#and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown

[greenbloods]

@aeriondripflame:

#it always makes me :( when i think about viserion like viserion is the sweet one he is what viserys used to be or what he could have been :(#viserys iii targaryen#guava.txt#i always think about how viserys is described as gaunt and skinny like he probably skipped meals but always kept dany fed#single teen mother viserys#anyway any doranpilled people bc we agree he had no intention of supporting viserys’ claim right?#and also on viserys. literally makes me so mad when ppl call him mad or saying he had been displaying bad behavior since he was a child like#no the whole point is that he was twisted into this he held so much anger at the world at his situation that he took it out on others /#he wasn’t mad he was deliberately being an abuser and asshole bc he hated his life and blamed dany for their problems

viserys iii being the youngest son, second son, eldest daughter and single mother all at once. viserys who was quarantined as a young child with only his mother as company. viserys who believed the lies fed to a child about his father. viserys who could never live up to rhaegar’s example. viserys who taught daenerys about what they left behind. viserys who called her dany. viserys who raised his sister as his own. viserys who sold their mother’s crown to keep them fed. viserys who was ridiculed, who had to beg to survive, who had to protect himself and his sister from assassins while he was still a child. viserys who could never look forward, who was always looking back.

[penelope-kat]

So I'm a little dissatisfied with the ending of F&C (btw totally fine to disagree, this is just my opinion. Also it's just a show ok let's all be mature here).

Let me be clear: I don't hate the ending; I think the rest of the show is amazing, AND while I LOVE the message of Simon and Betty moving on from each other and being able to be ok without each other, it felt really disingenuous for the show to say that Betty was more obsessed with Simon when they're clearly both complete freaks for each other?

Simon's whole thing in the original show whenever he was lucid was about how much he missed Betty, how fixated he was on her, and how he'd do anything to get her back, or at least be able to talk to her one more time. Marceline is always talking about how Simon was constantly obsessed with finding Betty again when she was little, and Ice King's whole character and obsession with kidnapping princesses stemmed from Simon desperately wanting to find Betty again.

All relationships have flaws, but I feel like this wasn't the right flaw to give their relationship. Simon and Betty's relationship was flawed because they were super obsessed with each other, not because Betty was more obsessed with Simon than Simon was with her. I guarantee that Simon would have done all the same shit Betty did if the roles were reversed and Betty had put on the ice crown instead, like I have not a single doubt in my mind.

It also makes Simon look a lot less emotionally intelligent and empathetic, which is like yeah, people don't always see how they hurt their loved ones, but you're really telling me he NEVER ONCE did anything Betty wanted to do? Never?? And Betty is a strong-willed woman, we always see that. She's unhinged. I love her. I feel like Simon would have picked up on her wants, too, especially since they were implied to have been together for a long time given, you know, they've co-written books and explored the world together and all. Simon ADORED Betty, and he's always been shown to be very empathetic and insightful, even at his worst during F&C! I highly doubt after all that time with Betty he would have never even considered doing her stuff. Do you really think Mr Semen Peggtricock over here, the final-boss of pathetic submissive twinks, took the reins on every aspect of anything they did together? I know that man gets his bussy destroyed three nights a week by Betty's 12 inch strap and whimpers under her weight m'kay there's no WAY he never ever once listened to what she wanted to do.

I do appreciate that the show doesn't make Simon or Betty out to be monsters or bad people or anything, and I do think in the context of Simon and Betty's stories, them going different ways makes the most narrative and thematic sense since their obsession with each other did end up severely negatively-impacting both their lives. Also, it was heavily implied that Betty reincarnated after blowing Simon sending Simon back to Ooo, so she won't be fused with Golb for all eternity in infinite loneliness. Uh that also makes me feel way better about the ending too lol.

But the specific point of "Simon didn't appreciate Betty enough".. it just doesn't sit right. That man spent collective decades mourning the loss of Betty, his princess, and all he really wanted was to be with her. He understood how brilliant she was, he loved her for it. Yes, he almost gave up her sacrifice that made him Simon again, but can you really blame him for that? He was super depressed and genuinely believed it would be the best thing to do in order to protect the little gay people in his head. He wasn't doing it to punish Betty, he'd never do that. Tbf I haven't seen many people claim he did it to punish Betty, I can just see that being a reachable conclusion for someone watching who already wasn't too keen on how their relationship had been portrayed thus far.

Betty was right: they did make their choices. And that means her choices too, choices that she literally took ownership of in the same breath, so it's weird for the show to imply only she would have gone to the lengths she did in their relationship.

Honestly the topic of overcoming obsession makes perfect sense to explore for BOTH of them. Betty having had time to think about it for 12 years as a chaos god, and Simon still being hung up because he blames himself for everything that happened. They were both equally obsessed with each other, and that mutual obsession destroyed both their lives. Now they need to be able to move on and, in Simon's case, keep living, even though Betty isn't around anymore, because his life as Simon Petrikov MATTERS.

Also before anyone brings up Temple of Mars that episode SLAPS it's GREAT and yes it is about Betty's obsession with Simon, but I always found it to be more of a "wow things became so screwed up. It's a shame Betty didn't go on her trip but the happiness she had with Simon was clearly worth it to her, it's just crazy how something like her missing a trip to be with him evolved into her time traveling into the future and losing her mind trying to save him". It wasn't really an episode about how bad Simon was for her in the beginning, it was like "holy shit girlie we need to get you on mood stabilizers ASAP cuz this shit is CRAZY".

Yeah I dunno how to wrap this up. Didn't mean to make anyone upset: I'm still shaky about how I feel on all of this and just wanted to get my thoughts out there. Opinions are valid! Even if you don't agree, I hope you can see where I'm coming from :)

Have a good night!

[swordsandarms]

Saw this post by @queenaryastark and just wanted to add my two cents in spite of the problem always having been that people just want things to be what works better for them and "to make sense" in a simplified way and don't want to hear otherwise-

There are a very few things known about Elia Martell - that the author finds relevant enough to even share with us about a small background character - and yet one of those few things is that she had a good relationship with her arranged husband (political, non-romantic and all, "complex", but he took the time to outline that it was not one of those cases when these things have negative connotations). The only other relationship I can think of that he finds relevant enough to be known the quality of is that with her brothers - because it is a key element to the Dornish plot, no less. And he places her dynamic with Rhaegar beside it!

# No, we do not know that she was best friends with Ashara and depended on her and that she would have done anything out of love and how she was angry because her life was actually awful because of her husband! (she's merely one of a dozen ladies in waiting - a political position meant to benefit one's noble family - who just happens to be the only named one, and that for other plot reasons than Elia)

# No, we do not know that Rhaella loved her dearly and hated her son and thought he was so awful and they both see him as awful and (a silly puerile little fic that made me laugh once) wanted to make her "Crown Princess" ...instead .... somehow! We don't even know if they had a relationship. They didn't live in the same city, and Rhaella's day to day life is heavily monitored and controlled at ths point in her life. It's questionable whether they could even be in any amount in eachother's confidence, hence, even through letters, even if you take out the distance.

ETC.

We don't even know what kind of relationship she had with her own mother. People just want it to be good. They don't want details like putting a daughter with frail health in a very dangerous situation no matter how "responsible" Rhaegar turned out to be for ambition and spite against a political adversary to speak of anything negative. And I'm not saying it is a must for it to have been negative. What I am trying to get to is people are trying to write any other relationships of hers we know nothing about, or might not exist, or might actually have negative correlations from as much as we know as definitely deep and good and rewrite the only other relationship we are given other than her brothers that we are actually told what it was, and make it bad and weak instead. We don't know her dynamic with her own mother to be good, yet we know it is with Rhaegar.

It is a noted fact in the story, and the fact that the author cares little or not at all about others on the other hand but this was noteworthy to write makes it significant, too. And it isn't even a matter of being isolated and lonely and making do because she has no one else to have a pleasant relationship with. She is surrounded by men and women alike, Dornish no less, loyal to her, and they also get along with Rhaegar.

And if we are to take most of Dany's vision of them as real (as there are details like him seeming to talk to her at the end that may be skewy) then they are on good terms until nearly the end. If fanon that claims she hated him/thought herself as slighted and humiliated after the flower crown were true, then this would actually do characterise her as a simpleton/'doormat' instead, which there being an understanding behind his action would not and it doesn't seem to me that the author wants Elia a simpleton.

Yeah, yeah, consequences of his actions ultimately hurt her, though. And so people walk backwards then on the apparent idea that if someone's actions hurt you in any circumstances, then it can only be willful, and someone doing something that ends up hurting someone can only be an 'abuser' and such. All over the place, there are dramatic fanon theories about these two to rewrite what is canon of their dynamic as 'abuser' and 'victim', so that it would simplify the concept of his actions indirectly hurting her.

Canon doesn't support that. Canon gives the fact that he removes his arranged wife from the capital where there is the danger of his father, although that means the removal from the centre of political power, during a very tense political dynamic (literally described as 'like before the Dance'!). Canon says that when Aerys' cruel actions start a Rebellion, and he removes Elia and her children from the relative safety of Dragonstone (with authority no one can undo), Rhaegar comes forth to lead Aerys' armies. And fanon (against previous signs) paints it as him being a one-dimensional evil creature (from the author praised to write things complex) who cares not about fighting Lyanna's family or his lawful spouse and children being in danger near that man... rather than the fact that he is known as looking out for Elia's safety from his father, told to have had his last straw after said father rejects his daughter that he seems to have inspired love and trust in - hence the likelihood of him being caught in between and having no more choice than Dorne. Less, because he also has to go against the family of the girl the author says he's 'lovestruck' about also, because Aerys is dangling Elia and the children, that the author cared to give hints he cares about. Or the fact that he hints of having reached THE breaking point about his father as a follow-up fact at this point through Jaime's memory.

"Are you saying she was complicit in endangering herself? On purpose?"

It is very exhausting to hear such a train of thought from people who supposedly read books, and understand how conflict works, and that being a 'realistic story' with complex characters it means they don't know/understand everything and things are out of their control and happen unexpectedly.

That's how you get ridiculous theories such as "Rhaegar then planned it all to go exactly how it went and knew each thing that would happen and it was for some magical mass sacrifice or whatever!!" Because this is how things work. People make plans and it happens exactly as they expect, bullet points and all. And you'd have millions claiming that's a good writer who does well foreshadowed 'shocks' that the character would not know about and needs to be re-read to fully comprehend and appreciate.

Yeah, it doesn't mean that the plans and goals they may have had would be summarised as 'choosing Rhaegar mistresses from a catalogue' the way I saw it put somewhere. Yeah, that is dumb. But if we don't have the information on characters' train of thoughts from a point in time we don't fully understand, it doesn't mean it is fine to change base facts (the relationship of the two) to make a simple version that explains it away.

"Are you saying she is dumb to think this or that would work certain ways, whatever they thought they were doing/going towards for whatever reasons?"

Again, are we even reading books here? Have we not seen smart characters (sometimes older than these 2) making certain sound sounding choices with certain predictions at the time, and in the end none working out and everything falling apart? Don't we applaud it as good writing? Isn't Varys for example cathegorised as one of the BIG manipulators of history and planner, yet what we hear from people working for Young Griff is the frustration of plans changing all the time because what he predicts/wants/plans doesn't work as intended multiple times?

And since we're on the topic and fanon has mythologised characters like her into ridiculous heights, let's stop for a second to think who Elia Martell would be as a (actually honest) baseline. Young, inexperienced, sheltered by privilege as anyone of her rank and more so for her own health (according to her brother), very optimistic sounding, etc. Yes, most likely intelligent (described as witty), but it doesn't change the implications of the previous qualities. Rhaegar is also most of that (at least idealistic if not optimistic) - though I would say he would at least have the perspective of "harsh realities" due to his family situation, while hers was a loving one as far as we're concerned. So, yes, she could have even made/agreed with "naive plans" as well as him, and they could even have been intelligent about it too, as they both seemed to have been, but it being beyond the point because the world works chaotically and there's no smart enough character that never had plans go wrong ever in ASOIAF.

Another thing that I mentioned but want to emphasise again, though it is hard to believe that a fandom that wouldn't give a break even to characters 16 and younger for 'miscalculations' and not having it all figured out and not doing everything perfectly is... they are both young, too! I don't know what's the overall age demoraphic in this fandom, but it always baffles me that this is not addressed - early 20s is clueless, young, and inexperienced. If one is past it they should know it. There are way too many young characters I guess to conceptualise that (but, again, it is not like this fandom give the VERY young characters a break also so I don't know), but it is very odd when these two are seen as 'very adult' who should have known better (Rhaegar) or knew 100% everything like some 'hit by godly visions' Cassandra (Elia), especially, again, when you account for both being inexperienced and privileged. The 16 and lower characters we know would rank above them both (especially sheltered Elia!) simply by actually being forced into learning experiences.

All in all, whatever the details are or how things can be explained from that point on, people have to accept the fact that the writing makes it more understandable that they would have been 'in cahoots' rather than a cartoonish evil being and a young woman without agency whatsover that is cutie pieing with the man who she is also angry at for doing some great misdeed against her.

Would she think otherwise by the end, when all fell apart? Would there be targeted hate and blame? We can theorise either way, but I am thinking how Lyanna is theorised as such in spite of the author writing roses in her hand when she dies in the same wavelength as writing her brother's hand holding hers - just like we only know of noteworthy positive relationships in Elia's life being a brother and Rhaegar, to the writer.

Sorry, but we're reading a story, and if you don't like what the author writes and implies it's fine. But at the same time you are wrong by default in 'predictions' as to what he would write next instead.

"You are victim blaming if Elia thought or did anything ever than being a silent perfect victim who just had things happening to her while having the foresight of a God and the wisdom of a 100 years old and if it were up to this sheltered inexperienced early 20s woman she would have REAISTICALLY Mary Sued her way through it and everyone would agree and kiss her feet. REALISTICALLY!!!"

No, you are. This fandom is famous for victim blaming (young) female characters most of all who have no control over circumstances around them, not being able to predict the future, not having experience, or just mean well and think better of the world, as long as they are anything but 'perfect victims' whose whole act is expcted to be being pitiful stoned mummies that things happen to, and are held up to unfair standards by the heavy in expectations pedestal that's supposed to be a compliment.

[takemywearybones]

I love viserys and daenerys. such an underrated targcest pairing. they were all i had to ship back in the day. daenerys depended on viserys in every aspect in life. depended in him for food, for water, for safety, for warmth, for home. they loved each other once. we only get to see viserys for the monster he grew to be in the end, but that’s not the big brother that daenerys grew up with.

“Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown.”

she misses her brother. she misses their relationship before he turned cruel. she misses creeping into her big brothers bed at night for warmth and comfort. maybe she even mourns what could’ve been; a better life for them both, viserys as king and her as his queen.

[greyfongschemmenti]

overall thoughts on tdp??? Now that you’re done watching, which season/story-line/character (besides our iconic queen General and Aunt Amaya 👑) was your fave? Any moments throughout that you really felt or really spoke to you?

The dynamic of characters in this show is so interesting. The theme throughout the whole show is something that resonates with me because it's how I live my life. Despite what you hear about a certain group of people you should have an open mind. This is just some of my thoughts and opinions on some of the characters. There might be spoilers so read at your own risk.

I love Seasons 1-3 and if it wasn’t for the wedding preparations and scenes with Amaya. I wouldn’t have watched season 4. I felt like the whole season was complete filler. The series could’ve ended at the 3rd season and be solid. Season 4 didn’t really get my attention compared to the previous seasons. I hope the story picks up in season 5. I just need more Amaya 😭 lol

Callum starting as a kid who doesn't know where he belongs because he isn't a fighter or have anything useful to help the kingdom. He is the stepson of the king. Turns out he is a mage and he instantly knows that he wants to be a good light mage and nothing like what his former crush, Claudia is. Speaks on his character and reminds me a lot of his mom.

Ezran, such a baby doll, is quirky and awkward. Has a difficulty talking to people and has a special connection with animals. He has a kind heart and sees the good in people. He doesn't allow outside comments deter his judgement on a person. He reminds me so much of Antonio from Encanto. He is a fave for sure. He is a type of King that I would love to see in the real world.One that rules with kind and compassion instead with a drive for power or holier than thou.

Rayla being a moonshadow assassin. While Rayla claims to despise humans, on the inside she doesn't truly hate them. She doesn't see them as lesser beings than herself, unlike the rest of the elves. It causes this inner turmoil on her belief as a moon shadow assassin verses her morals. She constantly checking her morals and doing better. Willing to put her life on the line to do the right thing.

Claudia, her development was scary, I know there's some good but she continues down this dark path, that its sad. I was so hoping that she would run away with Soren. I really hope there is some way she can redeem herself in the upcoming season but I feel like she's so far down the rabbit hole that it's too deep a hole for her to come out of. The reason why I say Claudia's development is scary s because she knows she is becoming darker. Each season she is at a point where she pushes that morality further. She crosses that limit and instead of realizing ok that's enough. She knows it's bad and accepts it with no regret. Only to surpass it again the next time. There is nothing that will stop her to get what she wants.

Soren, at first I didn't care about him because he was this jerk who constantly picked on Callum, but Soren definitely grew. The first season I feel like the creators wanted us to see Soren as this idiot jock that heavily relies on his physical strength. It also didn't help that Viren and Claudia also treated him as such. As the series goes on he is so much more than that. His development throughout the series is one of the best, imo. He has this emotional intelligence that came to a surprise. He does have silly moments where he acts first but then he realizes his mistakes and changes. When Soren realized how he was manipulated by his dad. He went against his dad. This is so hard to do. He loves his dad and his sister so for him to renounce his loyalty from his family and follow the crown. Then on top of that having to go to war and the person you're fighting is your own father and sister. That hits the heart in more ways than one. His redemption arc is honestly chef's kiss. Soren is a good boi.

Amaya, my my my Amaya. She is wife. Once she appeared on the screen I had heart eyes immediately. Like I was already shopping for rings! I think I have a thing for strong stoic types who are really big softies. She's both an immovable object and an unstoppable force in battle. Amaya is thoughtful, honorable, compassionate and smart. Brutal, driven and capable. Pragmatic and adaptable. Her character design and fight choreography is stylish af. I could watch her fight it's like watching a dance. Her shield is honestly really cool and interesting design. Even though she's a tough person that flips switches so fast once she's with her nephews. She turns into this big softy that is so adorable and honestly is why I fell hard for her. She has a heart of gold and isn't afraid to jump into the line of fire to protect the people she loves. Her nephews, Gren, Janai, her soldiers, her kingdom. I could go on about Amaya.

Bait, Bait is the best. I can't get over him. He has a range of emotions and is the bestest boi. He deserves all the tarts.

Bonus:

I can't get over the fact that Amaya threw Bait in a perfect spiral throw. Bait is beauty. Bait is grace.

[aleisters]

I could be forgetting an in game lore tweak somewhere but I THINK that following usual 5e logic, assuming Raphael is following fiend logic rather than mortal (and it's really DMs choice when it comes to Cambions) Raphael's home plane would be Cania, not Avernus. When it comes to what rules apply to partial fiends, it's usually dependent on how strong the infernal heritage is and well, there's a reason only Asmodeus himself stands over Mephy.

For all that Raphael's done to set himself up in Avernus, his infernal heritage ultimately ties him back to Cania. It's also my theory for why his body went right to Mephy to consume - it was always going to end up there eventually.

okay but real talk being the son of the second most powerful archduke is why whilst i find “raphael is just a silly little cambion why does he think he can do shit with the crown of karsus” funny, i don’t think it really holds any water.

raphael is already orders of magnitude more powerful than your standard cambion. he’s a skilled magic user, he can fucking ascend himself into an ambitious monstrous form, he’s unlikely to be a slouch in hand to hand combat either because he’s thousands of years old. once you’re thousands of years old and remember the fall of netheril, i have to assume you’re much more dangerous than you may look.

i wish this aspect of raphael was better developed; a character i see him as very similar to is the witcher 3’s gaunter o’dimm, sharing the same penchant for appearing out of nowhere, striking horrible deals and playing 4d chess. but gaunter is shown to be materially dangerous in a way raphael is not.

when you realise ketheric’s entire dark justiciar army is dead because of raphael, and that the one still living only lives because of raphael, you start to get a picture of it. that he can (in a fairly rare endgame scenario) just turn up in the astral prism and is one way or another watching you at all times is a little insane to me. but it’s kind of easy to miss, and like i said, a material demonstration of raphael’s dangers wouldn’t go amiss. i would have liked for him to rescue you personally from priestess gut, or more regularly interfere with the guardian/emperor. there needs to be more reasons in game to make the deal with raphael, and for it to be evidently riskier to plan to steal from him.

he has more claim to godhood (or i suppose devilhood) than gale does (sorry babygirl) on the merit of his age alone. if gale can put on the crown and become a god, raphael absolutely can.

… anyway i went off on a tangent but op i think you’re right and raphael returning to cania makes the most sense

[agentrouka-blog]

It feels like Dany projects onto Missendei a lot and dots on her. She see herself in her. Dany herself was being raised by her brother who later started abusing her. Do you think at one point Dany will try to Missendei? I do think Missendei is going to survive as she will choose peace and will refused to become another Dany.

I do think Dany heavily projects onto Missandei and tries to access a sense of childhood through her. I've seen people describe it as motherly because she occasionally "takes care" of Missandei like the child she is, but I don't think that's a proper fit, mostly because Dany very much expects "mothering" in return. It's not mother and child, it's child and child.

The repeated image of storytelling in bed does reflect her few positive memories of Viserys, another child-and-child relationship.

Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown. (ASOS, Daenerys I)

I think it's less likely that we will see Dany slip into some kind of abusive dynamic with Missandei as much as that she will feel extremely betrayed by her should Missandei taint her role as a childhood fantasy role play vehicle. It will not merely constitute a disappointment but also the loss of her projection surface, robbing Dany of that outlet.

That it will happen seems inevitable to me. Not only are we shown just how intelligent and sneaky Missandei already is, we also have heavy hints that her true loyalty is based on the presence of her brothers in Dany's personal army, of whom only Marselen remains alive now. At the same time, the later ADWD chapters suggest a soft rift opening between them. Missandei criticizes her decisions, they both stop correcting when she uses depersonalized "slave" language to describe herself, there is a descreasing enthusiasm in their interactions, their final interaction is a dismissal of her concerns by Dany.

Then there are the parallels between Missandei and Arya, and the deceptively dangerous butterflies of Naath.

And Dany did demand a promise that Missandei would never betray her. I mean. That's a pretty heavy hint that we should maybe watch out for a conflict coming up.

Does that mean Missandei will die? No idea. That highly depends on the nature of their conflict. But it will certainly mean another wedge driven between the sweet child Daenerys used to be and the ruthless person she has become.

[magnificentcenturyfics]

hello i've seen your list of ideas for Hürrem/Süleyman fits and i actually love them all soooo much but my fav is probably Hürrem telling Süleyman about Leo and also the last one!! but i actually really would like them all and can't wait to read any of them <3

Very sorry for the hiatus, I promise the rest of the fics will be out before the November 1st! Anyway, here's your obligatory mostly plotless fluff piece, trigger warning for... I guess slavery and naked tits at the end?

***

“I live in the greatest city in the world, and yet I’ve barely seen any of it.”

   Streets of Istanbul entered Hürrem’s mind only very slowly. Thrust into the strange new world of the harem and put to work almost immediately, she did not have much time to dream about freedom; then, her love for Süleyman and troubles that she got into because of their relationship occupied her mind. During his absence, she oft spent her now abundant free time dreaming about transforming into a bird-of-prey and flying to the walls of Belgrade, where she would sit atop Süleyman’s tent and watch him, her bird eyes seeing better than any of his bodyguards. As time went on, her fantasies became more elaborate, with her imagining the lands she would fly over – the rolling hills, winding rivers, towns full of hustle and bustle, all of them looking suspiciously like the Carpathians, Hnyla Lipa and Rohatyn respectively. However, she remembered the sight from Süleyman’s balcony and knew the city outside of the palace walls is much different, which in turn aroused her curiosity. Indeed, her eyes of an imaginary bird focused more and more on Istanbul as well, trying to capture memories of it, as seen from the balcony not that far away from where that bird would dwell. But valide said it is improper for a woman of such low status as her to walk the streets without permission, which valide was never going to give her, and so Hürrem began to place all of her hopes of visiting the legendary Constantinople on the sultan.

   Then Süleyman arrived. Shortly before Mehmet’s birth, she brought the issue up to him, but he was reluctant to give her permission, claiming he fears for her “safety and modesty”. After much begging, he conceded that a carriage ride throughout the city perhaps couldn’t hurt, once the baby is born. However, soon after that happened, that nasty business with Günihal was revealed, and special privileges, which the carriage rides seemed to be, suddenly became utterly unattainable for Hürrem. Only amidst the excitement that the news of her second pregnancy brought did she dare to ask Süleyman once again, and her request was indeed granted.

   Hürrem left all but one of her servants at home – to take her on a carriage ride trough the city was the least she could do for Günihal after everything. It was Nigar who suggested their destination; Hürrem did not care much for the exact route of their trip, but the tales of Hagia Sofia managed to arouse her interest, if not really excitement. That morning, as they prepared for the trip, she and Gülnihal talked in Rusyn for the first time in months, solemnly discussing what they once had been told about the former capital of the christian world and wondering how much of the old Byzantine city is still standing. For people of the orthodox faith, fall of Constantinople was a generation-defining tragedy, their worst nightmares coming to life as the city that used to be the center of their world suddenly was „theirs“ anymore, but fell into the possession of their enemies, who then made it the jewel on their crown. Now Hürem could not make up her mind as to what to feel about the whole affair; after all, one day, her son too will rule from this splendid city, and just for him she could not perceive that infamous battle as having a wholly bad outcome. It was strange – the more Hürrem thought of old Constantinople, the more she related to the venerable city, an Orthodox girl brought to ruin by the Turks, only to be raised by them into heights she could not even imagine previously.

   The city streets bore a myriad of subtle signs of prosperity – its buildings were of stone, large and seemingly well-made, streets wide and neat (well, as neat as they could get in a city) and people well-fed and dressed. Admittedly, it could’ve been (and she later learned that was in fact the case) that the area they went trough happened to be in a more prosperous part of the city, but even the poorer neighbourhoods she visited later in life were nigh comparable to any given part of Rohatyn. Hürrem could imagine this is what a city like Lviv might look like, although with architecture more resembling Rohatyn. With amazement, she observed the typical flat roofs and a tall, narrow windows with circle patterns that she knew from the palace, but so far couldn’t imagine as parts of regular buildings. The size of the city was quite memmorable as well. While at first not visible from the gound, it soon dawned on Hürrem and Günihal, as they roamed trough the streets for hours, the road to every destination seemingly endless. Nonetheless, they made up new and new excuses to go further, desiring to soak up as much of the scenery as they could, because Allah knows when they will get another opportunity to see the greatest city on Earth... And there was always further to go, that much was certain. Mosques (a shocking number of them, in her opinion), marketplaces, Byzantine ruins, even an odd church or two. And crowds, crowds so large that Hürrem could not even imagine there was so many people in the world, let alone one city. Most of the people they saw were men, with women usually covered in some way or another, whether with a cloak, headscarf or a veil. No matter where they went, whether for business or pleasure, they all seemed to be in a hury – considering how long it must’ve took to get anywhere in this blasted place, it was hardly surprising. They even made it to the waterfront, from which they got their first proper look at the sea since it brought them into the city on board of the slave ship – a memmory which made Hürrem quickly turn their coach away before they could truly enjoy the sight.

Her mood thoroughly ruined and stomach grumbling, they stopped at the market, where she sent Günihal to get them something to eat. As she grumpily pondered the long hours trip back will probably take, Hürrem watched the people around her and tried to guess who they are and where they are going. There was a woman in rich silks, one of the few to have her head uncovered, accompanying another one in even more splendid dress, crying her eyes out. Ah, a Christian bride and her relative; mayhaps the wedding was thwarted in some way, or it was about to take place later in the day (at dusk, or even in the evening?) and a good sister or aunt tried to at least somewhat cheer the poor thing beforehand by giving her the last taste of freedom... Then there was a man dressed in western style close to them, sharing lewd jokes with an elderly and obviously grumpy old Turk; she did not know what his deal was, but she was sure that, had she known him personally, she would’ve disliked him immensely. A pair of little boys were playing hide-and-seek right across the street from them, while watched a young, handsome fishseller with profound annoyance in his gaze... Their father, perhaps?

   The boys were approached by a man in large turban, whose visage immediately caught Hürrem’s attention. At first, she could not believe her eyes; surely, there isn’t only one man in this whole giant city that has that distinct Graecian profile, large blue eyes and stubble slowly turning into a beard...? She didn’t quite get a direct look into his face, but she did manage to behold him from many angles, and every last one of them only confirmed the incredible truth. She considered allerting him to her presence, but she hesitated for too long; the man turned away from them and walked down the street in the opposite direction from, while Günihal arrived with some kind of flatbread filled with vegetables and richly spiced lamb. It tasted divine – Hürrem hoped palace cooks could make something like this – but it could not compare to the sight that she beheld with her own two eyes just moments prior. Oh, next meeting with the sultan is going to be fun.

   Indeed, next meeting with the sultan arrived quite soon. That very evening, Süleyman surprised Hürrem in her chambers, all smiles and rosy cheeks. He looked much less regal than under normal circumstances – not that she never saw him happy and relaxed, but perhaps it was a mistake for him to come to her in such a mood on this of all nights. Indeed, it was the worst time to wake good old mischievious Alexandra...

„Mashallah!��� he called upon seeing her. „What a visage! Heavens, you should wear braids more often...“

Hürrem donned the sweetest smile she could manage at the moment without hinting at the malice in her heart. „I’ll heed your wishes, Süleyman agh- Oh, Allah! Forgive me! I meant „my sultan“! Goodness, where’s my head at?! I told her a thousand times to pay no mind to what she saw at the market...“

Süleyman’s smile faded so thoroughly it almost made Hürrem cackle. „Come again?“

„During today’s carriage ride. You must know I’ve been there; after all, haven’t I asked you for permission just a couple of days ago?“

Süleyman’s face grew sterner, almost angry. „Of course I know of that; mother complained just how long you stayed there. Weren’t you meant to only visit Ayasofia and nothing more?!“

Hürrem’s heart stopped. Fuck. Is she in genuine trouble? „Are you angry with me, my love?“

Suddenly, his anger abaded a bit, like fading tide that can’t quite reach its maximum strenght. „I should, but tonight it’s... Quite difficult. And you haven’t broken any rules besides, though you shouldn’t leave Mehmet for such long periods. No servant can care for him quite like you.“

His words took her aback. „Valide does not think so.“

„Valide does not know, or like you very well.“

The mischievious spirit that possesed Hürrem wasn’t quite gone, but it has grown a great deal more bashful. „I hope you had fun today.“ she whispered. „I mean, out there on the market.“

Süleyman’s face suddenly took on its usual humorless expression. „I wasn’t there to have fun. I visit my people in disguise, so that I might keep in touch with their needs and opinions.“

Hürrem nervously bit her lip. „That is... Admirable.“ She slowly blinked. „But it spoils my fun. What should I tell the girls in harem, that you are a great and magnanimous ruler, as if they didn’t already know?“ When Süleyman’s eyes bulged out in horror, she laughed. „Oh, you should’ve seen your face! Allah, did you really think I’d dare...“

„As if you weren’t already the very queen of audacity...!“ Süleyman called out, grabbing her by the waist and kissing her neck and throat. The sudden turn of events for the lewd made Hürrem laugh out loud. „I should be angry with you. I should...“ he murmured against her jugular.

„Well, you are the great sultan, are you not? Noone tells you what you should and shouldn’t do. Unless it’s a street vendor that tells you to not stare at things you don’t want to buy, I suppose.“

Süleyman lifted his head from her cleveage and shot her an overly serious glare. „You aren’t letting this go, are you?“

Hürrem giggled and kissed him on the lips. „Can’t the great sultan bear a few little jabs that noone else can hear from his faithful slave?“

Süleyman’s eyes trailed back to her cleveage. „No. Sometimes, you are completely unbearable.“

His eyes lit up, and set fire to Hürrem’s lower belly. Truly, the time for fun and games has passed.

Well, at least for one kind of fun and games... Hürrem thought as she grabbed the fabric covering her left breast and slowly pushed it down, untill cold night air, followed by a man’s warm breath, hit her overly sensitive nipple.

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP 2023 DAY 15 - Self-sacrifice

CW: pet whump, BBU-flavored whump, self-sacrifice, suicide by proxy, public humiliation, rich people being awful

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All of his friends had gathered today to watch the spectacle. The young Master always had been pretty popular, attracting many people to join him at these get-togethers, which already dragged on from a casual brunch into the late evening. If Whumpee had to guess, they wouldn't blame it on his charming personality.

More so on the money, they thought with a bitter sneer. The sunny afternoon had been spent with casual small talk and exchange of courtesy, filling the empty space until the true show could begin.

"Let's go, pet. Time for our big moment.", he finally whispered from behind, as Whumpee stopped to collect empty champagne flutes and craft beer bottles scattered around the vacant buffet.

"Yes, sir.", came the placid reply.

Whumpee had no reason to worry, the claims of grandeur were warranted. Master never missed once during their home practice, plus the apple trick was a stable element of this public performance. Nothing new for any of them. Still, his entourage loved the rush they got out of this pretentious display of hubris.

"Are you ready, folks?", Master howled towards the scattered mass, redirecting the attention towards the real highlight of the gathering. "Applause for our brave volunteer!"

Even if he missed, which would likely get him an unforgettable beating by his father and also would-be owner of his personal valet, they would probably just get a new pet. Someone else to cook and clean and get groped by tipsy party guests. Maybe the newest victim, currently starving down in the basement, until their training was completed.

Surrounded by bawling and whistling, he pulled out a wooden bow out of the sling leaning against his designated chair, followed by a single arrow.

"I present to you: The William Tell!"

Taking an apple from the decorative set of fruit displayed proudly on every table and sporting the fakest smirk they were able to muster, Whumpee strode wordlessly towards the great cottonwood in the middle of the lawn. Not even an apple tree, what a lazy act.

Turning back to face the audience with the small fruit carefully balanced on top of their head, they leaned back against the rough bark. The backrest already bore the markings of the many times they performed before, crowning their hair line. The first time, they nearly lost an eye, but Master's natural talent was indisputable. 

He knew exactly what he was doing.

God, they grew so sick of him. This petty nasal voice calling them every time of day, whining and grumbling at every little thing. The nights spend wishing for a simple quiet, only to be shattered by the bell in their room endlessly ringing. 

Where is my breakfast? 

I don't like this, pet, get me something better. 

What the fuck are you even good for, huh?

He used to be different, they recalled. Watching him grow up, back when they themself were finally let out of the training room and given their designation, he didn't even know he was supposed to talk that way. Back when they still called him Daniel.

Getting disciplined downstairs just to be sold to other disgusting people, most of them standing in front of them right now, forming a crescent-shaped audience. They preferred to play nanny for the brat over such a fate any day. Maybe the unfortunate soul below would also realize exactly this some day and comfort themself with that somber knowledge. A moment Whumpee would hate to live through. 

They were just tired, starting with the day when Daniel didn't want to be Daniel anymore.

I am your master, so address me as such.

"Ready, pet? Don't be scared.", Master playfully told the living mark standing a good 20 yards before him, but rather talking to the crowd than anyone else. The string pulled taut, his stance flawless. 

Oh, how much we practiced together.

Bathing in the soft orange glow of the sunset, they were so damn tired. A loving smile spread across their face. 

Fuck you, Daniel. One more trick, for old times sake.

So as their Master let go of the tense bowstring, they stood tall - for one last time.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[pipperoni32-blog]

The Queen Of Nothing

By Holly Black

Alright, forget actual book review, this is just going to be me fangirling and talking about my favorite parts of this book. If you haven't read it yet, don't go any further! Finish reading first, then come squeal about how good it was!

There's so much that goes on in this book. Jude starting off in her exile, brooding and trying not to think about a certain High King. Finding herself dueling once again with a redcap who used to be a general, this time Grima Mog. Who yet again underestimates Jude, and finds herself claiming defeat. Though she offers to battle Jude again anytime.

When Taryn appears, I'm not ready to forgive her. I'm even less inclined for Jude to accept Taryn's proposal to pose as her in her upcoming trial for Locke's death. Not that I'm against Jude returning to Faerie (and Cardan) but coming to Taryn's rescue seems like the wrong reason. Jude agrees though, and her reunion with Cardan is worth is, even if it is short lived.

The picture of Cardan patting the couch next to him, and asking Jude is she ever got his letters, is one of my many favorites in the book. I'm so irritated by Madoc's rescue, for keeping them from being able to explain right away.

Being in Madoc's camp, Jude is back to thinking on her feet and trying her best to plot out a victory. Or at least, an escape that leaves her alive and with a strategic advantage over Madoc's coming attack. Being Taryn is more complicated that she thought, especially with the change in how she's treated by Orianna. Orianna giving Jude a hug was touching, but also filled me with deep sorrow and anger. How could she have kept up that wall for so long against Jude, to make that choice when she was so easily capable of caring for her instead. Maybe that's never been what Jude needed, but the lack of it is startling.

Cardan coming to Jude's rescue is one of the sweetest things. I had actually forgotten about that part when I started this re-read, and I was so giddy when I saw him there, in his cloak made by Mother Marrow with the Roach at his side. Of course, Jude's only thought is on getting him out of there safely. It's odd that I feel the Ghost deserves Jude's forgiveness more than Taryn at this point, but I was so relieved to find him alive, and wanted him back in the Court of Shadows where he belongs.

I've talked at work so many times about the chills that run through you when Madoc screams for Jude not to run from him. The shock as he runs her down and slices her open. The horror from both of them, Jude as she lays bleeding, and Madoc that he didn't stay his hand. Madoc offers to kill her quickly, to not leave her like this, but he's stopped by Vivi, Taryn, and Grima Mog.

I'd forgotten that Taryn was the one to sew Jude up. To pack her with leaves in an effort to heal the fatal wound. That Jude wasn't aware of what was happening, the wound sealing and the flowers blooming where her blood spilled. I thought she'd seen some of it herself, though she does get that one dizzying glimpse before they return to the palace.

Is there a moment better than Jude falling from the beam onto the table, and Cardan telling everyone to stop. To not touch her. That she's his wife and the High Queen? Well, yes, there might be several. But at the time, there isn't! My heart shatters when Cardan stands over her and calls her a dirty liar, for letting herself get hurt. For almost not coming back to him.

The way Jude handles Lady Asha is well done, but I would have been happy if she'd lost her temper and been a little more heavy handed. I forgot how easily the girls fall in together at the palace. The way they work together. There are still things in the past between them, but now, without the obstacle of pleasing or opposing Madoc, they can just be sisters. Be a family that supports each other, not constantly in a game of power and crowns. My animosity towards Taryn failed here, and I could only appreciate how she comes to Jude's aid when asked, that she can use her own talents to help Jude dress and have rooms that support her as High Queen.

The throne breaking, and then the crown, are such powerful moments. Cardan's speech just before too. Jude is so ready to come to his defense, but she doubts him too. She things that what Madoc's offering is too much of a trap, and that she's going to be helpless as she watches Cardan step into it. But Jude isn't the only one who can surprise us, who's been underestimated. I truly loved that. It's always so easy to think of Jude as the powerful, murderous queen, and Cardan holding up his wine glass and acting as her cheerleader. But here, he proves to everyone that he is worth following. That he is High King, and nothing can stop that. He makes the doubters want to pledge their loyalty to him, to not deny him. And Jude gets to see him in a new light. Until the crown breaks, and chaos descends.

I haven't found an artwork of it yet, but Jude sitting with Cardan as the snake, having drawn closer to him unknowingly until she's sitting almost right next to him, ugh. I can't. Even the Bomb hesitates to call out to Jude, to risk the snake's wrath. And Jude, needing to get back to her duties, but not wanting to leave. Saying that she's just been telling him that he can't hold her to all her promises - her promise to kill him if he ever became worse than Balekin.

Heather, Vivi, Taryn, Tatterfell, Fand, Grima Mog, the Bomb, all the people that support Jude. That have been with her all along, been lost and found their way back, or just recently been added to her circle. A circle willing to protect their queen, and make her believe she has every right to be called one along the way.

Jude, finding a way to save the Roach and getting kicked in the stomach in the process. The Roach's confession to the Bomb, though she tries to tell him he's not dying. Them being able to say everything they've kept inside for so long.

The bridle, the fresh scars on Suren's face from having it removed. The way they try to trick her, telling her to wrap her hairs around it so that she'd be under their control along with Cardan. Luckily, Jude isn't afraid to get a second opinion. She meets with Severin, the new alderking, and Mother Marrow, and learns how the Court of Teeth intended to trick her, and how to actually work the bridle. She doesn't find the answer she was looking for though, another option. Something other than killing Cardan, or leaving him chained to follow her, a mindless pet to keep around.

She doesn't want that though. She doesn't want Cardan dead, and she doesn't want him trapped. The idea is no longer appealing, to have him in her thrall, under her control and powerless to refuse any of her commands. Now, she just wants him. She just wants him back.

Just excuse me a minute while I sob at the heart, and depth of feeling welling up.

Jude makes her own choices, not falling into line like Madoc requests. Not giving into the appeal of the bridle and power. Just loving Cardan, not wanting him to live as a trapped thing any longer. There's something so powerful but refreshing about Cardan making a joke out of things, refusing to put on a cloak and just sauntering over to his carriage, surrounded by armies. With Jude by his side.

Poor Jude, and poor Cardan. Exhausted, wanting to just hold each other, but having to lead a revel instead, to entertain their guests and former enemies. They find each other before too long though, and Jude gets doesn't let her chance pass to say she loves him.

The coronation, Cardan supporting Jude's decisions on how to deal with and punish the traitors. Jude turning those who remained loyal to Madoc into Falcons, able to go out and live their lives the way the want, but unable to be welcomed back until they haven't harmed anyone for a year and a day. Granting Suren real power over Lady Nore, making Lady Nore give her obedience and loyalty to the puppet queen she'd thought to appoint. Oak being the one to ask Jude to help her. Then Madoc, who finally is willing to ask for mercy. The small heartbreak as Jude sentences him to live in the mortal world, and not pick up a weapon again. The way she says good-bye to him.

The sadness, but small gleam of hope, in the way Heather and Vivi's story turns. The way she forgets, but one day may remember again. The mundane way they end with a pizza party, with some of the weirdest toppings Oak could come up with.

I love this book. I love so many parts of it, I've put off reading it because I didn't want it to end, but ached being away from it. Holly Black with forever been the Queen of Faerie to me, and I'm so glad to have these stories, and more, from her.

[letsgoshadows]

Tenancy

The door takes a shove to get open and nearly smashes a hole in the drywall when it finally swings. 

Xavier had it down to an art, really, which is why they usually let him handle it. Apparently Boston had a lot of similar buildings. Miami hadn’t. Hurricanes tended not to be kind to old structures. 

Berkeley had, though. Beautiful old Victorians run into the ground, left empty despite the people sleeping outside. They’d always kind of regretted not living in one while they were there. Staying on campus, instead. It wasn’t as if they had a choice, scholarship and all, but it nagged at them. They’d never even seen the inside of one, but they’d known they’d love it when they did.

It’s strange. They hadn’t thought about those houses in years. That they could go back for one, if they really wanted. Claim all the space for themselves and fix it the way they thought it deserved to be. Peel the dozens of layers of paint and wallpaper, inside and out. Replace the shudders with replicas of the ones in the old photos, polish the floors– find the kind of soft old textiles and worn wooden furniture that felt right in places like that. See what they could find in the attic. Make it theirs.

It’s an idle thought, though, and not an especially practical one at that, as the apartment they’re in in the present is small. Really, a textbook perfect pre-war apartment. Not the charming kind with crown molding and original lighting, real wood and plate windows, but the kind with doors that swelled up so bad in the rain they hardly opened and were built with material that was too dangerous to take down, and so was left up and lived with instead.

Graves is quiet as he enters behind them, stepping past without looking at them as they go to lock– and deadbolt– the door behind him. They hadn’t expected commentary. Wasn’t much to see. Not for him. A small, nearly unfurnished living room. A hall with a blown light they won’t replace because they don’t want to deal with the extra light bulbs in the package. Two creaky doors with those crystal doorknobs everyone’s grandma, they assumed, had. One open, revealing nothing more than a mattress on the floor and a heap of blankets, and one closed. A tiny, well used kitchen with appliances as old as Xavier, fluorescent bulbs casting it all in an unflattering light. 

They’d been here almost two months. In that time more meals had been cooked here, together, than Peril thinks they had their entire life before. 

“Do you wanna talk a little, or just go to sleep?” They throw their bag onto the rickety table that came with— was left in, more accurately— the apartment with a loud clatter that makes him flinch.

“I— sorry.” He just shakes his head, casting his eyes around reflexively but clearly not actually seeing anything.

”On the couch?” God, he sounds old. He’s not old, is he? Forty isn’t old. 

Maybe by comparison, but—

”It’s not the worst.” They know. For lack of funds or space to find a better place for him to sleep in the week or so they had to scramble once they found out he’d be released, they slept on the couch themselves to see if it was passable.

It only fucked their back up a little bit. Because, old or not, they were only five years behind.

“What is there to talk about?” He’s stiff as a board, not at attention but hunched over himself, clinging to the strap of his sad little duffle bag like it would protect him from whatever had happened to him after they and Xavier had been released.

A guilt that hadn’t reached them yet does then. That they and Xavier had been free, drinking away what little money they had and staying out all night watching midnight matinees and having sex in the dingy little room he can see into over their shoulder from the living room while he was being… what, tortured?

Questioned, wrung out for all he was worth now that the Shepherd cat was out of the bag, but how? How had they treated him? When they realized he hardly knew any more than he’d already told them, and they’d told Laswell? Told Ghost?

A thob of pain in their leg makes them sigh through the teeth. Had they treated him like a traitor? Or like a man who…

Well, he did his best. All anyone can do. They rub the scar over top of their jeans, coach the motion as scratch to avoid drawing attention to it.

“Tonight? Not much,” they say softly, too softly, judging by the way his eyes narrow.

He hates pity. Always has. They firm the tone up just a little. They’d like to make it softer, just to make him get it.

”I will get my accounts back in about two weeks. Most of my money still in them, since it wasn’t directly tied up in Shadow accounts. After that, we can get a better place. Have enough to eat and keep this place until then.”

He scoffs, an ugly, raw little sound that makes the lines in his face draw darker. Clearly not getting enough water.

”You think I want to stay with you?” They try not to take it personally. Nothing good has ever happened to him, it tracks that he wouldn’t know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

”It’s me or the shelter.” Soft but firm. Not patronizing. Just true. “You can fuck off or kill yourself once you have enough money to do one of those things. Until then,” they leave it open.

Something cracks behind his eyes as he sets the mostly empty bag down, settles down on the couch. It looks about as broken in as he does, same color as his pointedly unbranded, unlabelled hoodie.

They step over the coffee table, over the pile of coupons for local pizza joints and Mexican restaurants that they and Xavier have been frequenting, to sit beside him. They press a kiss to his temple where the hair has just started to go light, and wrap arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Phillip.” He won’t say it, but one of them has to. He twitches like he wants to pull away, but can’t find the strength to. 

They know the feeling. Doesn’t mean they’ll let him go, but they can sympathize. He gives in eventually, leaning his weight into theirs. He’s thin, of course, because surely being hungry helps a prisoner’s memory, and his lungs rattles like a snake's tail every time he breathes too deep. He’s a mess. He’s going to hurt them, they know. He’s going to lash out because he’s on unstable footing and angry and scared, stuck staying with one man he doesn’t care for and one they hope he can forgive, and the sound of his breathing makes them fearful of catching something before any of that.

Truth be told, though, they’re just happy to have him. 

Just happy to be here, Sir, their brain echos. They muffle a little laugh in the stale smelling fabric of his hoodie and draw him a little closer.

They stay that way a while, they think he may have even been able to fall asleep, or got near to it, when the door rattles loudly in its frame. They assume, as their missing piece struggles to unlock it, arms presumably full with bags. 

They lean away from Graves for just a moment to let Xavier in from their side. He mumbles, rubs his face into their arm, but makes no effort to try and stop them.

[caniasfire]

His mind raced, trying to find the answers to all of his worries about Astarion. What should he do? How could he make it better? He couldn’t just get up and leave to kill Cazador right now–maybe he should, maybe they should derail all their plans for tomorrow and just find that man and kill him. They already killed a literal god, what could he do against them?– but he couldn’t think of anything he could do that would make it all better, even if just for tonight. He held Astarion close, hoping to offer some comfort through his caresses. 

Astarion shook his head at his attempt to reassure him, and Amay had half expected the other to pull away, but instead he held on tighter, and Amay reciprocated. He listened in silence as Astarion spoke, and he could hear the vulnerability that had been wrapped around his voice being torn away to be replaced by that anger Amay was familiar with. 

Amay wanted to take it all away. Cazador, the cultists, the chosen two, the brain, the crown, the mind flayers– he wanted Astarion to only worry about mundane things and nothing else. He felt guilt burning through him; maybe if he had destroyed more contracts the Rite of Profane Ascension wouldn’t exist. He was aware he was complicit in the suffering of many people, but he had managed to shut it out and numb himself to the concept, until this very moment where it crashed all on him at once. He chose to doom all those souls just so he could keep living surrounded by luxury, and even though he had nothing to do with the crafting of this specific contract, maybe if he wasn’t rotten to the core like the devils that had raised him he would have tried to do something about the fact that there was in his reach a contract that needed seven thousand sacrifices to be fulfilled. 

Astarion redirects the focus of the conversation towards him and Amay’s gaze drifts away for a second, unable to look his lover in the eyes. He didn’t like talking too much about it, and whenever he did he found it easier if it was in a lighter tone. This was too real, and he didn’t want to pull Astarion into the reality he lived every day. He had enough going on with Cazador’s palace being right around the corner. Still, he couldn’t lie and pretend he had nothing to worry about. It had crossed his mind multiple times what would happen after Cazador’s death, as a debtor of Mephistopheles . . . if he were to end up in Mephistar somehow, and he talked about who stopped the ritual . . . “I do..” His home and his patron were always in his mind, and it never got easier. Every day they drew closer to the crown, and it felt like a noose tightening around his throat. His plan to claim the crown had been upended, and now the only thing he was certain of was that this wasn’t going to have a good ending for him. He didn’t really deserve one.

“You’ll be okay, dajy. My love.” The hand on Astarion’s back slid up to grasp gently the back of his neck and he pressed his forehead against the other’s. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

@caniasfire sent: [ nightmare ] sender comforts receiver after they wake up from a nightmare

The dream is so beautiful at first—��too beautiful. It’s the kind of happiness Astarion hardly lets himself believe in, let alone hope for. He and Amay are free, truly free. The shadow of their cursed pasts long behind them. No tadpoles, no hellish masters, just endless possibilities. They’re powerful, unbound, ruling their world together as they should. The sun shines down on them and Astarion doesn’t flinch beneath its light. Amay’s laughter fills the air, bright and untainted, a sound of pure joy, and Astarion’s heart swells to hear it.

But then comes that shadow.

It seeps into the dream like blood into water——dark, spreading, impossible to ignore. Before Astarion can react, he sees him. Cazador. That monstrous, familiar figure looming, his red eyes glowing with twisted amusement. There’s no escape, no chance to protect what he loves. Cazador’s hand shoots out, fast as lightning, closing around Amay’s throat. Astarion tries to move, to scream, to throw himself between them, but he can’t. He’s frozen. Helpless. He can only watch, horror gripping his chest like a vice, as Amay struggles, choking on his own pleas for help.

Cazador’s gaze snaps to Astarion, eyes gleaming in the surreal darkness, glowing like embers of an ancient fire. “Foolish, boy,” he sneers, his voice a venomous sound that crawls into Astarion’s soul. “You really believed you were capable of escaping me?” Astarion’s mouth opens, but no sound comes. He tries to shout, to cry out, but his voice has abandoned him. He can’t even tremble, pinned by the overwhelming weight of Cazador’s will. He’s back under his master’s control, just a pawn again, unable to save the one he loves, condemned to watch the life drain from Amay’s eyes as Cazador sinks his fangs into the soft flesh of his throat. Desperation claws at him, a frantic, animalistic need to do something—anything—but he remains paralyzed, a prisoner of his own mind.

Then, through the suffocating silence, he hears his name.

It starts like a whisper, distant, but it grows louder. A sudden shift in the bed, the faint rustle of sheets. The weight of the nightmare begins to slip, like sand falling from his fingers, but the terror still clings to him, thick and oppressive. The dream collapses inward as though the world itself is falling away, leaving him weightless, suspended over a yawning abyss.

Astarion wakes with a violent start, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His eyes snap open, wide and frantic, pupils blown as he takes in the familiar room of the Elfsong Tavern. The soft glow of distant lanterns, the faint hum of the city outside——it’s real, all of it. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. But his mind is still trapped in that place, still haunted by the image of Cazador’s hand wrapped around Amay’s throat. Amay. He bolts upright in bed, hands grasping blindly in the darkness, reaching for something, someone. His fingers collide with warm flesh, and it grounds him, yanking him back from the edge of panic. His darkvision adjusts quickly, and there, beside him, is Amay——alive, safe, untouched.

Relief hits him like a punch to the gut, and without thinking, he pulls Amay into a desperate, crushing embrace. He holds him as though he might vanish if Astarion lets go, his arms trembling with the force of it. The warmth of Amay’s skin, the sound of his breathing, the solidness of him——it anchors Astarion in the present, reminds him that this is real, that Cazador is not here. A choked sob claws its way up from his chest before he can stop it, a sound so raw and broken it shakes his entire frame. He presses his face into the curve of Amay’s neck, where he can feel his pulse——steady, alive. It’s a comfort, but it doesn’t stop the flood of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. He fights to swallow it back, to push down the terror that still lingers at the edges of his mind, but it’s too much. For a moment, he allows himself the vulnerability, clinging to Amay like a lifeline.

❛ I—❜ His voice breaks, hoarse and unsteady. He buries himself deeper into Amay’s warmth, breathing in the scent of him, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his blood rushing through his eardrums, ringing violently in his skull. He knows he should say something. An apology, maybe? For waking him, for holding him so tightly, for the nightmare that still clings to his skin like cold sweat. But no words come just yet. He just breathes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Amay’s chest, the soothing presence of him, here, safe, and he tries again, ❛ I’m sorry for waking you…❜ He hates this. Hates how close they are to Cazador, to facing him. Hates the fear that grips him, constantly.

[silence-burns]

Silco: affection

Fandom: Arcane 

Silco prefers to keep his private matters behind closed doors. 

He is by no means embarrassed to admit he's in a relationship with you. His restraint has more to do with the way he got used to living - on his own, with his back always tense, expecting to be stabbed by the people claiming to be allies. 

It's difficult to let go of the old habits. To realize there's now a pair of eyes watching his back, protecting him whenever he needs it.

And it feels wonderful.

Even on the worst of days, Silco knows you'll be there for him. That he can come back to his private rooms, lock the doors and sit down on the couch or the bed and soon you'll join him. He just needs to open up his arms and you'll sit on his lap, and wrap your arms around him.

You are warm and the crook of your neck feels like home. Silco often kisses that spot before hiding his face there and just breathing you in for a few moments. His hands rub over your back in a manner soothing both of you. Sometimes Silco talks about his day, especially the shitty parts of it, because it feels freeing. He doesn't mind you listening in silence. He doesn't mind you offering advice either. 

But more often than not, what helps Silco calm down is just your presence, closed in his arms and safe. The knowledge that no matter how bad things go, he will always have you standing firmly by his side. That he has someone to come back to.

Silco isn't used to being affectionate. 

Instead, he often chooses to go along with whatever you want or need. Do you want to run your hands through his hair, even after he's carefully combed it back? He's fine with it, it's just hair after all. Would you like to borrow his favorite coat? He'll lend it to you for however long you want and enjoy the view. He might even order you a new, better one without telling you.

Silco usually refrains from public displays of affection, but there are moments in the middle of some meetings when he forgets himself and allows his hand to wander over your knee or thigh and squeeze it gently. 

When you sit on his lap (and he'll often encourage you to) Silco loves running his hands over your thighs.

If you allow your hair to grow out, Silco wouldn't mind brushing it for you. He might even braid it if you asked - he's had plenty of experience after learning Jinx's various hairstyles over the years. His hands are gentle and caring. He'd kiss the crown of your head once he was finished.

Silco loves having you close to him. He often asks you to put the Shimmer in his eye or to cover his scar with concealer. He argues that you have a much better view of his face than he'll do even with the biggest of mirrors. 

Silco usually just quietly looks at you as you work, seated comfortably on his lap. He'd lean back in his chair and enjoy the way you carefully hold his face in place and the kisses you pepper everywhere, especially around his scars. Silco would melt if you looked him in the eyes and said that you love him just as much without the concealer.

[sukirichi]

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway! 

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist ! 

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

[ladyofbraavos]

Sansa Stans proving they don't have reading comprehension (exhibit number 666)

Making a headcanon of Sansa comparing Daenerys with a heroine from the songs isn't "stealing" from Sansa. Songs and stories aren't even a "Sansa thing", for god's sake. Most ASOIAF characters enjoy songs and stories. Sansa likes romantic songs and stories, Arya like songs and tales about warrior women (Nymeria and Wenda the White Fawn). Bran enjoys the scary stories. Rhaegar was a singer and loved to read. Tyrion loves to read stories about dragons. Men wrote songs about Tywin. Brienne and Mance Rayder like songs. Elia, Ygritte, Lysa and Lyanna liked songs as well, etc... Dany herself is fond of songs and tales:

Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. "It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford," he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart.

-

She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories.

-

Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown.

-

"Bring me the book I was reading last night." She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children's stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful.

-

"Will they joust for me? I should like that." Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

-

Dany wondered where Daario Naharis was, what he was doing. If this were a story, he would gallop up just as we reached the temple, to challenge Hizdahr for my hand.

-

"Qezza sings for me sometimes. She has a lovely voice. 

Besides, Daenerys is literally a heroine. She is a savior, a conqueror, a legend. Martin himself said Daenerys was one of the heroines of the saga and compared her with Nymeria (aka the "witch queen of the songs"):

Nymeria had more in common with someone like Daenerys or Joan d'Arc than with Brienne or Xena the Warrior Princess.”

People are already spreading tales about her accomplishments:

One sailor with a story, aye, a man might laugh at that, but when oarsmen off four different ships tell the same tale in four different tongues…”

“The tales are not the same,” insisted Armen. “Dragons in Asshai, dragons in Qarth, dragons in Meereen, Dothraki dragons, dragons freeing slaves… each telling differs from the last.”

“Only in details.” Mollander grew more stubborn when he drank, and even when sober he was bullheaded. “All speak of dragons, and a beautiful young queen."

-

If the sailors could be believed, the east was seething with wonders and terrors: a slave revolt in Astapor, dragons in Qarth, grey plague in Yi Ti.

-

Sometimes she brought back sailor's tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

-

"Maester, it was only a story. A sailor's story." Dareon was to blame for this as well. The singer had been bringing back all manner of queer tales from the alehouses and brothels. Unfortunately, he had been in his cups when he heard the one about the dragons and could not recall the details.

-

Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself.

-

No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons."

-

The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire.

-

"I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.

-

The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not.

The tale of the dragon eggs and the moon that Doreah heard from a Qartheen trader? it's obviously about Dany and the birth of dragons. The prophesied tales from the ancient books of Asshai about Azor Ahai and Red Sword of Heroes? It's clearly about Dany, no matter how much part of the fandom keep denying this fact. The dothraki prophecy about the Stallion Who Mounts The World? About Dany too. The song of ice and fire? well...

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked. "He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say.

-

"No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . [...] Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it."

-

“Well of course the two outlying ones, the things that are going on north of the Wall and Daenerys Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons are of course the Ice and Fire of the title, A Song of of Ice and Fire.” — GRRM

-

“But [Martin] knew from the very beginning where he was driving and now we’re starting to see that come to fruition,” Taylor said. “We know that it’s circling tighter and tighter on Dany and Jon and their partnership is starting to form, you know, ’fire and ice.’”

I don't want Sansa to be Daenerys' lady-in-waiting (i don't even think they will interact a lot with each other) but the edit is harmless and it's not even OOC. Sansa thinks that a hero must be beautiful, brave, and kind. She says they never kill magical beasts and are meant to defend the weak. Daenerys has all these qualities. It's not that deep.

[sgcairo]

Pitch for an AU of The AU

If Anastasiy hadn't been picked up by Pantalone, the Tsaritsa would've undoubtedly taken him under her wing. Hence I raise you: Prince of Snezhnaya, Anastasiy Danya-Ilya.

Honestly, who doesn't love a little Dottore running around? The Tsaritsa would take one look at him and instantly claim him, he's absolutely adorable. His stare is something to work on, but his whispered apologies after he runs into her and his little comment about how pretty she is... He's her baby now, no questions. He's an absolutely adorable lad, and seeing him in clothes far too big and freezing half to death- she'll be having a serious talk with Dottore later, which will definitely include beating him senseless.

What's even better is that Pierro would've been designated as "honorary father" from the beginning, because who else better to raise an innocent child than a man who's seen the horrors of the world? Besides, the Tsaritsa thinks his confusion upon being grabbed by the leg and called "dad" is absolutely hilarious and adorable, especially regarding her own position as "mom". She gets the chance to shoot her shot with Danya as her wingman, the two have many secret plots to officially instate him Anastasiy's father.

For the most part, he grows up relatively less traumatized overall. It's hard to steal a child when his mother is paranoid about losing him, to the point that she sleeps in the armchair near his bed just to be safe. He's usually climbing into bed with her anyways, he likes having his mama nearby so he doesn't overheat. When she does cry in her sleep, he always makes sure to hug her tightly, even if he can't do much with his small body.

They definitely sit in the Tsaritsa's garden together (an idea that I thieved from @ardensforest) when she has spare time. Anastasiy's favorite flower will always be the bluebell, and he always brings one back to put by his bed. They often take short walks around the perimeter, just to check on the Tsaritsa's flowers, and to talk about whatever new subject Anastasiy has been hooked on.

Once he gets older, the Tsaritsa definitely coerces Pantalone into surrendering some of the treasury to fund his expeditions and costs of building ruin guards. He's still a version of Dottore, even if he's been removed from direct association, and he has a passion for building things, regardless of the circumstance. While yes, he's very self conscious about the oil stains on his nice shirts, his mother is always happy to buy him more, and always reassures him that "there's no reason to be ashamed of what you love, my son".

In the public eye, he is the crown jewel of the nation, the perfect son and prince. They idolize him somewhat, as the supposed child of the Tsaritsa, and few would even think let alone attempt to hurt him in any way. Of course, this doesn't stop them from trying, which ends terribly and almost sends Snezhnaya into an even worse storm as the Tsaritsa fervently searches for her missing son. On another expedition in his pursuit of making more "friends", his carriage is attacked and overturned, leaving nothing but a burned and blackened shell behind. She searches and searches, but he's nowhere to be found.

Pierro has to calm her down to prevent a cataclysmic event, especially considering the original cause of the eternal winter. Danya is resilient, he'll live. But he's nowhere to be found, his blood covered by layers of snow. Not even the tracking dogs have any luck, Dasha is about as perplexed as the others.

All the while, Anastasiy stumbled off into the woods after being injured and met the love of his life, a boy from a small village on the coast: Morepesok. Having stumbled into the clearing where said boy and his family lived, he begged for help, as he was freezing to death and quickly advancing towards his demise from the injury to his leg. Who was the boy to refuse, especially the crown prince and beloved savior of the nation?

Cue the recovery and Danya being absolutely head over heels for his new friend, and as he recovers, he finds that returning home seems more and more difficult as time wears on. He loves his mother, he really does, but he also has found something new... something akin to love.

The only question is: How long will it take for his new friend to notice?

Hint: Not long, Danya is not good at being subtle.