his tone that piqued (Y/n)'s intrigue.

The butler nodded, replacing the red ribbon with a black one. The vampire graciously accepted it and turned to her. He tied it in a delicate bow around her neck, ensuring it was neither too tight nor too loose.

His face morphed into a somber expression and he said darkly : "Under no circumstances are you to remove this."

She nodded, gulping slightly. She entered beside him, taking her first steps into this breathtaking place. This place was truly a sight to behold. (Y/n) stepped through the opulent doors of the grand ballroom, her heart aflutter with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The ballroom itself was a masterpiece. Crystal chandeliers hung from the gilded ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the throngs of elegantly dressed guests. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries that told the stories of the aristocracy's history, each thread spun with tales of grandeur and wealth. The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation, carrying the faint scent of delicate perfumes and fine wines.

The strains of a waltz filled the room, courtesy of a live orchestra that played with such precision and grace that (Y/n) felt as though she had stepped into a world of magic. The dancers, resplendent in their lavish attire, twirled and swayed in perfect harmony, their graceful movements a testament to the elegance that defined high society.

(Y/n) couldn't help but be overblown by the sheer spectacle of it all. She watched in wide-eyed wonder as the rich and powerful whirled around her, their laughter and conversation like music in itself. She, a mere peasant girl, now stood on the cusp of a life she had only ever imagined, surrounded by beauty, refinement, and the intoxicating allure of the ballroom.

Yet, (Y/n) couldn't shake a growing unease that had settled within her. After mere seconds, she understood why. The guests, who had appeared so elegant and refined, now seemed to be hiding a dark secret. Their movements, appearing graceful and enchanting, were too fluid and eerily silent, their smiles revealing an unsettling gleam in their eyes. The orchestra's melodies that had filled her heart with wonder now carried an ominous undertone, a discordant symphony that sent shivers down her spine. The red drinks were served by servants and then there were the sharp, incisive glances exchanged between the guests, a silent communication that betrayed their shared, hidden nature.

Her heart pounded with terror as the grand ballroom transformed into a surreal nightmare, the once-elegant figures now revealed as creatures of the night. (Y/n)'s grip tightened on the duke's arm, her fingers clinging to him in a desperate bid for reassurance. Trembling, she sought refuge, instinctively hiding behind him as if the vampire's presence could shield her from his kind.

"They're..." The word caught in her throat, the unspeakable truth lingering in the air.

In a hushed tone that cut through the disconcerting whispers of the undead gathering, he whispered, "They will know you are meant to be treated properly." His fingers, gentle as a whisper, traced the black ribbon around her neck. It was a silent promise of protection.

______________

*: A 19th-century term for “malignant gossipers,” according to this website.

[incorrect-mtg]

Flavor Text Highlights - Kamigawa: Neon Dynasty + Commander Precons

<- Previous Set | Next Set ->

Cool - Peerless Samurai

“I fear I have run out of worthy opponents.”

Funny - Enthusiastic Mechanaut

“Greetings, fellow inventors!” the akki shouted, attempting a friendly smile. To her dismay, the greeting was met only with shrieks and alarms being activated.

Worldbuilding - The transformed side of the Age/Era Cycle (The Shattered States Era, Era of Enlightenment, The Modern Age)

“In the wake of the Kami War, Kamigawa descended into a state of constant warfare. Even with Kyodai’s wisdom guiding them, it took the first Imperials decades of work and bloodshed to subdue the clans and bring peace to the land.” —History of the Empire

“We have endured lifetimes of war and carved our way to peace by blade and conquest. Now, united at last under Kyodai’s guidance, we lay down our weapons and open our minds.” —Aoha, general of the First Emperor

It drifted from the spirit realm into a neon world full of new possibilities … and decided to stay.

Emotional - Yoshimaru, Ever Faithful

Day after day he sat there, knowing that the Wanderer would soon be back for him.

<- Previous Set | Next Set ->

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Siblings

I am in the last throes of preparing with previous session notes (Intake, Insomnia, Nightmares, Emotions, Parents) when my receptionist informs me that the client has arrived. Slightly early again, but we are getting used to it at this point, to the degree that it would seem patently strange if he were on time or late. She informs me he has, as usual, brought a book to pass the time.

When the client walks into my office, I note said book is “Molloy” by Samuel Beckett, which he holds in his right hand. A moment later, it has disappeared, and I catch myself wondering where to. In any case, his body language tells me he is not in good spirits today: The coat stays on, he does not talk at all (usually, he at least greets politely, if slightly formally), and he just takes his seat without waiting for me to bid him to sit (which he usually does). As he sits down, he huffs (I can’t call it anything else).

I decide to bring up the client’s homework at the beginning of the session to get it over and done with. The question was whether it were truly paradoxical to allow himself to dream while thinking he is responsible for other people’s dreams.

DT: How did the homework go?

Dream (I notice he purses his lips): I do not wish to talk about it.

DT: You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you could…

Dream (He actually interrupts me): Then what is the point (I notice he does that overly plosive T again) of coming here?

DT (It’s one of those days again): Well, it is you who said you don’t wish to talk about your homework? (He glares at me, pouts but stays stumm.) Look, it isn’t really for me to tell you what the point of coming here is, to quote you. Even if I have thoughts about it. Can you remember why you want to come here?

Dream (The silence lasts four minutes): I have walked an eternity’s worth of dreams. Yet, I mostly remain the observer and never seem to touch anyone’s… soul.

DT (The homework hit a nerve. He definitely engaged with the question): So you long for connection?

Dream: When the last dreamer forgets my name, I will cease to exist (The delusion is in full force, but I am starting to understand why). There is no true connection for me.

DT: What makes you think that people who care will forget about you?

Dream (I notice a sound not unlike that of a strangled cat): Because no one remembers me as soon as they wake.

DT: Well, I’m wide awake, and…

Dream: (I notice he mumbles something that sounds like, “Unfortunately.”)

DT: Pardon?

Dream: No matter.

DT: As I was saying: I am wide awake, and I remember you; otherwise this would be very hard to do.

Dream (He frowns so hard that I can almost feel it physically, but he remains silent. Today will be like pulling teeth I guess.)

DT: If you long for connection, did you ever try to initiate it?

Dream (He snorts, only to then look out the window. The silence only lasts around a minute this time): Yes. (I am waiting because I initially think he might expand. He does not).

DT: What about your siblings? You told me previously that the relationship with some of them is fractured. What about the others? Anyone you’re close to? Or at least get along with?

Dream: My elder sister… perhaps.

DT: Okay, that’s a start. Can you tell me a bit about her and your relationship?

Dream: She is everywhere, at all times, to collect souls and guide them to the afterlife (I am briefly contemplating whether she is really in the funeral business or if this is one of his strange allegories again, but I let the thought slide). I envy her certain sense of… detachment.

DT: And why is that?

Dream: She quite possibly carries the heaviest burden of all of us. And still, she remains… optimistic, kind, compassionate. She perplexes me.

DT: Would you say she is the sibling you're closest to?

Dream: (I notice a certain sense of hesitation): Perhaps she understands the nature of our existence most. But even she cannot fully grasp my realm. Or understand me, for that matter.

DT: Did you ever try to explain?

Dream (He looks at me as if I am someone very young and very stupid. I am neither. Well, at least I am fairly certain about my age): What I am cannot be explained or understood. By no one.

DT: Try me.

Dream (He leans forward in his chair, cocks his head to one side and looks at me intently): Will you answer a question first?

DT: That would depend on the question—I can’t promise anything.

Dream: You mortals hardly ever do.

DT: Just ask and see what happens.

Dream (I notice he is staring at my paperweight again. Hasn’t happened for a while): What do you know of eternity?

DT (I have no idea where this is going, but I decide to play): It is not a concept that means a lot to me. Nothing is eternal.

Dream: That might be true. And yet, what if there were such a thing, or at least something that gets very close?

DT: Then I would probably still endeavour to focus on the here and now, because that’s all I can do.

Dream: Do you never yearn for things beyond your reach?

DT: That’s inconsequential to our conversation.

Dream: Is it, though?

DT (I sense he is trying to corner me somehow, so I decide to redirect while pretending I don’t): Let’s assume for a minute it isn’t then. So what if I did yearn for things beyond my reach?

Dream: I would consider it… (He hesitates, briefly looks down at his hands and then looks at me again) relatable.

DT (I am glad he relates, but I also think I need to redirect even more): Of course you would. Isn’t that what every type of connection is about? Even professional ones?

Dream (I notice he straightens in his chair and lifts his chin. The silence lasts a full nine minutes before I decide to end it).

DT: Can you tell me what else you find relatable?

Dream: No.

DT: Why not?

Dream: Because that is the entire problem. I cannot relate to anyone, and no one can relate to me. However, I envy you… Your fleeting life (The way he says it almost sounds like an insult) and your fragile heart and your ability to love, lose and taste mortality with every passing moment until you take your last breath.

DT (I usually don’t flinch, but I think I might have on this occasion and need a second to gather myself. I am fully aware he is aware that I am slightly rattled because the way he looks at me is both sad but also disturbingly… triumphant, as if he were not so secretly chuffed that he dealt me a blow): And what makes you think you cannot do, or have, any of these things?

Dream: Because Destiny's Book weighs upon me. He is my brother by the way, I am not certain if I told you.

DT: Didn’t you previously tell me you never forget a thing? (Drat! I shouldn’t have said that.)

Dream (I notice he blinks slowly and actually smiles. For the first time today): Touché.

DT (I notice my sense of relief, and I’m not sure I like it): I think I might have asked you something like this before, at least in a roundabout way, but what if you could tear a page from that book? Just like that. Or at least rewrite it?

Dream (I notice he looks out the window again): That has the potential to unravel existence itself (He seems to think. After 8 minutes of silence, he finally looks at me again). Destiny is the oldest, forever chained to his book. Imagine having a sibling who knows every possible outcome, every twist of fate (So we are back to his siblings. Strange change of topic). It is rather infuriating. He once predicted I would spill coffee on a dream record, and I did.

DT (I’m not sure if I am inwardly laughing or crying at this point): So we are back to hot beverages and cup revolutions?

He just stares at me. I notice I involuntarily, or maybe voluntarily, quirk my eyebrow, to which he responds with cocking his head and resting both index fingers on his lips. He is ACTUALLY trying to hide a smile): Well, I am glad you are amused. Should we use that energy to keep on talking about your siblings?

Dream (He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, but he is still half-smiling, so he doesn’t seem to be to opposed): My relationship to each of my siblings is complicated.

DT: And why is that?

Dream: Because each one of us embodies a concept. We are bound by duty but simultaneously divided by it.

DT: Can you elaborate on that?

Dream (I notice a slightly uncomfortable shifting in his seat): Well, there is Desire… Desire is… manipulative. Always scheming, always meddling in my affairs. Our relationship is strained, to say the least. Despair is at least somewhat predictable. And then there's Delirium. She used to be Delight, but… (He suddenly stops himself and shakes his head.). It is unseemly to discuss my siblings, they are none of your concern.

DT: Correct. But you are.

(I notice his eyes turn wet, and he swallows a bit too hard. I catch myself thinking that I feel sorry for him. And I really shouldn’t.) Professionally.

Dream (I notice he stares at my paperweight again): I did not imply otherwise. (He briefly looks at me before turning his attention to the paperweight again.)

There is another brother. He abandoned his function and somewhat chose to… create. Badly. When he used to destroy whole galaxies… (His voice trails off)

DT: I guess he just came to the conclusion he prefers creating nebulae shaped like a middle finger over destroying galaxies? (Why on all fucking earth did I say that?)

Dream (I notice the eye roll): Very mature… (I also notice he loses the battle against trying to suppress a smile again) Yet possibly true.

DT (I am relieved, but I also feel I should apologise)

Dream: No need.

DT (I am confused): No need for what?

Dream: For an apology.

DT (He’s trying to read my mind now, great.)

Dream: I am sorry, I shall abstain.

DT: From what?

Dream: From intruding.

DT: Intruding on what? (I notice I sound a bit prickly.)

Dream (He stares me blank in the face): Your thoughts.

DT (This is fine. Totally fine. He isn’t really reading my thoughts, what are the chances to get it right randomly? Probably fairly high.)

Dream: Even higher if you understand common patterns.

DT (Okay, we’re playing again): And naturally, you do.

Dream: Perhaps.

DT: Then tell me about patterns between you and your siblings.

Dream (He doesn’t get angry or tetchy as expected, and instead just stares at his hands): The patterns are… endlessly complicated. I am not sure you would understand the dynamics of our relationships.

DT: Have you, or your siblings, ever tried to change these dynamics?

Dream (He does look slightly annoyed now): We are… constants! Change is a foreign concept to beings such as us.

DT: Is it truly? You’re changing, aren’t you? You’re even smiling. Here and there. That’s definitely a change.

Dream (I notice a face like thunder): I think not.

DT: Not what I’m seeing.

Dream (He leans forward in his chair): I. Do. Not. Change.

DT: Okay, what about your sister then?

Dream: Which one?

DT: The one who changed? The one you said, “used to be” Delight?

Dream (I notice he opens his mouth briefly to then close it again. He thinks for a hot second): I suppose, within our limited capacity, there have been…efforts to change. But…

DT: So it is possible then?

Dream (I notice the wet-cat-head-shaking): You don’t seem to comprehend that there is no balance in change. Not in any of my siblings. And I wish for balance. For a semblance of… harmony.

DT: Why do you believe there is no harmony in change?

Dream (I notice an exasperated sounding puff of air exiting his nose): I trust our time is up?

DT: No.

Dream: Very well, I shall leave then. (He gets up.)

DT: You’re right, some things truly don’t change.

Dream: I told you so. (He starts to walk out.)

DT: Are you still committed?

Dream (He stops and turns to look at me): Did you not tell me, just a second ago, that some things do not change? And did I not previously encourage you to use ink for however long you deem necessary? I do not have the tendency to go back on my word.

DT: And I don’t have the tendency to assume people aren’t free to change their mind.

Dream (He just stands there and glares at me): You have an obsession with change.

DT: Comes with the territory. Still ink, or would you rather default to pencil?

Dream (I notice the slightly exasperated bridge-of-nose-pinch): Ink. It is marginally more unchangeable…

< Previous Session

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[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Domino Effect

Following Dorthea's passing, The Dowager Queen Margaery's health declined. And by the winter of 1354, she was seemingly nearing her final days. Her bedchamber was filled with priests, nuns, and her closest family, as they all loyally stood by her side. Margaery sat up in her bed and called for her grandchildren. Princess Augusta first came to her, kneeling at her side.

"Augusta, you are a vision of grace and strength. I am so proud of the woman you've become," Margaery spoke softly, her eyes filled with love as she gazed at her granddaughter. "Your beauty is a reflection of your grandmother, Queen Anne. I see her spirit shining through you," Margaery continued, a hint of sorrow in her voice. "I am sorry for the pain caused by my son's actions against you, your mother, and our family. It weighs heavy on my heart."

"But do not let my passing hinder your path, Augusta," she urged, her voice gaining strength as she caressed her cheek. "Go to Tartosa, you are to be Empress one day, and let love and diplomacy mend what has been broken. Your future is bright, my dear, and nothing should stand in its way." With tears in her eyes, Augusta moved to the side. King Edward walked to his grandmother's bedside, taking her cold and frail hand into his. Margaery looked into Edward's eyes with a sense of peace, her hand trembling as she reached for her grandson's. "Edward, in your hands rests the crown's unwavering legacy. Let the realm feel your benevolence, as my Wilhelm once did, for kindness and devotion are the strongest swords," Margaery whispered weakly.

Edward clasped her hand gently, his eyes reflecting the weight of her words. "I will do my utmost, to honor both you and my grandfather's legacy. I pray that I can bring as much light to the realm as you both once did."

With a faint smile, Margaery continued, "Your grandfather would be proud, just as I am, for your reign shall mend the scars of your fathers mistakes. Seek a queen whose heart mirrors your resolve, for in her lies the future of our line."

Edward nodded solemnly, his determination shining through. "I will find a queen who shares our vision, one who will stand by my side as we steer our realm under the Watcher's guidance."

Margaery's voice grew softer, yet carried a firmness that belied her frailty. 'The crown must never falter, Edward, for it is the beacon that guides this realm,' she reminded him. 'I need to rest now for a while.' Her words were gentle, yet weighted with the knowledge of impending farewells. As Edward leaned in, she whispered to him, 'Remember always, I love you dearly."

In these moments, Margaery also imparted a crucial decision. The Kingdom of Effenmont, a jewel off the coast of Windenburg that had come into her possession after her father's passing years prior, would pass to King Edward upon her eventual departure, becoming a state of Windenburg. This gift, intertwined with her love and guidance, would forever shape the realm they both held dear.

As Edward gazed out the window at the falling snow, he felt the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, each snowflake a whispered reminder of the legacy he must uphold, the mistakes he must correct, and the future he must forge for his realm and his people.

In the early hours of the morning the following day, Margaery lay on her bed, her eyes fluttering open slightly as she weakly called out for Edward. He hurried to her side, his heart heavy with impending loss, yet he masked his emotions with a calm demeanor.

With a stern but loving expression, Margaery reached out for Edward's hand and whispered, "Do not forget what I've told you, The crown must never fall."

Edward nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting determination and sorrow. "I won't forget, I promise."

As Margaery attempted to sit up, a sharp pain pierced through her chest, causing her to gasp. She cried out for a priest, her voice strained yet resolute. The priest rushed to her bedside, offering prayers and comfort as Margaery lay back, her breaths becoming shallower.

In her final moments, She whispered her late husband's name, a final farewell to the love of her life. "Wilhelm?" she breathed, her voice barely audible amidst the hushed room. Her eyes slowly closed, and the priest, after a brief examination, turned to the King with a somber apology, saying, 'I'm sorry, Your Grace. she has passed.' The room fell into a solemn silence, the weight of Margaery's legacy lingering in the air."

Edward stood by the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed on Margaery's frail form. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the room, casting a somber ambiance that mirrored the heavy emotions in Edward's heart. Though surrounded by loved ones and attendants, he felt an unyielding solitude settle upon him, as if the world had receded into a distant murmur, leaving only him and his grandmother in that final moment.

In the days that followed Margaery's passing, a wave of sorrow swept through the kingdom as news of her departure spread like wildfire. Citizens from all walks of life, from the bustling markets to the quiet countryside, made their way to Westsimster Abbey, their solemn faces a testament to the deep respect and admiration they held for their departed queen.

Inside the grand halls of the abbey, a scene of profound mourning unfolded. The royal family stood together, their heads bowed in reverence, as they surrounded Margaery's peaceful figure. She lay adorned in her finest regal attire, a testament to her grace and dignity even in death. Her robes, woven from the finest purple satin, cascaded around her in gentle folds, accentuated by the soft gleam of ermine furs that spoke of her regal lineage.

A crown, symbolizing her reign and legacy, graced her brow, its jewels catching the flickering candlelight and casting a radiant glow upon her serene features. Despite the weight of grief that hung heavy in the air, Margaery appeared as if she were merely slumbering, her expression one of tranquil repose. As Edward approached Margaery's resting place, his heart heavy with sorrow, he found solace in the memories of her unwavering strength and kindness. With a voice touched by emotion, he spoke to the gathered mourners:

"We stand here today not just to mourn the loss of a queen, but to honor the legacy of a matriarch whose love and wisdom guided us all. Margaery was not just a ruler; she was the heart and soul of our family, a beacon of grace and compassion in times of turmoil. Her absence leaves a void that can never be filled, but her legacy of unity and empathy will continue to inspire us as we navigate the path ahead. Let us remember her not with tears of sadness, but with gratitude for the light she brought into our lives."

Following her funeral, Margaery was placed in her coffin and carried beneath the grand halls of Westsimster Abbey. There, in the dim light of the crypt, she was laid to rest beside her late husband, King Wilhelm IV. The royal family gathered around her final resting place, their faces etched with grief as they mourned her one last time.

The chamber echoed with the soft sounds of weeping and whispered prayers, a testament to the deep loss felt by all. As the moment of farewell drew to a close, they began to exit the chamber, their hearts heavy with sorrow. King Edward lingered at the entrance, his eyes cast downward in despair. His mind was full of emotions, an immense amount of grief, responsibility, and reflection.

He thought of his grandmother's final counsel, the words that would forever resonate within him: "The crown must never falter." The weight of her legacy and the promise he had made felt almost overwhelming in that moment.

As he took his final steps out of the chamber, Edward whispered to himself, "I will not let you down, this crown shall never fall.".

Queen Margaery 1279-1354 (75 yrs)

May the Watcher guide her into the light ♡

[petalsprompts]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒; 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆.

change pronouns, tenses and other details as deemed necessary. & please specify muse when sending to a mumu.

I  came  today  because  last  night  I  had  a  dream  about  this  place.

Have  you  ever  heard  of  astral  projection?

If  they  hear  me,  they'll  hurt  me.

You  see,  these  are  people  with  the  ability  to  leave  their  physical  body  and  to  travel  to  different  places  in  astral  form.

The  Further  is  a  world  far  beyond  our  own,  yet  it's  all  around  us.  A  place  without  time  as  we  know  it.

Now  you're  outside.  Let  my  voice  be  your  guide.  Keep  a  steady  stride.  Into  the  Further  you  go.

You  have  wasted  your  life  being  afraid  of  the  dead  because  pretty  soon  you're  going  to  be  one  of  them.

I  could  feel  that  someone  was  awake  in  the  house.

I  know  someone  who  can  help,  if  you're  willing  to  ask.

I'm  scared  of  this  house.  There's  something  wrong  with  this  place.  I'm  not  imagining  it.  I  can  feel  it.

It's  no  accident  that  your  /  [family  member]  son  is  a  gifted  traveller.  The  ability  was  handed  down  to  him.

I  know  what  happened.  I  went  in  that  place  and  something  evil  followed  me.

Ever  since  my  accident  I've  been  afraid  of  the  dark.

You're  the  only  one  I  trust  to  go  down  there  with  me.

No  matter  what  happens.  No  matter  what  you  see.  Stay  strong.

This  is  how  you  die.

Dead  people  don't  miss  anything.

Give  her  back!

You  know,  you've  been  blessed  with  a  gift.  You're  special.  Some  people  are  afraid  of  special  people.

I'm  going  to  get  the  attention  of  all  the  spirits  in  this  house.  I  need  things  that  were  important  to  [you/name].

If  you  call  out  to  one  of  the  dead,  all  of  them  can  hear  you.

I've  never  been  hypnotized.

Death  floods  the  mind  with  memories,  but  there  are  new  ones  to  make.

I  mean,  you  and  I  have  firsthand  knowledge  that  there's  something  out  there  beyond  death.  But  it's  not  helping.

The  universe  is  deathless.  It  is  deathless  because  having  no  finite  self,  it  stays  infinite.

In  my  line  of  work  things  tend  to  happen  when  it  gets  dark.

I  don't  think  the  house  is  haunted.  I  know  it.  Things  move  around  in  here  by  themselves.  I  walk  into  the  kitchen  at  night  to  get  a  drink,  I  can  feel  eyes  on  me.

It's  a  dark  realm  filled  with  the  tortured  souls  of  the  dead.  It's  a  place  not  meant  for  the  living.

She's  a  parasite.  A  demon  who  seeks  [your/their]  body  for  one  reason  -  to  cause  pain  to  others.

Nobody,  not  me  or  anybody,  knows  what  you're  going  through  right  now.  And  you  don't  have  to  apologize  for  anything.

[sunflower1experiment]

Mouthwashing AU

Spirit cleanse

So in this AU

Everyone goes through the canon, but end up in a peaceful spiritual realm of safety. They can each see one another, meanwhile they all have to face their flaws.

Daisuke and Anya do not really have flaws that caused substantial damage to others but do have to face their flaws of self forgiveness. Anya doesn’t forgive herself for letting Jimmy tend to Curly, while it may have been her way of making Jimmy take responsibility or maybe because she is genuinely nauseous and uncomfortable. The point stands that she didn’t forgive herself, the spirit world doesn’t want her to suffer. So they face her with tasks of self healing.

Daisuke feels bad for not listening to his gut/Swansea, so he is tasked with understanding that he shouldn’t shoulder blame for something out of his control and he should trust his gut when needed.

Swansea is faced with a more spiritual lesson and task, about sobriety, not being complicit. He understands that during his speech with Jimmy but the spirit realm is not fully convinced, seeing as how he didn’t fully help Anya or Daisuke avoid Jimmy’s wrath.

Curly, yes he does die in the cryopod from Jimmy’s selfish actions of wanting to be a hero. He is sent to a form of lessons and a slight punishment, his punishment being that he has to accept that Jimmy was never his friend. Which is hard for him because he believed he could’ve helped him but what is the point of helping someone if they put your other friend’s at risk.

Curly already accepted that and hated himself for it but the spirit realm needs him to take responsibility for being complicit and not supporting Anya enough, so they send him off to work and speak with other spirits. Lead them towards their own destiny of peace, and lead some to paths of punishment.

One of them being Jimmy, Curly has to make this decision.

Jimmy will be punished and forced to recognize how many chances he had, the spirit and entities within the realm already dislike his existence but they have to guide him somehow so they let Curly do it. When Jimmy sees Curly it’s in the state he was in after the crash, meanwhile Curly was returned to his pre crash state.

Same with the others they are seen as the corpses Jimmy found them in while they see him as the dead pixel.

Once Curly makes the choice after having Jimmy interact with everyone he guides him to his punishment.

Once everyone finishes they will be reborn, but as what?? Or where?

[randomfandommaddness]

...And here is the winning design and its sample designs for the Mask Poll!

I thought it would be neat to have all masks have an additional position on the site of the head. I know the idea is probably not viable in game, but for this concept I thought it would be fun!

The original plan was to limit my secondary colors to red, blue, green, and yellow. But then there was a specific spirit that looked good in black and white, so I decided that each one would wear a different color.

The only thing I kinda regret is the fact that the new hairstyles kinda block the colors...

Here is the Cast. Say hello! :3

(Zoom in for a better look!)

For some of the spirits, I was having trouble figuring out what emotes they should have. More specifically, the spirits that don't have confirmed emotes are the Kite-Flyer, the Shadow Puppeteer, and the Game Master. I have considered a rock-paper- scissors emote for the Gamemaster, but I'm still not sure.

If anyone has any ideas for emotes for these spirits, them please put them in the reblogs or comments. I would love to see your ideas.

As you can probably tell, no one is wearing any capes. This is because the original plan was to have the capes be separate from most of the cast. However this plan has changed, and I will be giving capes to the Guide, the Glassblower, the Gamemaster, and potentially the Toymaker. I'm having trouble picking designs for the capes as I have a lot of ideas that I think would look cool for this cast.

I may do one last poll for the cape designs of the chosen spirits.

Location wise... This event would take place on an island. As for which realm, I don't know. I'm torn between the Isle of Dawn, the Daylight Prairie, and Valley of Triumph. The exact area name is simply called the Fair for now, and the center location in the Fair is called the Plaza. I want the location to be loosely based off of Venice, Italy, the place of inspiration for this collection of spirits and cosmetics.

If anyone has any suggestions, please reblog and comment!

More information about the cast is under the cut!

Here are four facts about each spirit.

Going in order from left to right-

- The Glassblower -

Others compare her personality to her craft: beautiful, yet delicate.

It takes her over an hour to do her hair done in the morning.

Her favorite prank to pull is putting little glass manatee figurines all over her friends' houses.

She is very protective of her work and will go to great lengths to protect her creations.

- The Sugar Spinner -

Her work station is more like a lab, she experiments a lot.

Absolutely loves it when customers try her new creations!

Her favorite prank to pull is recreating her friends' items entirely out of candy and then replacing them.

No one knows the relationship dynamic between the Glassblower and the Sugar spinner. They are able to work together, but they seem to bicker all the time....

- The Kite-Flyer -

She is the most artistically gifted of the group, specializing in crafting and painting.

Ever since she was little, she has always dreamed of flying over the clouds.

Her favorite pranks include drawing on her friends' masks with washable paint, and taping silly pictures over photographs.

Her favorite light creature is the Atlas Manta.

- The Toymaker -

Makes some toys to donate to charity for the poor children.

He always has a solution to fix any problem, and his advice is usually never wrong.

Has made replicas of all of his friends' shoes that squeak when they walk in them as a joke. Sometimes he'll replace the real shoes with the squeaky replicas.

Loves astronomy as a personal hobby and will spend hours after dark looking at the stars.

- The Shadow Puppeteer -

Is rarely seen around the Plaza, but is known to help behind the scenes.

If you find him, he may give you a secret gift to help you redeem some prizes.

His favorite prank to pull is taping signs onto peoples' backs. No one has ever caught him in the act.

Runs a shadow puppet theater at the edge of the Fair. However, his favorite type of puppets are sock puppets.

- The Gamemaster -

Considers himself a mastermind and will turn anything into a game.

Likes to set up games and puzzles for others to solve, but won't tolerate cheaters.

Is the number one prankster among the cast. His favorite prank? No one knows what it is. There's currently a bet on it to see who will guess it correctly.

His biggest secret is that he loves ducks. Don't tell anybody. :3

- The Guide -

Strongly believes that presentation is the most important aspect of a show.

Knows a mix of real magic and optical illusions. She'll often mix them to add some flare to her shows

Her favorite prank is that she will randomly change someone's entire outfit to a random assortment of clothes from their closet. She doesn't pull this often though.

Is actually really organized and a bit of a perfectionist. She stresses over the small details a lot.

The event back story and quests will be added at a later date.

[vir-tanadahl]

Timelines Entwined is a saga of love, sacrifice, and transformation, chronicling Ellana Lavellan and Solas’s intertwined journey through the past, present, and future as they reshape Thedas—bridging ancient magic, a fractured world, and a bold new age without the Veil.

Into the Past: (G) Pairing: Lavellan x Solas ✓

Originally written in 2015, this work has since been rewritten. After the defeat of Corypheus, Solas vanished without a trace. In her search for answers, Ellana Lavellan, desperate and determined, began experimenting with the dangerous time-altering magic of Alexius. One misstep, and the spell spiraled out of control, hurling her into the distant past. When she regained her bearings, Ellana found herself in ancient Arlathan, in the heart of a grand masquerade ball. Dressed in unfamiliar finery, she navigated the opulence of the elven empire, her heart pounding as her eyes locked with a masked stranger—the unmistakable presence of Fen'harel, the man she once knew as Solas. The encounter rippled through time, altering her destiny with him in ways she could never have foreseen.

Into the Present: (T) Pairing: Lavellan x Solas ✓

Following her journey to ancient Arlathan, Ellana Lavellan returns to Skyhold, burdened with the truth of Solas’s plan to tear down the Veil. Her declaration of loyalty to his vision fractures her bond with the Inquisition, forcing her to leave behind her companions and align herself with Fen’Harel. Together, they work to stabilize an ancient prison holding the corrupted elven gods Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, whose Blight-tainted essence threatens to destroy both the Fade and Thedas. As the Veil collapses and the worlds merge, Ellana and Solas reshape Thedas into a realm alive with magic and possibility, yet fraught with uncertainty and peril. Bound by their shared purpose and the sacrifices they’ve made, they face the dawn of a new age—one that will test their resolve and the fragile balance they’ve sought to restore.

Into the Future: (?) Pairing: Lavellan x Solas (coming soon)

Four millennia after the Veil's destruction, Thedas thrives as a world where magic flows freely and spirits walk among mortals. Yet, the return of ancient elves in physical form stirs cultural rifts, and remnants of past conflicts threaten the fragile peace. Solas and Ellana Lavellan, eternal stewards of this transformed world, face their greatest challenges: guiding a society grappling with coexistence, confronting the unintended consequences of their actions, and countering the Eternal Kin’s dangerous quest to resurrect the Pantheon.