#death king hugo

[lucdrawsthings]

a collection of nasty little demons

[kanmanikkebareheddesigselv]

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[sunsetcurveauto]

Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld, Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

eurydice, sarah ruhl // francis forever, mitski // hamlet, william shakespeare // the worm king's lullaby, richard siken // i swear somewhere this works, trista mateer // walking home, marie howe // amy & roger's epic detour, morgan matson // the epic of gilgamesh // from june to december - summer villanelle, wendy cope // eurydice, sarah ruhl

outhouse, rachel mckibbens // hamlet, william shakespeare // the great believers, rebecca makkai // a little life, hanya yanagihara // introduction to quantum theory, franny choi // concerning the book that is the body of the beloved, gregory orr // the song of achilles, madeline miller // i swear somewhere this works, trista mateer // les miserables, victor hugo // eurydice, sarah ruhl

the epic of gilgamesh // eurydice, sarah ruhl // in the name of love, katie maria // the great believers, rebecca makkai // i swear somewhere this works, trista mateer // the time traveller's wife, audrey niffenegger // hamlet, william shakespeare // on the death of summer and baptismal promises, w.r. // amy & roger's epic detour, morgan matson // road to hell (reprise), anaïs mitchell

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis French History Timeline: all the context you need to know to understand Les Mis

Here is a simple timeline of French history as it relates to events in Les Miserables, and to the context of Les Mis's publication! A post like this would’ve really helped me four years ago, when I knew very little about 1830s France or the goals of Les Amis, so I’m making it now that I have the information to share! ^_^

This post will be split into 4 sections: a quick overview of important terms, the history before the novel that’s important to the character's backstories, the history during the novel, and then the history relevant to the 1848-onward circumstances of Hugo’s life and the novel’s publication. 

Part 1: Overview 

The novel takes place in the aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo, during a period called the Restoration. 

The ancient monarchy was overthrown during the French Revolution. After a series of political struggles the revolutionary government was eventually replaced by an empire under Napoleon. Then Napoleon was defeated and sent into exile— but then he briefly came back and seized power for one hundred days—! and then he was defeated yet again for good at the battle of Waterloo in 1815.

After all that political turmoil, kings have been "restored" to the throne of France. The novel begins right as this Restoration begins.

The major political parties important to generally understanding Les Mis (Wildly Oversimplified) are Republicans, Liberals, Bonapartists, and Royalists. It’s worth noting that all these ‘party terms’ changed in meaning/goals over time depending on which type of government was in power. In general though, and just for the sake of reading Les Mis:

 Republicans want a Republic, where people elect their leaders democratically— they’re the very left wing progressive ones, and are heavily outcast/censored/policed. Les Amis are Republicans.

Liberals: we don’t have time to go into it, but I don’t think there are any characters in Les Mis defined by their liberalism.

Bonapartists are followers of Napoleon Bonaparte I, who led the Empire. Many viewed the Emperor as more favorable or progressive to them than a king would be. Georges Pontmercy is a Bonapartist, as is Pere Fauchelevent. 

Royalists believe in the divine right of Kings; they’re conservative. Someone who is extremely royalist to the point of wanting basically no limits on the king’s power at all are called “Ultraroyalists” or “ultra.” Marius’s conservative grandfather Gillenromand is an ultra royalist.  Hugo is also very concerned with criticizing the "Great Man of History," the view that history is pushed forward by the actions of a handful of special great men like kings and emperors. Les Mis aims to focus on the common masses of people who push history forward instead.

Part 2: Timeline of History involved in characters’ Backstories

1789– the March on the bastille/ the beginning of the original French Revolution. A young Myriel, who is then a shallow married aristocrat, flees the country. His family is badly hurt by the Revolution. His wife dies in exile.

1793– Louis XVI is found guilty of committing treason and sentenced to death. The Conventionist G—, the old revolutionary who Myriel talks to, votes against the death of the king. 

1795:  the Directory rules France. Throughout much of the revolution, including this period, the country is undergoing “dechristianization” policies. Fantine is born at this time. Because the church is not in power as a result of dechristianization, Fantine is unbaptized and has no record of a legal given name, instead going by the nickname Fantine (“enfantine,” childlike.)

1795: The Revolutionary government becomes more conservative. Jean Valjean is arrested. 

1804: Napoleon officially crowns himself Emperor of France. the Revolution’s dream of a Republic is dead for a bit.  At this time, Myriel returns from his exile and settles down in the provinces of France to work as a humble priest. Then he visits Paris and makes a snarky comment to Napoleon, and Napoleon finds him so witty that he appoints him Bishop.

Part 3: the novel actually begins 

1815: Napoleon is defeated at the Battle of Waterloo by the allied nations of Britain and Prussia. Read Hugo’s take on that in the Waterloo Digression! He gets a lot of facts wrong, but that’s Hugo for you.

Marius’s father, Baron Pontmercy, nearly dies on the battlefield. Thenardier steals his belongings. 

After Napoleon is defeated, a king is restored to the throne— Louis XVIII, of the House of Bourbon, the ancient royal house that ruled France before the Revolution. In order to ensure that Louis XVIII stays on the throne, the nations of Britian, Prussia, and Russia, send soldiers occupy France. So France is, during the early events of the novel, being occupied by foreign soldiers. This is part of why there are so many references to soldiers on the streets and garrisons and barracks throughout the early portions of the novel. The occupation officially ended in 1818.

1815 (a few months after Waterloo): Jean Valjean is released from prison and walks down the road to Digne, the very same road Napoleon charged down during his last attempt to seize power. Many of the inns he passes by are run by people advertising their connections to Napoleon. Symbolically Valjean is the poor man returning from exile into France, just as Napoleon was the Great Man briefly returning from exile during the 100 days, or King Louis XVIII is the Great King returning from exile to a restored throne.

  1817: The Year 1817, which Hugo has a whole chapter-digression about. Louis XVIII  of the House of Bourbon is on the throne. Fantine, “the nameless child of the Directory,”  is abandoned by Tholomyes. 

1821: Napoleon dies in exile. 

1825:  King Louis XVIII dies. Charles X takes the throne. While Louis XVIII was willing to compromise, Charles X is a far more conservative ultra-royalist. He attempts to bring back something like the Pre-Revolution style of monarchy. 

Underground resistance groups, including Republican groups like Les Amis, plot against him.  

1827-1828: Georges Pontmercy, bonapartist veteran of Waterloo, dies. Marius, who has been growing up with his abusive Ultra-royalist grandfather and mindlessly repeating his ultra-royalist politics, learns how much his father loved him. He becomes a democratic Bonapartist. 

Marius is a little bit late to everything though. He shouts “long live the Emperor!” Even though Napoleon died in 1821 and insults his grandfather by telling him “down with that hog Louis XVIII” even though Louis XVIII has been dead since 1825. He’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit. 

Marius leaves his grandfather to live on his own. 

1830: “The July Revolution,” also known as the “Three Glorious Days” or  “the Second French Revolution.” Rebels built barricades and successfully forced Charles X out of power.

Unfortunately, TL;DR moderate politicians prevented the creation of a Republic and instead installed another more politically progressive king — Louis-Philippe, of the house of Orleans. 

Louis-Philippe was a relative of the royal family, had lived  in poverty for a time, and described himself as “the citizen-king.” Hugo’s take on him is that he was a good man, but being a king is inherently evil; monarchy is a bad system even if a “good” dictator is on the throne.

The shadow of 1830 is important to Les Mis, and there’s even a whole digression about it in “A Few Pages of History,” a digression most people adapting the novel have clearly skipped. Les Amis would’ve probably been involved in it....though interestingly, only Gavroche and maybe Enjolras are explicitly confirmed to have been there, Gavroche telling Enjolras he participated “when we had that dispute with Charles X.”

Sadly we're following Marius (not Les Amis) in 1830. Hugo mentions that Marius is always too busy thinking to actually participate in political movements. He notes that Marius was pleased by 1830 because he thinks it is a sign of progress, but that he was too dreamy to be involved in it. 

1831: in “A Few Pages of History” Hugo describes the various ways Republican groups were plotting what what would later become the June Rebellion– the way resistance groups had underground meetings, spread propaganda with pamphlets, smuggled in gunpowder, etc. 

Spring of 1832: there is a massive pandemic of cholera in Paris that exacerbates existing tensions. Marius is described as too distracted by love to notice all the people dying of cholera. 

June 1st, 1832: General Lamarque, a member of parliament often critical of the monarchy, dies of cholera. 

June 5th and 6th, 1832: the June Rebellion of 1832:

Republicans, students, and workers attempt to overthrow the monarchy, and finally get a democratic Republic For Real This Time. The rebellion is violently crushed by the National Guard.

Enjolras was partially inspired by Charles Jeanne, who led the barricades at Saint-Merry. 

Part 4: the context of Les Mis’s publication 

February 1848: a successful revolution finally overthrows King Louis Philippe. A younger Victor Hugo, who was appointed a peer of France by Louis-Philippe, is then elected as a representative of Paris in the provisional revolutionary government.

June 1848: This is a lot, and it’s a thing even Hugo’s biographers often gloss over, because it’s a horrific moral failure/complexity of Hugo’s that is completely at odds with the sort of politics he later became known for. The short summary is that in June 1848 there was a working-class rebellion against new labor laws/forced conscription, and Victor Hugo was on the “wrong side of the barricades” working with the government to violently suppress the rebels. To quote from this source:

Much to the disappointment of his supporters, in [Victor Hugo’s] first speech in the national assembly he went after the ateliers or national workshops, which had been a major demand of the workers. Two days later the workshops were closed, workers under twenty-five were conscripted and the rest sent to the countryside. It was a “political purge” and a declaration of war on the Parisian working class that set into motion the June Days, or the second revolution of 1848—an uprising lauded by Marx as one of the first workers’ revolutions. As the barricades went up in Paris, Hugo was tragically on the wrong side. On June 24 the national assembly declared a state of siege with Hugo’s support. Hugo would then sink to a new political low. He was chosen as one of sixty representatives “to go and inform the insurgents that a state of siege existed and that Cavaignac [the officer who had led the suppression of the June revolt] was in control.” With an express mission “to stop the spilling of blood,” Hugo took up arms against the workers of Paris. Thus, Hugo, voice of the voiceless and hero of workers, helped to violently suppress a rebellion led by people whom he in many ways supported—and many of whom supported him. With twisted logic and an even more twisted conscience, Hugo fought and risked his life to crush the June insurrection.

There is an otherwise baffling chapter in Les Mis titled "The Charybdis of the Faubourg Saint Antoine and the Scylla of the Fauborg Du Temple," where Hugo goes on a digression about June of 1848. Hugo contrasts June of 1848 with other rebellions, and insists that the June 1848 Rebellion was Wrong and Different. It is a strangely anti-rebellion classist chapter that feels discordant with the rest of the book. This is because it is Hugo's effort to (indirectly) address criticisms people had of his own involvement in June 1848, and to justify why he believed crushing that rebellion with so much force was necessary. The chapter is often misused to say that Hugo was "anti-violent-rebellion all the time" (which he wasn't) or that "rebellion is bad” is the message of Les Mis (which it isn't) ........but in reality the chapter is about Hugo attempting to justify his own past actions to the reader and to himself, actions which many people on his side of the political spectrum considered a betrayal. He couldn't really have written a novel about the politics of barricades without addressing his actions in June 1848, and he addressed them by attempting to justify them, and he attempted to justify them with a lot of deeply questionable rhetoric. 1848 is a lot, and I don't fully understand all the context yet-- but that general context is necessary to understand why the chapter is even in the novel. Late 1848/1849: Quoting from the earlier source again:

In the wake of the revolution, Hugo tried to make sense of the events of 1848. He tried to straddle the growing polarization between, on the one hand, “the party of order,” which coalesced around Napoleon’s nephew Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte, who in December 1848 had been elected France’s president under a new constitution, and the “party of movement” (or radical Left) that, in the aftermath of 1848, had made considerable advances. In this climate, as Hugo increasingly spoke out, and faced opposition and repression himself, he was radicalized and turned to the Left for support against the tyranny and “barbarism” he saw in the government of Louis Napoleon. The “point of no return” came in 1849. Hugo became one of the loudest and most prominent voices of opposition to Louis Napoleon. In his final and most famous insult to Napoleon, he asked: “Just because we had Napoleon le Grand [Napoleon the Great], do we have to have Napoleon le petit [Napoleon the small]?” Immune from punishment because of his role in the government, Bonaparte retaliated by shutting down Hugo’s newspaper and arresting both his sons.

Thenardier is possibly meant to be Hugo’s caricature of Louis-Napoleon/Napoleon III. He is “Napoleon the small,” an opportunistic scumbag leeching off the legacy of Waterloo and Napoleon to give himself some respectability. He is a metaphorical ‘graverobber of Waterloo’ who has all of Napoleon’s dictatorial pettiness without any of his redeeming qualities.

It’s also worth noting that Marius is Victor “Marie” Hugo’s self-insert. Hugo’s politics changed wildly over time. Like Marius he was a royalist when was young. And like Marius, he looked up to Napoleon and to Napoleon III, before his views of them were shattered. This is reflected in the way Marius has complicated feelings of loyalty to his father (who’s very connected to the original Napoleon I) and to Thenardier (who’s arguably an analogue for Napoleon IiI.)

1851: 

On December 2, 1851, Louis Napoleon launched his coup, suspending the republic’s constitution he had sworn to uphold. The National Assembly was occupied by troops. Hugo responded by trying to rally people to the barricades to defend Paris against Napoleon’s seizure of power. Protesters were met with brutal repression.  Under increasing threat to his own life, with both of his sons in jail and his death falsely announced, Hugo finally left Paris.  He ultimately ended up on the island of Guernsey where he spent much of the next eighteen years and where he would write the bulk of Les Misérables. It was from here that his most radical and political work was smuggled into France.

Hugo arguably did some of his most important political work after being exiled. In Guernsey, he aided with resistance against the regime of Napoleon III. Hugo’s popularity with the masses also meant that his exile was massive news, and a thing all readers of Les Miserables would’ve been deeply familiar with.

This is why there are so many bits of Les Mis where the narrator nostalgically reflects on how much they wish they were in Paris again —these parts are very political; readers would’ve picked up that this was Victor Hugo reflecting on he cruelty of his own exile.  

1862-1863: Les Mis is published. It is a barely-veiled call to action against the government of Napoleon III, written about the June Rebellion instead of the current regime partially in order to dodge the censorship laws at the time.

Conservatives despise the book and call it the death of civilization and a dangerous rebellious evil godless text that encourages them to feel bad for the stupid evil criminal rebel poors and etc etc etc– (see @psalm22-6 ‘s excellent translations of the ancient conservative reviews)-- but the novel sells very well. Expressing  approval or disapproval of the book is considered inherently political, but fortunately it remains unbanned. 

…And that’s it! An ocean of basic historical context about Les Mis!

If anyone has any corrections  or additions they would like to make, feel free to add them! I have researched to the best of my ability, but I don’t pretend to be perfect. I also recommend listening to the Siecle podcast, which covers the events of the Bourbon Restoration starting at the Battle of Waterloo, if you're interested in learning more about the period!

[the-ghost-king]

Of Tender Death and Perpetual Care

markus zusak, the book thief // tweet by @petfurniture // gustav klimt, mother and child // jk. rowling, harry potter and the deathy hallows // andrew wyeth, perpetual care // ocean vuong, on earth we're briefly gorgeous // oscar wilde, the canterville ghost // henry scott holland, death the king of terrors // markus zusak, the book thief // hugo simberg, the garden of death // markus zusak, the book thief

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown, round 1 of bracket one

Propaganda:

For Felix:

Best sword fighting unit in the game outside of the MC. He cares so much about sword fighting it is almost his identity. 2 of is paired endings is basically “historians say they were great friends”. He died on the same day as his childhood best friend in one, in another he cried more than the kings wife when the king died .

He’s awful. Like actually so mean and that’s why we love him. But when push comes to shove he actually has one of the most unbreakable moral codes. Felix is bisexual in the most bisexual way possible. His three most popular ships include: a man he insists he hates but dies on the same day as because “they can’t live without each other”, a man who Felix insists he hates and after said man’s death Felix spends the rest of his life protecting his burial, and finally a nice woman that he really likes to hear sing and they become teachers together. He has brother trauma, after his brother’s death he HATES knights because of something his dad said. So he also daddy issues. In conclusion: Very mean, interesting taste in men, loves women, has daddy issues

For Alucard:

He has a sword that he can command to fly around. He's bisexual. He's depressed. He's both the direct opposite of his father and too much like him. He's part of the most disastrous polycule to ever exist. He's a jerk. I love him, he's very important to me.

Symphony of the Night has too much of a cultural impact to not have him be included here. He’s an aroace icon with a huge sword collection (he’s bisexual in the animated series). He has a flying sword familiar and a sword he can hold in his hands. Loves taking naps. 

[karalynlovescake]

THE CENTENNIAL HUSBANDS 2024 BIG BANG IS LIVE!

You can read my fic on Ao3 - Entropy and Optimism, rated T, 56k words, complete at 13 chapters.

Hob Gadling is offered immortality by Death in 1389 and he meets with her every 100 years. In his dreams, he befriends and grows close with a man who he knows is Death's brother, but who never gave Hob his name. After a disaster in the late 1700's ties him even closer to Death, Hob sees his Stranger less and less, and believes his choices are to blame. Meanwhile, exhausted by seeing Death everywhere he goes and heartsick over losing his relationship with her brother, in 1889 he tells her that while he still wishes to live, he does not want to see her again.

Hob goes over a hundred years with no word from either of them, until one day two women with two talking ravens show up and tell him that his friend desperately needs his help. He embarks on the quest, hoping to once again see his mysterious Stranger, who he learns must be the King of Dreams. But when he arrives in the Dreaming he finds two people he has never met ruling, his friend asleep as if under a spell, and the kingdom falling apart around them, with the legions of Hell trying to invade.

And check out the art from my amazing artist Koresephone !!!

@koresephone66

The plot for this story started out as the plot of the novel Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold, which is one of my favorite novels ever written. I consider it to be an absolute masterpiece of writing and plot weaving. It won a Hugo, a Nebula AND a Locus award for a REASON, and Ms Bujold is a far better writer than I am.

I had to change a lot of stuff to make the plot fit the setting and characters. So much stuff that I debated is it really even the same story anymore? Apparently very few people in the active fandom are familiar with the Bujold novel, which meant no one would see exactly what I was trying to do.

But it also meant that there was no one out there who was going to write this story if I didn't write it! This is the first novel-length story I've ever completed, and my first big bang, and honestly if you're going to borrow, borrow from the best of the best, right? I was already using Neil's characters, and I think I did a pretty good job!

I'd love to hear if you enjoy it!

[jelepermets]

Today, as a treat, I am going to walk on well-tread ground and rant about how Grantaire symbolizes the People of France. And how it is this that makes this chapter so sublime.

Three chapters before this one, Hugo speaks about how Revolution does not always find a welcome audience. How, without the People. an emeute is just that. It may have loft ideals attached to it, but it must fail. If the people aren't ready, if they lock their doors and rail at the revolutionaries outside in fear and apathy and anger, then nothing can be done.

Hugo admits that this is natural. We must let humans care about their own lives and not just the future. All of this can be handled, as long as in the end Progress continues.

"A people, like a star, has the right of eclipse. And all is well, provided the light returns and the eclipse does not degenerate into night. Dawn and resurrection are synonyms. The reappearance of the light is identical with the persistence of the self." [5.1.20]

This is reflective of Grantaire's apathy, his defining trait as a nihilist. It also reflects Hugo's implication that this is not Grantaire's natural state of being. Remember:

"Besides Enjolras, Grantaire became someone again." [3.4.1]

Not only does this tie Grantaire's existence inextricably with the Revolution, but it implies that this existence is superior, is more natural than his current one.

Grantaire also has more interactions with the People than the rest of les Amis do. See when he was meant to stir up revolutionary ideals and instead went to play dominoes. Yes he failed, but he also reflects the prevailing thought. France was not ready for a revolution. Enjolras ignored this. Lofty ideas could not reconcile themselves to the reality.

‌

All this paints a very bleak picture of course. And yet, in Grantaire's death we get that undeniable hope, which makes it all so beautiful.

We, as real people reading this book, understand that Grantaire is probably still drunk. Yet Hugo impressing upon, insisting upon Grantaire's clarity is so crucial. This, at the moment of his death, is the most lucid Grantaire has been.

Another thing that strikes me, is that thought Grantaire asks permission to die with Enjolras, he seals his own death warrant before doing so, by crying out 'Vive la Republique.' He doesn't actually ask permission to join the movement.

When the People rise, they will do so spontaneously. That crucial ingredient that is missing amongst the population has been lit in Grantaire, and it is a sign of what is to come, it is hope. He's leading the pack with his singular death, and like he measured the mood beforehead, his death can be (and to me is) read as an omen of what is to come. The eclipse - in Hugo's words - will end.

Of course, asking permission to die with Enjolras is also crucial. Not only because of the poetry of them being narrative foils, but because it works as a surrogate for the people of Paris acknowledging the bravery of those who push forward towards Progress while they refuse to budge. Again, as Hugo writes:

"However that may be, even when fallen, particularly when fallen, august are the ones who, all around the world, with eyes fixed on France, struggle for the great work with the inflexible logic of the ideal; they give their life as a pure fit for progress; they accomplish the will of Providence; they perform a religious act." [5.1.20]

Through Grantaire's death, the People come out of their fear and recognize this. Not literally, but in spirit. And if not to all of us, then to Enjolras.

Because Enjolras is, of course, crucial to this reading. Speaking of Grantaire as the People when he is merely one of many characters who are the People, it's important to ask for whom is he? Because he's certainly not for Valjean. Or Marius. Or Cosette. Or Javert. Or even the National Guards or the King or perhaps not even to the audience (if you think I'm overdoing it I respect it). But he is to Enjolras.

Enjolras is stoic throughout the whole ordeal. He speaks of glory in death. He is still devoted to his mistress, Patria. And yet his ideals have been shattered. The People were not ready. The Revolution will not come. He will die bravely, but he will have failed.

But then Grantaire stands up and says he's with them and requests permission to die by Enjolras' side.

And in that moment Enjolras' convictions are justified. If someone who has been the object of scorn, who has been apathetic, who has done little at all except annoy Enjolras and fail to stir up revolutionary thought; if Grantaire can rise up and die with him, then others will too. Perhaps not now, but in the future.

Grantaire becomes someone again when he dies next to Enjolras. And someday the people will rise.

[inthewitchesstew]

My book recs

☆Mostly classics but a few more modern ones in there too!! Make sure to check warnings for any books you read ☆

1. The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides

2. 1984 - George Orwell

3. If We Were Villains - M.L Rio

4. Animal farm - George Orwell

5. Dracula - Bram Stoker

6. Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

7. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky

8. Notes From the Underground - Fyodor Dostoevsky

9. Dante's Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri

10. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

11. Ariel - Sylvia Plath

12. The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath - Sylvia Plath

13. The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath - Sylvia Plath

14. Moby Dick - Herman Melville

15. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper lee

16. Hamlet - William Shakespeare

17. Macbeth - William Shakespeare

18. The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoevsky

19. The Devils - Fyodor Dostoevsky

20. The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoevsky

21. A Nervous Breakdown - Anton Chekhov

22. Nausea - Jean-Paul Sartre

23. The Wind in The Willows - Kenneth Grahame

24. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë

25. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

26. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood

27. Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka

28. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin

29. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

30. Emma - Jane Austen

31. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

32. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

33. The Odyssey - Homer

34. To The Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

35. The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

36. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

37. A Little Life - Hanya Yanagihara

38. The Trial - Franz kafka

39. My Year of Rest and Relaxation - Ottessa Moshfegh

40. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

41. The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt

42. Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare

43. Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

44. Selected Stories - Alice Munro

45. American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis

46. Normal People - Sally Rooney

47. Existentialism is a Humanism - Jean-Paul Sartre

48. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

49. Persuasion - Jane Austen

50. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

51. The Death of The Heart - Elizabeth Bowen

52. The Iliad - Homer

53. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest - Ken Kesey

54. The Catcher in the Rye - J.D Salinger

55. The Outsiders - S.E Hinton

56. The Chrysalids - John Wyndham

57. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

58. Middlemarch - George Eliot

59. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

60. Meditations - Marcus Aurelius

61. Beyond Good and Evil - Friedrich Nietzsche

62. The Stranger - Albert Camus

63. The Republic - Plato

64. Letters From a Stoic - Seneca

65. Man’s Search For Meaning - Viktor E. Frankl

66. The Myth of Sisyphus - Albert Camus

67. Bunny - Mona Awad

68. Belladonna - Anbara Salam

69. The Yellow Wallpaper - Charlotte Perkins Gilman

70. My Life Had Stood a Loaded Gun - Emily Dickinson

71. How We Weep and Laugh at the Same Thing - Michel de Montaigne

72. The Telltale Heart - Edgar Allen Poe

73. The Death of Ivan Ilych - Leo Tolstoy

74. Come Close - Sappho

75. The Fall of Icarus - Ovid

76. Tender Is the Flesh - Agustina Bazterrica

77. Cassandra - Christa Wolf

78. Forbidden Notebook - Alba de Céspedes

79. Girl, Interrupted - Susanna Kaysen

80. Carrie - Stephen King

81. Mrs. S - K Patrick

82. Sunburn - Chloe Michelle Howarth

83. Perfume - Patrick Suskind

84. After Dark - Haruki Murakami

85. Kafka on the Shore - Haruki Murakami

86. No Longer Human - Osamu Dazai

87. Wednesday's Child - Yiyun Li

88. My Husband - Maud Ventura

89. All Down Darkness Wide - Sean Hewitt

90. Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami

91. The Waves - Virginia Woolf

92. The Talented Mr Ripley - Patricia Highsmith

93. We Have Always Lived in the Castle - Shirley Jackson

94. For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway

95. Journey Into the Past - Stefan Zweig

96. Outline - Rachel Cusk

97. Chess Story - Stephen Zweig

98. Diary of a Madman - Nikolai Gogol

99. A Very Easy Death - Simone De Beauvoir

100. A Writer's Diary - Virginia Woolf

Enjoy!!

[arkhamasyl-m]

Random Arkham Fun Facts!

Since Arkham Asylum had such a tight budget, majority of the sound effects were made in studio, the most well-known example is the explosive gel sound actually being from a can of whipped cream.

After the Arkham City incident, all of the prisoners were simply freed because there was nowhere to put them. Despite this, majority of them actually gave up crime, leading to the crime rate going down, though some of the thugs had secretly gone on to work for Two Face's gang under the guise of working for Hell's Gate Disposal Services.

Out of all the factions it seems the most trusted group is the miltia working for the Arkham Knight, since they know the Arkham Knight's identity and majority of them aren't psychotic criminals hired for numbers, but are ex-military members who joined because they couldn't adjust to civilian life and Jason offered them purpose.

Jack Ryder's alter ego the Creeper is mentioned multiple times throughout the games, and although he never actually appears he is heavily implied to be canon. Jack Ryder himself mentions that he wishes he had superpowers, which implies the fact that he himself doesn't know he's the Creeper and probably only turns into the Creeper on very rare occasions, especially since he is under stress a lot during Arkham City and Arkham Knight but never transforms.

Frank Boles had actually been working for the Joker for a long time before his murder in Arkham Asylum, as he was one of the main reasons the Joker was never caught torturing Jason, despite him doing so in one of the wings at Arkham Asylum.

Harley Quinn was the one who gave Jason Todd his main alias "Arkham Knight" as during his torture she called him "Arkham's Knight in Shining Armour" believing he would kill Batman so she and the Joker could finally be happy together.

Jason was actually in the Asylum, during Arkham Asylum, but escaped the island during the early parts of Joker's prison break, and thus never ran into Batman.

Most of Jason, Deathstroke and Scarecrow's plan was funded by one of Bruce Wayne's various bank accounts reserved for Batman, leading to millions being stolen without Batman really noticing.

Jason was in Arkham City during Batman's fight in the Steel Mill, and even spoke with Joker one final time before his death.

It’s also implied he was stalking Batman in the prison, as his base has a bunch of photos of Batman and Robin during their talk in Arkham City. This means he was watching this go down from afar.

Before Batman was revealed to actually still be alive in a trailer for Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, there was a Batman comic which featured Batman travelling to different universes and meeting alternate Batmen (Batman #900). One of the many Batmen he met was none other than the Arkham Batman, taking place sometime after Arkham Knight where he talks to the main Batman about life after faking his own death and how the Joker keeps plaguing his mind even after his death.

The Asylum has been present in every single game in one way or another. It was the primary setting of Arkham Asylum, it was the base of operations for Hugo Strange's TYGER guards in Arkham City, in Arkham Origins it was planned to be reopened by Quincy Sharp and was further developed in Arkham Origin's DLC's and spin-offs. In Arkham Knight it was where Scarecrow took Batman to reveal his identity and finally in Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, it has been renovated and reopened with the members of the Suicide Squad currently being prisoners there.

The reason Alfred disappears halfway through Arkham City and is replaced by Oracle is because he was currently busy with the paparazzi at Wayne Manor, all asking questions about Bruce Wayne's recent arrest.

Talia Al Ghul's body keeps disappearing, implying she might've been revived at some point by the Lazarus Pit.

It's likely the film tie-in Assault on Arkham is no longer canon, since King Shark dies in it, Deadshot is the original one, Amanda Waller is implied to be killed in it and finally lots of people are very out of character in the film.

In Arkham Asylum, only Harley, Joker and Scarecrow are in their full costumes. This is because Joker had only just been captured and Harley hadn’t been captured at all. Scarecrow is wearing his costume, though it appears that he was rushed and didn’t put on his entire costume. Every other villain is in their prison clothes.

The smoker at the start of Arkham Knight is Jason Todd. He wears a Red Hood, is carving an "A" into the table (Arkham Knight) and is the one releasing the fear gas into the diner. He is also the one who strikes first, setting off the entire event.

TBA

[fuckyeaharthuriana]

mordred through time (movies, tv shows, opera and musicals)

Part 2: From 1982 to 2002

Other Parts: Part 1: From 1949 to 1981 -> here Part 3: From 2002 to 2010 Part 4: From 2014 to 2017 Part 5: From 2018 to 2023

EDIT: There is a mistake in the video, Blind Guardian's Mordred's song was released in 1995 not 1989, so I corrected it in the description.

Complete list of part 2 media with extra information and some of my thoughs regarding the evolution of Mordred’s role is under cut.

We left part 1 with Mordred appearing only as a generic villain not related to Arthur until 1960 where White's novel is adapted into a musical. The musical follows the novel enough to introduce Mordred as Arthur's incestuous son with Morgause. Since then the "son" element has been kept in almost every single adaptation. We also have the first tv iteration of Mordred as Morgana's son instead of Morgause: Excalibur 1981.

This is not only the first time we see Morgana as his mother on tv, but also one of the first time ever. I made a list of the evolution of Mordred's mother in novels here.

You can see Morgause is pretty constant until 1980-1982. I have no idea what happened in those years but for the first time we have the 1980 novel "Firelord" by Parke Godwin itroducing Morgana as Mordred's mother instead of Morgause (in this case Morgause is completely eliminated). The 1981's movie Excalibur does something similar (Morgause is eliminated and Morgana absorbs her role), and I am pretty sure it could not have been influenced by "Firelord", given the two events happened so close in time (and less than a year is not usually sufficient to write and produce a movie). In 1982 Marion Zimmer Bradley published "The Mists of Avalon" which does something similar to Catherine Christian's "Pendragon": Morgause is still officially Mordred's mother by adoption.

From this point onwards you will see that Morgause ends up completely eliminated in her role as Mordred's mother from future movies and tv shows.

Full list for part 2 and more info:

1982 Camelot: I wrote a bit about the musical in part 1. This is a stage adaptation filmed live, so it retains all the songs (even Mordred's songs previously cut in the movie) and Richard Backus plays Mordred.

1984 Morte d'Arthur: A tv movie that probably was preserved thanks to Jeremy Brett's popularity as he played King Arthur. This movie is a strange adaptation of Morte d'Arthur, with the actors playing the scenes on a stage with no dialogue. A narrator tells the tale (and the dialogues themselves). Nickolas Grace played Mordred.

1985 Merlin and the Sword: Also known as "Arthur the King", this movie actually exists in two versions, the cut version missing some scenes (Arthur's funeral apparently!). The movie focuses mainly on Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot and Mordred plays the role of Arthur's son (from Morgana) and a kind of minor comedic fumbling villain. He was played by Joseph Blatchley.

1988 New Adventures of a Yankee in King Arthur's Court: One of the many adaptations of Mark Twain's novel, this one is a bizarre Ukranian (Soviet) movie that depicts Hank Morgan as a destructive force in Camelot. The movie is absolutely stunning, but being in Russian I could not understand the dialogue. Mordred plays a very minor role, he is Morgana's son and he is killed by Hank in a treacherous duel (Hank shoots him). His death is what leads Arthur and Morgana to ally to try and defear Hank Morgan. Mordred is played by Ukranian actor Mark Gres.

1989 Mordred's song by Blind Guardian: the correct date is 1995.

1989 A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court: This is without a doubt my favorite adaptation of Twain's novel. Here Hank Morgan is actually a little girl called Karen. Mordred is a comedic-like antagonist and the main antagonist of the movie, played by Hugo Blick (who is mainly known now as a movie director).

1989 Doctor Who Battlefield: This is a 4 episodes arc in the 26th season of Doctor Who, with the Seventh Doctor being revealed as Merlin. Later on it was adapted into a novel. The episodes are set in modern times, with Morgana and her son Mordred having survived Camlann and travelling through time. Mordred is mainly shown to hate a new knight called Ancelyn who also survived Camlann. Christopher Bowen played Mordred.

1995 Mordred's song by Blind Guardian: So I decided to add the few songs/album that acts like a "Mordred's point of view/as if he was singing" kind of media. The singer here is singing as Mordred. It was also used in this 2016 rap song!

1998 Merlin: Probably one of the most popular arthurian miniseries! It follows the life of Merlin, from his childhood to his elderly years and the second episode mainly focus on Camelot and Arthur. Mordred is Morgana and Arthur's son, magically aged (like we saw in Excalibur 1981) and he becomes the main villain of the story alongside Mab. He is played by Jason Done.

2001 The Mists of Avalon: This is a miniseries adaptation of Marion Zimmer Bradley's novel, focusing on Morgana, Arthur and Guinevere. In my opinion it makes the novel much more palatable and easier to digest. Mordred here appears once more as Morgana's son, but he is a adopted by Morgause and raised to hate Arthur. Mordred is the main antagonist in the second part, and his character here is turned into an almost sympathetic villain. Hans Matherson played adult Mordred (I was obsessed with that man 15 years ago).

2002 Justice League (and the 2004 sequel Justice League Unlimited): Justice League (two seasons) and Justice League Unlimited (3 seasons) are animated shows (for a younger audience) which adapts some stories from DC (both DC and Marvel have interations of Morgana and Mordred). Mordred is a kid (Morgana put a spell on him to keep him young) and immortal, both him and Morgana are villains who use magic. He is voiced by Soren Fulton.

A small note: All these movies here are for tv! Cinematic releases for arthurian movies in general do not seem to be as prominent. It is kind of heartbreaking noawadys to see the disappearance of cheap tv movies.

[sillydoctorwho]

New Doctor Who Tournament!

Hey there Whovians! Been rewatching a lot of Classic Who recently and I had an idea for a tournament I wanted to run! Doctor Who has always been a very serious and intellectual show, as we all know, and there is no better way to communicate a serious sci-fi message than by wearing a really goofy outfit made of tinfoil and PVC! So without further ado, let me introduce the

SILLIEST OUTFIT OF CLASSIC WHO TOURNAMENT!

You can follow along by following @sillydoctorwho or checking the hashtag #sillywho

Some tournament rules:

These must be outfits worn by humans/humanoids, not monster costumes. The silly monsters need a tournament of their own. (Silly hair and face paint don't exclude an outfit from contention, but if the character has significant facial prosthetics/ a mask then they count as a silly alien, not an alien in a silly costume)

There are a few costumes from classic who that are based off of racial stereotypes or are culturally insensitive, so it goes without saying we will be excluding those.

I have included a list of the outfits I have entered into the tournament below the cut, but if I have missed your favourite silly costume don't be afraid to let me know via an ask/messages and I'll add it in!

Have fun! May the stupidest costume win!

1st Doctor:

Altos - The Keys of Marinus

Drahvins - Galaxy 4

Judges - The Keys of Marinus

Moroks - The Space Museum

Robomen - The Dalek Invasion of Earth

Thals - The Daleks

Guardians - The Ark

2nd Doctor:

Astrid - The Enemy of the World

Atlantean Guard - The Underwater Menace

Brittanicus Base Operatives - The Ice Warriors

Caven - The Space Pirates

Celebration Dancers - The Macra Terror

Dominators - The Dominators

Dulcians - The Dominators

Madeleine Issigri - The Space Pirates

Ramo - The Underwater Menace

Spacesuits - The Moonbase

War Lord Guards - The War Games

3rd Doctor:

Guard Captain - The Curse of Peladon

Guards - Frontier in Space

Guards - The Mutants

IMC Guards - Colony in Space

Inspectors - The Mutants

King Peladon - The Curse of Peladon

Miners - The Monster of Peladon

Vorg and Shirna - Carnival of Monsters

4th Doctor:

Argolins - The Leisure Hive

Chancellery Guards - The Deadly Assassin

Hade - The Sunmakers

Morestrans - Planet of Evil

Movellans - Destiny of the Daleks

Passengers - Nightmare of Eden

Savants - Meglos

Skagra - Shada

Skonnan Guards - The Horns of Nimon

Station Medical Staff - The Invisible Enemy

Tesh - The Face of Evil

The Captain - The Pirate Planet

Time Lords - The Deadly Assassin

Toos - The Robots of Death

Uvanov - The Robots of Death

Zilda - The Robots of Death

5th Doctor:

Black Guardian - Mawdryn Undead

Citizens of Sarn - Planet of Fire

Dalek Troopers - Resurrection of the Daleks

Guards - Frontios

Kari and Olvir - Terminus

Lon (Ceremonial Robes) - Snakedance

Mawdryn and Mutants - Mawdryn Undead

Maxil (+Ermintrude) - Arc of Infinity

Portreeve - Castrovalva

6th Doctor:

Android - Timelash

Hugo Lang - The Twin Dilemma

Shockeye - The Two Doctors

Underground Folk - The Mysterious Planet

Valeyard - The Mysterious Planet

Ycarnos - Mindwarp

7th Doctor:

Bannermen - Delta and the Bannermen

Kangs - Paradise Towers

Lakertyans - Time and the Rani

The Happiness Patrol - The Happiness Patrol

Tollmaster - Delta and the Bannermen

@tournament-announcer

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 2: By Mo(u)rning's Light

I know it took a bit, but here's part 2! If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist, please feel free to let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven’t seen RoP, and I don’t plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving’s Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it so don't think about it too hard), injury/recovery, grieving, death of a parent (mentioned not seen), elvish singing.

~*~

My dreams were erratic at first, then they faded into something calmer. The screams of my dying people transformed into the sounds of a nearby waterfall and the gentle hum of a low, soothing voice. Was he singing or speaking? Perhaps both?

A flash of armor - somewhere between red and purple in hue - coupled with a kind, smiling face and pointed ears swam through my mind.

I knew that face, but my mind was too slow and fuzzy to place it with a name. My father would've berated me for forgetting, surely, but, why was I so sure of that when I didn't know who he was? My thoughts were lethargic, as if they were coated with honey as I tried to remember what I'd forgotten.

After a time, the armor he wore was changed for a tunic and a set of robes that looked softer than anything I'd ever before felt.

He was beautiful.

A light, amused laugh trickled over my ears and I wondered if I'd spoken aloud or if he could read peoples' thoughts.

"Sleep, brave lady," he urged, and his voice was so hypnotically soothing that I felt inclined to obey, "sleep and recover your strength. You are safe now."

And so I did. Oblivion was seductive, drawing me in as easily as a moth to a flame. Eventually, the warmth on my face coaxed me into opening my eyes as I wondered hazily whether I had truly transformed into a moth during my slumber.

But, it was not so. The sunlight streaming into the strangely elegant room confirmed my hopes. This place was like no other I'd seen before. There were no Orcs, no bleeding people, no abrupt, terrifying death. Only light, gentle and joyful, whispering its congratulations to me for surviving.

This was the home of Elves. It had to be!

Turning my head slowly, I noted that I was alone in this large, beautiful room. Adorned as though it belonged to a king rather than an injured mortal woman, this room boasted silk curtains fine enough that they were practically translucent. Bookshelves lined two of the four walls, arching over the doorway. Every bit of fabric in the space, including the blanket which covered me, was of the highest quality - not a stitch was out of place.

Cautiously, I tested my muscles, and, finding that there was no pain beyond the vague, lingering soreness that always followed physical exertion, I sat up in the plush bed. Instinct brought my hand to my sternum, and to my relief, my pendant was still there. I hadn't lost it!

As I moved, a nightgown as light and comfortable as a cloud whispered reassuringly over my skin - my clean skin.

I'd obviously been tended, healed, and bathed in my unconscious state. I felt a rush of gratitude for whomever had drawn the short straw and been subsequently tasked with removing the grime and black Orc blood that had dried on my skin and in my hair. I could feel no trace of any impediment as my fingertips ran through the strands near my shoulder. Patting the top of my head lightly, though, I discovered a pair of small braids running along either side of my scalp and merging at the back.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back. Someone had taken a great deal of time to care for me.

Rising carefully to my feet, I savored the texture of the warm, smooth stone beneath my feet - a simple pleasure that a life on the run had not afforded me for some time. The closest comparison in recent memory was a large stone on a riverbank that had been warmed in the sun, but even those could cut the soles of one's feet if caution wasn't utilized.

A tall pair of doors composed of wood and glass stood open, allowing a breeze inside and revealing a balcony bathed in sunlight. As soon as I reached the doorway, a gasp escaped my lips.

Laid before me was Imladris in all its glory. The sound I'd heard before wasn't just one waterfall as I'd assumed, but many. Cascading and caressing the landscape, spraying water droplets so completely illuminated that they appeared to be crystals flung from a treasure chest, they joined at the valley floor. Leaves grew from centuries' old trees in all shapes and colors, their rustling creating a symphony when the breeze caught them. More flowers than I could ever possibly count or name bloomed and blossomed, filling the air with sweet perfume, and upon the breeze were a few floating musical notes.

Was I entirely certain that I hadn't died? A place as lovely as this was beyond imagination! Surely, this could not all be real...?

"I am pleased to see you awake, but I did not expect to find you out of bed so soon, híril vuin." A familiar voice called from behind me, soft and soothing, not unlike the silence of his entry. I turned to face my visitor, and my breath caught in my throat.

Truly, even my mother's drawings could not do the Elven lord justice. His beauty was incomparable. The sunlight seemed not only to be streaming into the room, but emanating from within him, as well. His long, dark hair cascaded down his back with twin strands pulled in front of his ears, looping into intricate little patterns. His eyes, though gray, sparkled with joy and life. With the focus of such a gorgeous, regal Ellon solely on me, I could scarcely breathe.

I also felt woefully under-dressed in comparison. There I stood in naught but a nightgown when he was in robes of finer quality than I'd ever seen before.

"Lord Elrond," my voice came out embarrassingly rough and shaky from disuse. How long had I been out? "Forgive me, if I'd known you were coming–"

He held up a hand to halt the tidal wave of apologies that was certain to spill from my clumsy mouth.

"You owe me no apologies," the Elf murmured, giving me a warm smile. "Like your parents before you, I welcome you to Imladris with open arms."

Elrond's eyes were soft as he appraised my appearance. More gracefully than my muscles could have allowed, he walked toward me.

"How are you feeling?" Concern creased his brow as he offered me his hand. I took it without thinking, realizing a beat too late how rough my own fingers must feel compared to his own. "Do you have any lingering pain? Does anything feel wrong?"

"No, my lord. Your healers have done their jobs exceedingly well." At my statement, the Ellon smiled and allowed his thumb to skim over the back of my hand. "If I may, I'd like to thank them in person. I was rather a mess when you saved us."

"Caring for you was no trouble, I can assure you, my lady," he said, and before I could protest, he gave me a mock stern look. "I speak for none but myself. I tended you personally."

My eyes widened at that new piece of information. The Lord of Rivendell had healed me?

"My lord, I am incredibly grateful for your efforts, truly I am, but you needn't have wasted so much time on me."

With an indulgent smile, he looked into my eyes and lifted an eyebrow.

"Mellon-nin, you are well enough to stand on your own two feet again. I do not consider anything that I have done for you a waste of time," his assertion was gentle and sincere, sending butterflies swarming in my stomach. I needed to keep a tight leash on my emotions, otherwise I'd end up looking like an idiot. If I embarrassed myself in front of Lord Elrond after everything he'd already done for me, I was certain that I'd be so mortified that I'd have to leave Rivendell never to return. "Now, my lady, if you might have a seat upon the bed, I would like to check you over once more."

"Of course, my lord." He guided me back to the divinely plush bed with a hand over my lower back. With a soft, affectionate smile, Lord Elrond sat by my side and grasped my hands. Warmth flooded through me, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was magic.

"Your actions in the river...may I ask if you have done anything like that before?" The Elven lord asked as he assessed various points - a bruise on my shoulder that had already mostly disappeared, an angry, fading, red line where an Orc sword had found its mark, and various other places where no evidence was left of what injury had previously existed.

My cheeks burned at how closely he focused on both me and his work.

"In a way," I murmured as he pressed the backs of his fingers lightly against my forehead then my cheek. "Only small things, though. Silly, trivial little tricks."

He lifted his eyebrows in an encouraging, almost playful manner.

"Might I ask about the nature of these little tricks?" His fingers skimmed down my jawline, and I struggled to suppress a shiver.

With a mischievous smile, I took a deep breath to steady myself and looked over at the pitcher of water upon the bedside table. A flick of my fingers, and a bird made entirely of water formed standing atop the pitcher. It tilted its head and fluttered its wings as a real bird would, then took flight, swirling around the room. Its sparkling body whizzed past our heads, flapping its wings, and in a moment of impulsivity, I caught Lord Elrond's hand in mine and turned his palm upward. The bird's tiny water-feet landed in his hand, folding its wings down and looking up at him.

Only then did I allow myself to glance at the Elf lord's expression. The smile that played across his much-too-attractive mouth sent a bolt of satisfaction through me. To actively give a person like him a moment of wonderment...that was a heady sensation. It was very little in repayment for all that he had done for me, but it was a beginning.

"Incredible," he breathed as the bird hopped lightly across his palm. "How much of a strain does this place upon you?"

"Almost none at all. I learned to make shapes and objects with water when I was little, and I practiced whenever I was bored. For a child in a group of nomads, you there is a surprising amount of downtime between chores," I explained allowing the bird to changed into a large, watery, rose bloom upon the lord's hand. It wasn't even half as beautiful as someone like him deserved. "When I got older, one of the other children saw me practicing by the river, and these tricks became a way to entertain the little ones."

The laughter had lifted the entire camp's morale during those long, slow treks through the mountains or across barren stretches of land when setting up tents became monotonous. My father had been afraid of allowing me to use my abilities for quite some time, but even he had to admit that sometimes that bit of levity was just what was needed to lift his peoples' spirits.

My father. My people. So many had died, yet there I sat in a plush bed, creating silly little shapes in water. Had any lived besides myself?

As if he could sense my mood fading, Lord Elrond's eyes met mine just in time to see my own smile droop. With a flick of my fingers, I lifted the water from his hand and allowed it to dampen the soil in a few of the plants on the balcony.

Unable to meet my host's gaze for fear of what I might see, I lifted my chin and asked the question to which I dreaded finally having an answer.

"How many of my people survived?"

"Including yourself, my lady, three still live." Elrond's voice was full of sympathy and comfort, despite the horrible reality of what had transpired. "Five were brought here, but two had sustained wounds too severe for us to treat in time. I am so sorry."

Three. Assuming the other half of our people went unnoticed by the Orc hoard when we split up - and that was a big assumption - that meant there were only fifteen left. We'd been down to twenty four after the initial attack that killed my father. With nine more gone, I didn't know what to do exactly.

I nodded my head slowly, blinking away my tears and forcing myself to look at my host once more.

"The others who lived...may I see them?" He agreed easily.

"Of course, my lady. I shall take you to them," Elrond murmured. Practically gliding across the room, he plucked a soft, light blue robe and a pair of matching slippers from a small alcove.

With my arm looped through his, we walked down a long hallway lit only by the sun. The rest of his home was just as gorgeous as the single room I'd been in, but I did not absorb much of my surroundings that day. My emotions and obligations to my people occupied too much space in my mind for anything else to make an impression.

I heard him before I saw him - the angry, stubborn, gruff man who'd tried to call me away from the water the day we'd gotten into such trouble.

Surprise must have been etched across my features, because Lord Elrond released a quiet huff of laughter as we neared a pair of double doors.

"Ah, yes. Mekor has been asking after you in...his own way," my host stated, and I knew immediately what he meant. Mekor had likely been demanding to see me in a rather less-than-polite way. "Unfortunately, I have not been able to allow him out of bed. His leg will take some time to fully heal. That has not stopped him from embarking upon several unplanned excursions to attempt to find you, however."

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. That sounded like him, alright.

When we pushed the doors open, his rather loud promise to one of the healers that he would 'gallivant as much it damn well took' ceased.

"There is no need for such drastic measures. Your lady is awake and quite capable of seeing you now," Elrond called as we walked toward the grumpy man's bedside. His leg was bound and heavily bandaged, laying atop the bedding presumably to keep him from sweating through his dressings.

"Lass, do you know how badly you scared us? What in the name of everything were you thinkin' runnin' back into the water like that? You could've been killed!" He spluttered angrily for a moment, but I was too used to his behavior to be bothered by it.

"I'm glad you're alive too," I said reaching out and grasping his rough, weathered hand in mine. Sitting gingerly beside him on the bed, I nearly fainted when I saw tears gathering in his eyes. He gripped my fingers with a fierce vengeance.

"Foolish bloody girl. What would your father have said if I let you run off and get killed?" Lord Elrond pulled the healer aside, and the pair spoke in hushed whispers on the other side of the room. He was trying to give us a moment's privacy while also ensuring his most stubborn patient didn't try to put weight on his obviously broken leg again.

"There was something different about that last group of Orcs, wasn't there?" I asked quietly, and my friend's gaze turned somber and angry.

"Aye, lass. Those weren't your garden variety filth. I've already spoken to Elrond about them. Those were soldiers. For so many of them to have Warg mounts..." The grizzled man shook his head slowly. "Something is stirring in the dark corners of the world. Something that doesn't want people like you, me, and your father to keep fighting."

I looked at him curiously, and he blinked as if remembering something.

"But, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later," he murmured changing the topic. I tucked that statement away for a day when we were both recovered.

Mekor and I spoke quietly for a few moments, in which I was told that the woman he'd taken a fancy to, Tannen, was the other survivor. The two who had reached Rivendell but died from their injuries were an old soldier called Algun, and a younger one around my age called Garatan. I knew them both in a peripheral manner. I was acquainted with all of my father's fighters and had trained with each at some point, but some I knew better than others.

After several long moments, a few more affectionate scoldings, and a promise that I'd help keep him from going out of his mind since he wasn't allowed to walk around yet, the doors opened once more. A young Ellon walked straight over to Lord Elrond, and after delivering a whispered message, both the lord and his messenger approached our sides.

"Forgive our interruption, but I think you both might like to know that your companion, Tannen has awakened," Lord Elrond said, and I knew precisely what Mekor would do. Pushing him back down on the bed when he tried to get to his feet, I gave him a stern look which paired surprisingly well with our host's continuation. "I realize you wish to see her, and you will be able to on the morrow. I wish to have her rest abed for one more night to be sure of her recovery, but I swear to you that if her health permits, you will see her tomorrow, Master Mekor."

He looked fit to be tied at Lord Elrond's statement, but with a glance at me, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. Fine, but I shall hold you to that, laddie." To his credit, Elrond took his irritation in stride, an easy, amused smile finding its seemingly customary place upon his lips.

"I would be disappointed if you did not. For now, however, I believe your lady is in need of nourishment. Spending nearly four days asleep can take quite a toll on the appetite." I couldn't argue with his logic, and neither did my friend.

I did, however, have a bone to pick with the little somersault that my heart performed when Lord Elrond offered me his hand and a warm smile.

--

When he went to check on his guest that morning, Elrond had expected to find her awake, yet too weak or tired to get out of bed. She was strong, of course, but since she was mortal, her recovery time would be longer than that of his own people. He'd frozen in the doorway, however, with confusion knitting his brow at the sight of the empty bed before him.

A quick glance around the room nearly made his heart stop. The Elven lord's lips parted in surprise. Standing in the doorway that led to the balcony was not a frail, injured woman as he'd expected to see, but a goddess bathed in sunlight.

And, when he'd broken his silence and she turned to face him, her eyes met his, freezing his breath where it lay in his chest. She'd gazed at him with awe, but he doubted that she recognized that the feeling was very mutual. Elrond had noticed her beauty when he was tending to her, of course, but he'd been so focused on healing her that he'd not allowed his thoughts to linger. To do so would have been highly inappropriate, and was, as such, not the time to allow himself to become distracted.

Nor was it the time when he checked her over, asked about her powers, or took her to see her irritable friend. Elrond had heard of Mekor by reputation, of course, and he was secretly pleased that the ill-tempered Man had survived. Despite the barbs that were tossed his way when he'd put the old soldier on strict bedrest, he was glad that someone who was so determined to get back to his lady - who had fought so fiercely to protect her - still drew breath. Such loyalty could not be feigned.

She'd been more subdued than before when he brought her back to her chambers. Upon their return, the table near one of the windows held a tray of food and a pot of herbal tea which would help her regain her strength. It was a special blend that Elrond had perfected over the years in his capacity as a healer.

As the pair sat and ate together, the Elven Lord could not help but notice the dark mood that settled over her. Although she tried to hide it, she was being tormented by her thoughts.

He had seen that look before - minute flashes of grief that she attempted to keep out of his sight, her shoulders tensing as if she was carrying the weight of all Middle Earth on her own. Many of his warriors had been plagued by the same darkness when they returned from battle, wondering why they had survived when so many others had not. Some recovered. Some sailed for Valinor when they could not find the strength to move forward.

No. He could not allow this to go on. She was descended of both Elves and Men. She had the ability to process her grief and allow her pain to transform into that which would strengthen her. His lady might need some assistance to begin the process, but there was a sort of quiet power in her eyes. Elrond saw it every time he looked at her. By the Valar, he would do whatever it took to ensure that she would not fall. Not to this. Not to grief. That emotion had consumed too many of his people...had sent too many of them sailing to the Undying Lands before their time.

He would not allow this pain to take her. She'd seen so many horrors in her brief time on Middle Earth. If he could take even an ounce of her pain and use it to heal her, the Lord of Imladris was resolved to do it.

But, it had to be soon. It had to be that night, before the pain took root in an irreversible manner. They'd both experienced losses many times, but this was different. This was close to her heart.

When she attempted to hold back a yawn and failed rather spectacularly, Elrond was tugged from his thoughts as a smile played across his lips. She gave a sheepish laugh, and he suggested that she get some rest. They'd been talking for several hours at that point. If he truly planned to help her tonight, she needed to conserve her energy.

Taking the empty tray with him to deposit in the kitchens, the Ellon excused himself and strode down the corridor. He'd made it halfway back to his study when Lindir caught up to him.

"I have done as you asked," the younger Ellon said to his lord.

"Then the preparations have been made?" Elrond asked as the pair continued down the hall.

"Yes, hir-nin, but are you certain that tonight is truly the right time?" Lindir had a point, and if it was anyone else he would risk waiting, but for her he was not willing to place her future in the hands of chance, especially if what he suspected was true.

"I saw her pain...it already hangs over her like a cloud. If she is to move forward, then we must do this." He was accustomed to his own grief - he had, after all, lived for so very long...had known so many people.

"But, is she not still exhausted?"

Pausing before the door to his study, Lord Elrond turned to face Lindir.

"She is tired, yes, but she is more resilient than even I could have predicted. She is ready. She needs this release." Her Númenorian blood was potent, that was for certain. It did not matter that she was descended from the race of Men. She also had Elvish blood in her veins. She was Dúnedain, even if she did not yet know it - perhaps one of the most unique that had ever been born, if he was interpreting the signs correctly. She could handle this.

--

Soft notes floating upon the night air drew me from the realm of sleep. A strange yet familiar prickling sensation curled across my skin, caressing my face, my neck, and my arms where the sleeves of my borrowed nightgown ended.

As light as a whisper, my mind supplied an answer: magic.

Magic was in the air. The realization was somehow both comforting and intriguing. When I finally mustered the energy to open my eyelids, a voice joined with the faint strains of music, and I looked toward the balcony.

There, with the silver circlet upon his brow gleaming in the moonlight and a set of robes as deep as the night sky adorning his figure, Lord Elrond stood singing. My breath caught in my throat even as his voice danced through the night, filling the Hidden Valley with an aria both gentle and mournful. When we spoke earlier, his voice had sounded lovely and soothing, but this stirred something deep within my soul.

It was ridiculous, because he was on my balcony in the first place, but I felt as though I was intruding upon something incredibly personal.

One-by-one, several other voices joined with the lord's, harmonizing and adding several haunting layers of melancholy dimension, turning his aria into a duet, then a trio, a quartet, continuing on until there was a full-fledged choir of ten. He stood facing not into the valley, but with his left side toward me.

As silently as I could, I slipped out of bed and took a slow step toward him. Cupped gently in Elrond's hands was a smooth, round, stone lantern glowing white. It was obviously fueled by something other than fire. The light caressed his features as affectionately as a lover's fingertips, and before I could even think of moving, his eyes met mine.

The glow of a thousand stars, the wisdom of all the ages of the world, and the grief of a painful loss danced through his irises as I stood paralyzed. Extending a hand in my direction, the Lord of Imladris offered me a silent invitation.

As I approached his place on the balcony, I glanced quietly around, noting that other ethereal lanterns and their bearers dotted various spots around the valley. How many others were involved in this? And what was this, exactly? I didn't dare ask aloud, lest I interrupt the haunting choir of voices in their mission.

When I reached him, Lord Elrond's hand guided both of mine to the lantern in his grasp. Looking between the seemingly living radiance in our hands and his eyes, I watched as the light grew between us, seemingly fed by the addition of my touch.

I knew without asking that this wasn't just a sad melody. This was a lamentation for the nine lost in our flight across land and river.

But, there were ten lanterns...

A single tear spilled down his cheek, and all at once it hit me. The tenth lantern was for my father. Twin tears of my own escaped my eyes as the music swelled, as the voices grew louder.

He saw my grief just as I saw his.

Neither of us looked away from the vulnerability we were both displaying so openly. Neither of us released the lantern between us. The song began rattling around in my ribcage, jostling my heart and shaking free every ounce of pain that I hadn't realized I'd started bottling up. Though I didn't know the lyrics, I caught a few Sindarin words that I recognized, and one that puzzled me.

The light in our hands pulsed brightly as at least a dozen more voices joined in. Smaller lights bloomed to life in their hands all through Imladris, and I must not have been able to keep the wonder off of my face, because a flicker of a sad smile crossed Elrond's lips as he began lifting our hands higher.

His arms were longer than mine, and I had to take a step closer to remain in contact with the strange, magical lantern. As I watched, the light floated up and away from its thin, nearly transparent stone rim and into the sky. The other bearers of the original ten lights were experiencing the same phenomenon, and after a few moments, the fleet of smaller bright dots followed in their wake.

The Hidden Valley was filled with stars, rising ever upwards toward the heavens. As far as I'd heard, very few mortals had ever been honored by the Elves upon their deaths, and never like this.

As the music diminished, voices fell slowly away, taking with them pieces of the heavy ache that had settled in the hollow spot in my heart. First, the many who had joined last, then one-by-one, each of the other nine singers went silent.

Then, it was only Elrond singing the last few mournful notes. But, there was something different about the words, now. They were lighter...more hopeful. Setting the darkened, empty lantern aside, he took both of my hands in his large, warm ones as the last notes flowed effortlessly, beautifully off his tongue and into the night.

The physical contact felt like an anchor point keeping me tethered to the ground when I felt like I could float away in the wake of such an outpouring of emotion. The air still hummed with magic when I found myself reaching up and gently wiping the tears from Lord Elrond's cheeks. I hadn't even meant to do it, but I couldn't help myself. An Ellon as kind as he did not deserve to have tear tracks dry on his handsome face.

It hit me, then, that I had taken an enormous liberty, but instead of batting my hands away, the Elven lord returned the gesture with a soft smile.

His touch lingered for several long moments even after my own face was dry, and something passed between us, then, that made my heartbeat stutter in my chest.

No, I was obviously imagining things. A trick of the light, that's all it was. When he wrapped his arms around me, however, I couldn't ignore how wonderful it felt to be safe, to be cared for...to be seen.

~*~*~

Elvish Translations:

híril vuin = beloved lady

mellon-nin = my friend

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

Most Datable Datable Character 2: Round 1 Matchups

Part 1 links below the cut!

Qiu Lin from Our Life: Now and Forever VS Ai Mikaze from Uta no Prince-sama

Pashet from OZMAFIA!! VS Aigis from Persona 3

Flannan Mac Lugh from The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) VS Fenris from Dragon Age 2

Flint from Postknight 2 VS Theo from Titan Arum

Fall-from-Grace from Planescape: Torment VS Xiao from Potion Permit

Rise Kujikawa from Persona 4 VS Kurt from GreedFall

Triss Merigold from The Witcher 3 VS Halsin from Baldur's Gate 3

Rowan from Boyfriend Dungeon VS Yuri Leclerc from Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Hook from A Villain's Twisted Heart VS Teo from The Ssum

Edelgard von Hresvelg from Fire Emblem: Three Houses VS Judy Alvarez from Cyberpunk 2077

Tae Takemi from Persona 5 VS Silas from Fire Emblem Fates

Alistair Theirin from Dragon Age: Origins VS Rachel Amber from Life is Strange: Before the Storm

Grim Reaper from A Date with Death VS QueenBee from Arcade Spirits

The Spirit from Hooked on You VS Jynx from Arcade Spirits: The New Challengers

Vetra Nyx from Mass Effect: Andromeda VS Felix Hugo Fraldarius from Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Lucifer from Obey Me VS Wakuu from Coral Island

Leviathan from Obey Me VS Allen from Harvest Moon 3D: A New Beginning

Curtis from Pokemon Black and White 2 VS Imtura Tal Kaelen from Blades of Light and Shadow

Rhapsody from Arcade Spirits: The New Challengers VS Jakob from Fire Emblem Fates

Haley from Stardew Valley VS Cameron from Trouble Comes Twice

Victor from Mr Love: Queen's Choice VS Mary Brown from Romance Club Arcanum

Linhardt von Hevring from Fire Emblem: Three Houses VS Ryoji Mochizuki from Persona 3

Caleb Zheng from Gilded Shadows VS Beelzebub from Obey Me

Sebille Kaleran from Divinity: Original Sin 2 VS Zoe from Monster Prom

Dorian Pavus from Dragon Age: Inquisition VS Felicity from Harvest Moon 3D: A New Beginning

707 from Mystic Messenger VS Loki from Romance Club Path of the Valkyrie

Lucifer from Romance Club Heaven's Secret VS Joyce from //TODO: today

Stephanie from Trouble Comes Twice VS Edel from Thorn for the Villain

Mitsuru Kirijo from Persona 3 VS Shadowheart from Baldur's Gate 3

Gale Dekarios from Baldur's Gate 3 VS Bernadetta von Varley from Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Elliot Damiani from Changeling VS Jeremy King from XOXO Droplets

Jax Argo from Later Daters VS Bella Goth from The Sims

[fereise]

Overhaul/Update version for one of my proudest works, a main cover art(?) for my little project call Robotnik AU.

Characters list:

Upper row/section (above Movie Eggman's hands), from left to right: - Sonic.exe (the utmost terrifying OC/FC from the creepy pasta thingy) - Queen Boom Boo, Merc version (OC/FC made by Dan-Habiki/@Dan_Daymaker) - King Boom Boo - Lah - Su & Uh - Shadow the Hedgehog (Team Dark) - Rouge the Bat (Team Dark) - E-123 Omega (Team Dark) - Dr. Eggman Nega - Doctor Albert W. Wily (Megaman, Archie comics) - Honey the Cat - Breezie the Hedgehog - Bocoe & Decoe + Bokkun - Dark Oak/Lucas - Dark Queen/Merlina - Erazor Dijinn - Coconuts - Scratch & Grounders - General Helmut Von Stryker - Anton Veruca (Shogakukan magazines) - Junior Robotnik - Captain Whiskers & Johnny - Opal the Jellyfish (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Dive the Lemming (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Blade the Shark (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Captain Shellbreaker (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Mr. Bristles the Yeti Crab (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Mephiles the Dark - Silver Sonic - Dark Enerjak (Knuckle) - Nazo (appeared in Sonic X's last teaser) - Eggette/Omelette Robotnik (famed OC/FC originally designed by Alpha Gamboa (blackbookalpha)) - Infinite the Jackal - Solaris - Black Doom - Eclipse the Darkling - Black Death - Dark Gaia (Perfect form) - Metal Sonic - Iron Queen aka Regina Ferrum - Time Eater - Mammoth Mogul - Iron King aka Jun Kun - Imperator Ix - Wendy Naugus - Bearenger the Grizzly (Witchcarters) - Carrotia the Rabbit (Witchcarters) - Falke Wulf (Witchcarters) - Walter Naugus - Fleetway's Super Sonic - Shade the Echidna - Boomer Walrus aka Anti Rotor - Patch D'Coolette aka Anti Antoine - Princess Alicia Acorn aka Anti Sally

Middle section (below Eggman's hands), from left to right: - Speedy (both Pre and Post-Super Genesis Wave versions) - Sage - T.W. Barker - Dave the Intern - Sleet & Dingo - A.D.A.M. - E.V.E. - Lyric the Last Ancient - Zor - Zash (OC/FC made by @saccharinerose) - Zeena - Zazz - Zomom - Zavok - Master Zik - Agent Stone (Sonic movies 2020/2022) - Orbot & Cubot - Wes Weasely - Snively Robotnik - Dr. Robotnik (Sonic movies 2020/2022) - Thunderbolt the Chinchilla - Predator Hawk (Destructix) - Anti-Miles - Scourge the Hedgehog - Storm the Albatross - Wave the Swallow - Jet the Hawk - Rosy the Rascal - Sleuth "Doggy" Dawg (Destructix) - Sergeant Simian (Destructix) - Fiona Fox (Destructix) - Duck "Bill" Platypus - Bark the Polar Bear - Bean the Dynamite - Drago Wolf (Destructix) - Nicolette 'Nic' the Weasel - Razorclaw - The Foreman (Grandmaster) - Hugo Brass - Diesel - Flying Frog (Destructix) - Geoffrey St. John - Hershey the Cat - Nack the Weasel/Fang the Sniper (Team Hooligan) - Fleetway's Chaos (Darkon fish form)

Lower section, from left to right: - Dr. Finitevus - Grimer Wormtongue - Dr. Fukurokov - Dimitri the Echidna - Maw the Thylacine - Mecha Sally - Mecha Sonic - Mecha knuckle - Jackal Squad, named by Nibroc-Rock as Uno, Deux, Trois, Quatre, Cinq & Sei (Shadowy figures) - Kayseri Valaedshkova (OC/FC made by dirtthefox/@Its_Dima_V) - Strike (OC/FC made by @speedofsoundsketches) - Surge the Tenrec - Kit the Fennec - Sofia the Gorgon (OC/FC made by Sofia-MMD/@GorgonSofia) - Clutch the Opossum - Kaibette the Genet (OC/FC made by @kaibette) - Rough & Tumble the Skunk - Battle Lord Kukku XV - ***Mecha Robotnik - Akhlut the Orca (both Pre and Post-Super Genesis Wave versions) - Tundra the Walrus - Mordred Hood (drawn with @adokle's style) - The Foreman/Tassel boy (Post-Super Genesis Wave) - Mimic (the Mimic Octopus) - Byte the Goat (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Lightning Lynx - Iblis - Phage - Conquering Storm (Post-Super Genesis Wave) - Bride of the Conquering Storm (Pre-Super Genesis Wave) - Dr. Starline - Biolizard - Sigma (Megaman, Archie comics) - Axel the Water Buffalo - Abyss the Squid - Cyani the Cobra (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Cipher the Owl (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Bleak (OC/FC made by HT-Doodles/@HtDoodles) - Clove the Pronghorn (my top fav among all the characters here) - Cassia the Pronghorn - Lien-da - Chaos - Tikal the Echidna - Pachacamac - Gae-Na - Kragok - Thrash the Devil - Warden Zobotnik & Znively (Zone Cop) - Belinda & Charlie - Nephthys the Vulture - ??? (Behind Nephthys) - Trevor Burrow the Mole (Desert Raiders) - Sonar the Fennec (Desert Raiders) - Spike the Porcupine (Desert Raiders) - Razor the Shark - Queen Angelica - Rusty Rose - Robo Tails (Brain-washed, based on Sonic Lost World's designs) - Beauregard Rabbot - Jack Rabbit - Matilda the Armadillo - Zefir (my main OC/FC) - Gamer Deer (aka 'Aleko' the Northamer Guard or the 'Gamerdeerdude' by @adokle) - Zonic (Zone Cop) - Chesah the Tarsier aka No.29 (my OC/FC) - Sandy the Caterkiller (OC/FC made by @the-hydroxian-artblog)

For the Alt version: FeReinsm on Instagram: “Overhaul/update versions for one of my proudest works, a main cover art(?) for my lil’ project - Robotnik AU. For the 2nd and 4th pics…”