#drunken master ii

[boardsdonthitback]

Ken Lo, Jackie Chan - Drunken Master II (1994)

[mad-prophet-of-the-airwaves]

Drunken Master II (1994, Lau Kar-leung, Hong Kong)

[rookie-critic]

Rookie-Critic's Film Review Weekend Wrap-Up - Week of 5/1-5/7/2023

Somewhere in Queens (2023, dir. Ray Romano) This was way better than it had any right to be. I'm not sure what I was expecting from a Ray Romano-directed picture, but for some reason it wasn't this. Just an unendingly sweet little slice-of-life film that analyzes the dynamics of a very messy, but loving family. Romano, who also stars in the film as the lead, plays Leonard, a man who's always late, generally says the wrong thing most of the time, and is just kind of awkward, but he loves his son Sticks (yes, that's a nickname), and he supports him with everything he's got, to a degree of fault, really. Romano isn't afraid to push his characters' faults into the spotlight, and he never tries to excuse them, but he also never loses sight of the fact their hearts are always in the right place. Laurie Metcalf also stuns as Leonard's wife Angela, a cancer survivor and a mother who's jealous of her son's secret girlfriend. The movie is basically a 1 hour and 46 minute, R-rated episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, but honestly I'm not complaining. The format difference allows Romano to explore his characters with a little more depth than a 22-24 minute TV episode would have allowed, and it breaths life into everyone on screen. I was super impressed with Somewhere in Queens, and I actually find myself looking forward to whatever Ray Romano decides to direct next, which is not a sentence I ever thought I'd hear myself say.

Score: 9/10

Currently only in theaters.

Police Story 3: Supercop (1992, dir. Stanley Tong) I have always been a fan of Jackie Chan, having grown up in his heyday in the States, but my fondness for the actor has never extended past his popular American films like the Rush Hour or Shanghai Noon/Knights series of films. I've always known about to slew of Hong Kong action comedies he starred in prior to breaking out over here, but I've just never made the time to watch them. So, I was more than happy to oblige when my older brother wanted to come over to my place and do a double-feature night with this and Drunken Master II (or Legend of the Drunken Master, depending on who you ask). This also doubles as one of Michelle Yeoh's earliest starring roles in a film, so I was doubly interested in watching this. Needless to say it is amazing. The story is decent enough, a police detective (Chan's Ka Kui Chan) is tasked with traveling to mainland China and pairing up with an Interpol agent (Yeoh's Chien Hua Yang) to take down a drug kingpin. Sounds pretty basic, and the nature of the story allows for a lot of Jackie Chan-style hijinks to ensue, but the real meat of what makes Supercop so incredible are the stunts. The things that Jackie Chan does in this movie make Tom Cruise look like a toddler playing in a sandbox. One stunt in particular was so unreal we thought there was no way he was doing it without a harness (turns out he absolutely was doing it without a harness). I won't spoil any of it for you (even though I'm the one who's late to the party here) because, if you haven't seen this, you must. It is one of the most incredible stunt spectacles I've ever seen put to film, and hands down the most impressed I've ever been with a Jackie Chan film, and that was already a pretty high bar.

Score: 9/10

Currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

Drunken Master II (1994, dir. Lau Kar-leung) I've always heard that this is one of the, if not the, best Jackie Chan movies there is, and it's easy to see why that's the consensus. The hand-to-hand fighting choreography is, without question, the best I've ever seen. The final fight sequence (or series of fight sequences) alone, which takes up the last 20 minutes of the film's runtime, is an absolute wonder to behold. There were things I was seeing in this film that I didn't think was possible to do with the human body that put my jaw firmly on the ground. However, the film as a whole definitely has its weak moments and parts that drag, and a surprising amount of melodrama that I was probably being played for laughs, but it just wasn't landing with me. Which isn't to say that the film isn't funny, most of the physical comedy bits land, which isn't uncommon for a Jackie Chan vehicle, there were just a handful of moments that felt like they were trying too hard. Overall it's just a more uneven viewing experience than Supercop was, but its strengths more than make up for any of the film's detriments.

Score: 7/10

Currently available to rent/purchase on digital (iTunes, Amazon, Vudu, etc.) and on Blu-ray & DVD through Warner Bros.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023, dir. James Gunn) I won't belabor the point on this one too much as my full review was posted literally yesterday, but I was left deeply emotionally affected by this by the time the credits ran. I thought that almost everything about it just worked, barring an under-use of the Adam Warlock character, and the decision to make Rocket the focal point of this film's story was a stroke of genius on the part of writer/director James Gunn. Maybe I'm the lone wolf on how much I loved this because of my bias towards these characters, but I think Gunn knocked it straight out of the park and into the next galaxy with this. It's a wonderful film about finding the strength in your flaws and imperfections and the power of moving forward.

Score: 9/10

Only in theaters. You can read my full review of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 here.

Carmen (2023, dir. Benjamin Millepied) By all accounts, this is not my kind of movie in the slightest. I've heard of the opera, but other than that I couldn't tell you one thing about the story before a few hours ago (I got home from the theater about 4 hours prior to writing this). The story is pretty basic and it definitely takes a "style over substance" approach to its visual storytelling, both things I tend to not be a fan of, but against all odds I have to say I did enjoy my time with Carmen. For one, I love both Melissa Barrera and Paul Mescal and they both kill it in their respective roles, even if I thought their romance moved way too fast to be truly believable. The dance numbers, while sometimes hard to follow the symbolism of, were wonderful. I was impressed with both Barrera's dance ability and voice, and Mescal, for what little dancing he does in the film, is better than you would think he would be. Where I think the film fails is in its message. It does seem like it touches on a lot of things that could have been really interesting (the central romance is between a white "all-American" veteran who clearly, regardless of his own beliefs, comes from a background of racism towards Hispanic people, and an undocumented immigrant), but it never really goes beneath the surface of any of its themes. There are also a handful of loose ploit threads that just kind of irked me. In a movie filled to the brim with extended interpretive dance numbers, they could have devoted at least a few seconds to throwaway line explaining some things and providing a little more context to Carmen's situation. It just seemed like there was a large section of the story that we just didn't get to see and, frankly, it felt like the filmmakers forgot about it, as well. Taking all of that into account, though, I still was drawn into the world of Carmen. I can't fully explain why I think that is, but something about it just grabbed me. I'm not sure I could tell you the greater purpose of everything Carmen throws at you in its 2 hour stay onscreen, but I can tell you that I was mesmerized by most of it, and that's gotta count for something.

Score: 7/10

Currently only in theaters.

[writebackatya]

💬

Drunk Della Duck was the Number One Reason why I wanted to write I Think We’re Alone Now! and she’s not even the main character of the story

In my humble opinion, I don’t believe anyone who says “Oh I wasn’t myself when I said/did that last night because I was drunk” because that person is either lying to you or themselves. To me, a drunk person is just themselves unhinged

Honestly I could’ve put the whole entire bathroom scene, Della Duck singing Why Should I Worry? was the thing that made me go “Well now I have to write this story!” when I first thought of this fic and now I listen to that song pretty much weekly. I rewatched Oliver & Company because of that scene and honestly? C+ on a good day

Anyway, I just love Della’s role in this story. She’s a supportive duck and I love capturing that side of her. I mean she is out there getting drinks with friends and she’s mainly doing it so she can catch up Selene after what happened in New Gods on the Block! and showing Penumbra some Earth fun; and frankly, I think all three of them deserve to have a fun night

I’m honestly not one who goes out drinking that often. Usually other people I know suggest to do it; family, friends, coworkers, etc. I’m honestly more of a social drinker (yeah I’m definitely more of a pothead; surprise, surprise). But one thing I’ve seen plenty of times when I went out is just how awesome women are when it comes to helping out other women. I’ve seen my sisters and friend act quickly in situations when they see another woman who looks like she’s stuck in a situation she wouldn’t want to be a part of among drunk people. And to me Della is definitely that type of person

She doesn’t know Gandra or the situation she’s in but shes more than willing to help out and fight her.

She’s still in adventure mode but she’s clearly not at her best, but that still doesn’t mean her skills and intelligence should be underestimated

And yeah, one time when I was drunk at a club with some friends, I went to the bathroom and after I was done drying my hands I threw the balled up paper towels into a trash can and it went in and I said “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!!” No one else was in the bathroom though. Hell, I even do that when I’m sober

Della yelling at the random woman is up there with favorite things I’ve ever made Della say in my fanfics

And this scene from Gandra’s point of view is just great. Caught with the enemy by the most obnoxious member of FOWL and her only ally in this mess is the Duck that got stuck on the moon for a decade

[catboxcoffin]

Battler/Kinzo/Projection

Battler’s narrative assault & sexualization is pretty interesting to me as an inversion of sexed roles, so I’ve decided to refine and paste some of my thoughts on it, beginning with Yasu-trice. Battler repeatedly has Kinzo’s (amatory) role projected onto him, both by Piece-Beatrice directly and Yasu’s authorial insinuations. (I won’t incorporate Meta-Beatrice into this analysis for a few reasons, the main being that I don’t think she is Yasu in the same sense as the others; secondarily that she is so gratuitous in her assaults and references that it would be nonsensical to lend any nuance to it. Plus, her indiscriminate performance in the earlier episodes is what sets up such a divergence later on)

I. Episode 4

Gameboard events are a requisite to understanding the skeleton of the stories that we’re actually being shown. Given the nebulous nature of the Meta and what it represents, a tale created and decorated in-universe in an attempt to communicate is generally more useful in viewing its subjects. On that note, the end of Episode 4 is a scarce instance where we are given a physical interaction between Piece-Beatrice and Battler. As Battler stands before the balcony denying her riddles and threatening her, Beatrice doubles down on her stern insistence regarding ‘testing’ him as the Successor, yet engages in innuendo the second he attempts to physically approach her. This presents a noticeable incongruence between Beatrice’s projected mythos and Piece-Beatrice as played by Yasu. She is physically distant, reading as almost shy. She’s stepped down from being an active harasser, instead functioning passively and reactively, ungracefully shifting between goals for the conversation. She is clearly very alienated from an autonomous sense of eroticism, which is why she instead endeavors to lure it out of him (despite her performative disdain). Her drunken sexuality is framed in relation to what she thinks hides ‘within’ Battler; her musings are based on the assumptions regarding <The Head>. She arrogantly asserts that her superficial form is his type, making sure to paint it as a shallow preference she’s pinpointed. (However even this is something she already knows as a fact, erasing any chance of the ‘unpredictable roulette’ she seems to exalt. She has little real confidence in her desirability, and even less in her ability to make him remember his sin)

She continues her attempt at testing his resolve, presenting herself for her ‘new master’ to own her flesh and soul as furniture, victimize her into surrender, and, crucially, remind her of Kinzo. Because that’s what Battler is to her: a reincarnation of Kinzo, carrying his spirit and blood most strongly. And how could he be anything else? Yasu is ‘Beatrice’ incarnate, her predecessors being both swept away and brutally betrayed by Kinzo, and by virtue of Battler’s failed promise, he has done the same. Her conflict arises here: her love for Battler meshing with her repulsion towards Kinzo, and her inability to reconcile them as full people. The same assumptions about Kinzo’s relationship to preceding Beatrices that traumatize her into hatred are simultaneously twisted into a romanticized ideal, and she is continually unable to conceive of her relationships without paralleling these identities and dynamics she’s latched onto. She is an ancestral fatalist, resigning not only autonomy within her own life but puppeting her relatives’ souls as her own. They cannot sleep peacefully as themselves, and neither can an unadulterated Battler. Beatrice indirectly castigates Battler (or her idea of him blurred into Kinzo) through her earlier ramblings on the nature of love-as-lust and the cage of flesh, but later turns around and flirts with the ideas, even going as far as writing her piece to romance Kinzo directly, despite knowing she’s caricaturing her own mother’s harrowing circumstances.

II. Message-Bottle Furniture

Lovelessly—or, perhaps, in a twisted abundance of love—Yasu’s message bottles distort Battler’s entire character into something alien in his six-year absence. This is what it means for new truths to triumph over old truths. Battler, the boy who left his own family due to his indignation over infidelity and who sought the heart in every story, is suddenly a perverted beast. He is a vapid womanizer like his father and an exploiter of status and naïveté like his grandfather. Beyond his will, parodied projections of his profanity are exposed within the message bottles, existing to cement his sin as irredeemable. I believe this is both a semi-conscious self-justification on Yasu’s part (cutting out the moral ambiguity of him simply forgetting) and a way to cope with her own undesirability (by manufacturing a more ‘active’ sin, one that would require Battler to care in the first place).

(…Side Note: I like how the attempted grope of Shannon in EP1 encompasses both this hostile projection and a dance around the desire to be discovered… [Fake breasts]. It adds another layer of selfish assumption to her narrative: he was always a piece. He doesn’t solve the epitaph and he doesn’t remember her because he never had the chance.)

To reiterate, his character is degraded and he is manipulated as a plot device within the message bottles. The narrative hinges on his existence, yet he has little room to move—In fact, his actual presence is hardly necessary. He committed a sin that permanently scarred someone, and he cannot apologize. The victim no longer exists. Battler, as a concept, constitutes a motive for murder. In his absence, he is a myth.

Remind you of anyone else?

III. Kuwatrice-Kinzo / Chick Beatrice-BATTLER

This parallel creates an interesting issue. The line of descendant/reincarnation is blurred and there’s an explicitly incestuous tone, but it quickly becomes more of a foil than a mirror. Kinzo’s idea of reincarnation is pure delusion, Battler rejects it despite it being true; Kinzo is affectionately dominating, Battler is cold; Kinzo rejects his status as a father, Battler grows to accept it.

So, Kinzo’s role is subverted. This should be a good thing, right?

It isn’t. At least, not to the judge of sin.

Chick-Beatrice is not a new creation; this is a glimpse of the Beatrice that first adopted Shannon’s bud of love for Battler six years prior. At this point, ‘Beatrice’ was still individuated. She wasn’t yet mutated by the legend of the witch, the solving of the epitaph, or, arguably, her Battler-desirability complex. This, I assert, is the closest we see to a pure ‘Yasu’ in later years, as the remainder of her true self that resided in Shannon had already been compartmentalized by that point. This is why Dawn is so tragic. Battler has allegedly solved her heart, yet even in his ‘enlightenment’ he is dismissive of her. To the first-time viewer, this rejection is bittersweet: he is waiting for the ‘real’ her to return. Issue is, that is the real her. This is the ‘Shannon’ he knew, before she was twisted into a sadistic amalgam of escapist fantasies dressed up with his desires. By all rights, Chick should align much more with the ‘Shannon’ that loved Battler. The dutiful “blindness of a girl in love,” willing to wait a century to be noticed. But he doesn’t understand that, bemoaning being too late while literally being thrusted another chance to do it right. Of course this chance doesn’t apply to reality, but it never did. He was already facing a postmortem trial for his failure in life, and the end of Meta-Beatrice marks his failure in death.

Battler is fated to only ever have a paternalistic, sympathetic affection towards Chick. Even after learning the truth, it will always be Beatrice that he loves. As much is clear in his Twilight gameboard. He recognizes Yasu as a vessel, but she’s virtually indistinguishable from Piece-Beato, an actor serving as the means for the illusion and providing a sympathetic backstory. Ange was right—there’s no point in having someone love in your place.

Regardless, Battler is himself. If he’d only inherited enough of Kinzo’s blood, maybe he could have loved all ‘iterations’ passionately and indiscriminately. Kinzo fabricated connections out of nothing, he ‘understood’ the reincarnated soul, and he was willing to die before he let her escape. His overbearing, cloying affection had a certainty that I believe Yasu envied, in a way. To be kidnapped and caged forever would be morbidly romantic, to her at least. How tragically ironic that the fatalist who desired to be carried away ended up having to orchestrate the game of love&communication herself…

IV. The Head

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, Yasu has a final, strikingly obvious reason to project Kinzo onto Battler: deflection.

Yasu is a disastrous parallel to Kinzo. They share the disturbing quality of willpower exceeding their body, a flippancy regarding life and death, living in spite of frailty. They are born with and die with nothing. She too dances with the magic of the roulette, staking fate on a miracle. She too ‘met’ Beatrice as an attempt at severing her regrets in life; she too summoned the Golden Witch and received a fortune at the cost of her soul; she too felt blessed and mocked by the myth of Beatrice, after wandering half-dead in a life that was not her own. A life in which she had been suddenly given power as a prank of fate, with the included (mis)fortune of polydactyly. They were each forced to endure Endlessness, awaiting the revival of love that may never come, desperately discarding their dignity for the sake of resurrection. The epitaph chooses both Kinzo’s and Beatrice’s successor. To ‘see’ is to answer the riddle. Just as Kinzo did to ‘Beatrice,’ Yasu has sewn the Ushiromiyas’ souls onto the island with magic, allowing them neither power nor form. Both are vulnerable kings protected by their own castles, refusing to speak the truth. Their massive wealth will be distributed, but the secret tales die with them.

Yasu was afforded unbelievable power by solving the epitaph, but it ended up destroying her with knowledge she did not want. She was given the reasoning that kills love. Upon the horrific discovery that her romantic feelings not only couldn’t be consummated but were incestuous as well, it is almost certain that she would feel the same repulsion towards herself as Kinzo. From that moment, she too was lying about the true nature of her relationships with the ones she loved. She too could not curb her affection or fear in time to tell the truth. There is no path she can make for herself, as she cannot live independently of projected roles. Incapable of individuating herself from Kinzo with self-identity, the logical conclusion is to invert the roles and make herself Beatrice, and more importantly, Battler Kinzo. Then, she must pray for the miracle that someone would come and solve the epitaph, taking back the role she was so haunted by and carrying her to a better life…

[slowd1ving]

✦ II. COME HITHER, CURSE WHERE HE LIES

"This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history. Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly: A strangely warm vein of ore.  Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince.  Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai." • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is), depictions of gore, turning into stone wc: 4.2k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

It took all of one year for the warning to become prophecy. One year, approximately four hundred and eight days—give or take—for the two Suns to align themselves in the exact arrangement they had on the Day of Silence. And in that single year, the schemes of Veritas Ratio would germinate, blossom, and finally wither away irrelevantly. 

He was born quietly, and thus his end would, too, be quiet. 

The month of Hekatombaion had the seventh prince leave his tower: like a bird set free from its gilded cage. Though he was never caged, per se, the youth knew it was safest to stay in its stone walls: away from the all-consuming, bloody struggle for the throne, away from the greedy claws of his siblings and their power-hungry gazes. Yes, it was far easier being a shunned seventh prince than getting swept up in the tides of fatal politics. 

Fatal, indeed—the internal strife had already claimed the lives of two of his siblings. He was the fifth prince, if one regarded the situation objectively—but it was better to lurk in the oblivion. Seven was a less significant number than five, after all. 

Hekatombaion was the month of venture. The Day of Silence had occurred in its beginning; the day to mark the new year, where the blank canvas of muteness would sluggishly accumulate the sins and sorrows of the populace in the coming days and weeks. Like honey trickling over sweet basyniai, the seventh prince would begin to spread his own influence to achieve his saccharine conclusion. 

So, the youth ventured forth—though not into the bloody palace, but the summer-worn streets and the agora. Past the stands selling their wares, and the philosophers sermonising on the achromatic cobblestones, were those conducting business and students of the various schools in Metis. The work and school day had shortly ended—the evening of debates and discourse had just begun. 

Without the gilt laurels which suggested his status as one of Elation’s blood, he was no more prince than he was peasant. The drape of his clothes and their exceptional craftsmanship did, however, mark him as a wealthy man—perfect for infiltrating the symposium of a guileless young master. 

Thus, the prince incognito began frequenting these conferences and gleaning precious information and gossip from the drunken fools who sought to boast of their knowledge and logos. Their fallacies were awful for entertainment, but Veritas was very grateful for how witless their lips were. All the news, rumours, and information passed around students and teachers alike were his for the taking: the rudimentary designs from which he would craft his weapon. From these anserine gatherings with peers a few years older than him he crafted a network of the politics of the kingdom: who sat behind and whispered to the magistrates; who supported the polemarch and just who was responsible for the military advancements of the archon in charge of armed forces; and finally, the influence of Aha and his siblings on the spread of the kingdom. 

These were the preliminary preparations for investigating the ruling class of Metis. 

Metageitnion was the month for thanksgiving. The seventh prince’s presence at the mess hall was nothing out of the ordinary, then, for the arid weather heralded festivities and games where his attendance was expected—if not mandated. As opportunistic as he was for information, he naturally assumed his place below his siblings: slightly sycophantic, yet assuredly not a threat. 

Dried figs melted on his tongue—a mellifluous snack he’d consumed plenty of in his tower, but tasted especially cloying as praises flowed from his mouth like honeyed wine. His siblings, vain as they were, dangerous as they were, liked observing how their shunned brother cowed neatly before them. Though, the watered-down liquor they ingested was nowhere near enough to loosen their lips on matters of heresy; another span of days passed without gaining information. In its stead, he established himself as a vapid fool with no interest in scrabbling for the throne: a slippery, cowardly bastard who simply wasn’t worth the effort to kill off. 

Had they paid attention to the glowing reports from his tutors, had they cared an iota for anyone but themselves, they might have noticed that his smarts didn’t just extend to backing off from the throne. Perhaps then, they would have surmised that the compliments and agreements uttered with his smiles were strategic more than anything. 

But his tower was isolated from the main palace, and he was no more a danger than a caged bird. 

A fool, just like the rest of them. Alas, his gormless act perhaps was a bit too convincing—the siblings in the know wouldn’t entrust state secrets to someone who appeared as imbecilic as he did. Nonetheless, they grew accustomed to seeing him, and his presence where they were no longer seemed unusual. 

This was how Veritas tactically placed himself onto the petteia board as a piece that could no longer be overlooked. 

Boedromion was a month of aid, so the prince decided to extend a hand to those seeking help in the assembly. From behind the scenes, he handpicked those he needed for his investigation: those who had the ear of the archon in charge of the military, those who worked in administrative wings of the palace, those who could be moulded into perfect aides for his siblings. He observed the strata unable to speak up, unable to assert themselves in the agora, unable to hold any sway of their own. 

It was no altruism when he pulled them aside. Into their minds he painted himself as the benevolent saviour; the silver tongue who gave them their voice in the assembly back. In return, they turned themselves to pieces on his game board. Hence, he gained valuable information and more reliable rumours to investigate about the imperial family. Who to talk to, who to bribe, who to follow when the twin suns dipped below the horizon and the moon embraced the sky once more. 

These were the new connections the seventh prince forged—a net far more sound than the ramshackle collection of drunken scholars and fools from the symposia. 

Pyanopsion was the month of harvest, so his Highness watched his efforts fruit into an audience with Aha. The drunkard was shrewd—far too clever for someone rumoured to be an imbecile—therefore the seventh prince bowed before the sovereign and spoke no honeyed platitudes to THEM. When the king asked for his thoughts on the assembly, he answered honestly—and THEY guffawed with THEIR chalice in hand. When the king asked for his opinion of the people, he answered fraudulently—and THEY ruffled his amaranth locks with a hand that felt far too distant for a father. 

What are people, if not tools for the Elation?

There is no greater joy for them than serving us on this grand stage. 

Do you not agree, your Majesty?

Lie after lie dripped from his composed mouth. Even as he thought of the bright children running through sun-dappled streets, even as he thought of the beaming pedlars and their wares, even as he thought of the joy in the ordinary, mundane families he came across in the synoikiai—all these mentations came to a halt behind his expression. In those three sentences, his heart had hardened against THEM: as THEY smiled, as THEY affectionately broke bread with him, as THEY gestured for sweet wine to be poured into his cup. 

The youngest prince was no longer a mere prince but Aha’s son; an acknowledgement that only served to disgust the youth further. 

How vile. 

And though his goal was reached, this was how the Elation successfully alienated itself to Veritas. 

Maimakterion was the month of cold, and so the prince retreated to the stone palace for the first time since childhood. Past nightfall, he breached the lax security of the grand library and accessed its restricted section. All his manoeuvring, all his alliances and mind-numbing conversations—it was worth it to finally enter this place once more. 

There, in a forgotten corner that seemed more sepulchral than even the mausoleum, the seventh prince found what he had searched for. Penned in faded ink that he could barely see even with the light enchantment, was proof of collusion between the imperial family and the so-called ‘heretics’.

This was the point in time where his Highness felt the most vindicated towards the venerable Sophos and THEIR mockery. 

This was also the point in time where his Highness could no longer step off the path he had chosen. 

“Do you think he can feel it?” The maiden idly twined threads past HER fingers, for it was far more entertaining to see a mortal walk towards his doom with a head held high. “Surely there must be some sense of ill portent.” 

“The men most arrogant are least prepared for their end, Clotho,” the mother rebuked, but the syllables were about as harsh as spring butterflies—for SHE, too, anticipated the boy’s expression as he stared into the face of his own hamartia. 

“Hubris!” the hag cackled, yet the tremble of HER deathly grin belied the ever-present tears that traced the weary lines of HER face. “What a terrible conclusion.”

For the Moirai, this fate was nothing more than a short-lived, tragic play. 

And so, the month of Posideon passed quickly for both the three and the prince. The information inked into the yellowed scrolls was his proverbial labyrinthine thread, tugging his body to his salvation. Through the throngs of regular humans, his path was etched towards the harbingers of heresy: alchemists and their ilk. 

Throughout these days, he hardly thought of Sophos Nous at all; yet the familiar sensation of exoneration remained. He would prove himself before THEM; he was ready to put Aha to trial in front of the assembly if need be. 

The archontes were not infallible. 

This fact applied to Aha especially. 

When he probed those labelled as heretics, he was bitterly reminded that this wasn’t their fault. They were not the lawmakers, nor were they those with choice. Victims. Shackled to the Elation, their actions were akin to those of a puppet: pushed towards their day of reckoning by a force far superior to their own. 

Thus, the seventh prince worked tirelessly. Through the short days, through the long nights—he toiled away in his tower. He compiled sets of arguments, practised endless logos, drafted out the evidence necessary to condemn those at fault within the upper echelons of Metis. 

Gamelion came and went. Under the guise of a serving boy and some forbidden enchantments, Veritas walked the long stretches of the palace with nothing but worn sandals on his feet. He traced its ancient mosaics: memorising the old walkways and floor plans gifted by one of his acquaintances. For preparation was the friend of success, and the prince was nothing if not successful in his endeavours. 

It all led up to this night—stepping into the room sequestered from any official floor plan. 

“Look at him,” the maiden cooed. The spindle in HER cruel hands stilled momentarily—for a brief while, none were born. Though, this was an insignificant deviance in the tapestry of humanity: far too quick for anyone to realise. “Has he realised he’s out of his depth yet?”

“Hardly,” the matron scoffed. “He’s ablaze with self-righteous anger, as it were. Surely he could not have been ignorant of the sins on his own blood-kin’s hands?”

“Lachesis,” the hag warned. “Keep silent and enjoy the act.”

“Don’t tell me you feel sympathetic, Atropos?” the mother sneered, for it was ludicrous that the Moirai felt any sort of attachment to humanity. To fairly allot, the reason for THEIR very existence, was no longer possible if any bias was introduced to any of them. 

“Hardly,” the crone muttered. HER sentimentality would not affect HER role in this universe; just as it had been before, and as it would be after, HER shears would continue their severing of life from humans. 

The three were rapt as the prince gazed around the hall. Every turbulent beat of his heart, every miniscule grit of his molars, every bitter fist his sinuous hands made—all of his reactions were carefully documented, since a tragic hero like him had not been observed for an age and then some. 

It was by no means a modest room. The circumference of the marble spanned the equivalent of the large temple dedicated to the Elation, propped up by frieze-decorated columns. Stone reliefs etched into the walls depicted the rise of his lineage; they were intertwined with a sickening repertoire of mythos that they had no place against. Heroes of the old gleamed bright against his family’s wickedness—so utterly out of place he couldn’t help but gaze foully at the castings. 

Turned yonder, and the door through which he came glinted with the tell-tale light of an enchantment: a rippling string of formulae that indicated the space warping which enveloped this place. Yes, although the archon had expressly forbidden use of enchantments, they clearly had no qualms about taking the knowledge for their own gain. 

For the Elation is above the law. 

Past the vast anteroom was another door; this one, too, distended and undulated under his piercing gaze. Or rather, the silent movement of his mouth as he shattered its illusions and breached its innermost chamber—and this one was the one which struck him still. 

The seventh prince could only watch, horrified, as the expanse of terror unfolded before him. There was no escape from the sight, not unless his eyes were plucked out of his skull. 

Aeons. 

There was no space unblemished by golden cadavers. Cadavers, for statues surely wouldn’t possess faces distorted in crazed screams and bodies contorted in the most despicable of agonies. Cadavers, for surely their pain had ended—he prayed they were dead within their metallic shell, he prayed their souls had departed the material world, he prayed that his presence didn’t disturb their rest any further. 

Bile rested bitter in his mouth, and he struggled not to let the acrid film swirl into vomit—for his stomach churned and his palms grew clammy at the sight. 

These were the supposed threats to the Elation—innocents whose only crime had been to be against the tyranny of his family. 

For their dissent, they’d been dipped in molten gold—either dying through the intense heat, or slowly withering away as the alchemy chipped away at their flesh. 

Both options were equally horrifying. The seventh prince’s vision swam, and he barely made it back to his tower before his legs finally gave out. 

Yes, the prince had gained the knowledge he finally needed to take down his family, but at what cost?

Deep inside, he already knew the heavy feeling in his heart was the price he was beginning to pay. 

If only he knew the fate allotted to him at the end of this thorny path. 

Anthesterion trickled by slow as a fat bee. Sluggish. Every second was prolonged, every moment was accompanied by his racing pulse and adrenaline-stricken brain. No longer did he need to act the cowed prince—for before his siblings, his mouth grew dry and his pupils constricted into mere pinpricks. 

When he glanced at his sister, he saw the golden woman who’d wept with her body curled in on herself: shoulders hunched to her ears, hands sharpened into desperate claws (gouging at her flesh, since everyone knew pain nullified pain—and what greater anguish was there than losing your very body to aureate?). She’d writhed in her last moments; the harrowing movements had sent shockwaves all throughout the security enchantments. 

He could taste her tears.

When he stared at his three brothers, he also stared at the man who had ripped off his own arm to escape his inescapable fate. He stared at the blood that had pooled like gilt on the marble floor, for not even his most ardent lifeblood could evade the disgusting talons of his kin. He stared at the expression of horror the man had: eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth twisted to an excruciating scream, and a wretched gaze afflicting him. 

He could feel the oily sanguine dripping from his own hands. 

He could no longer escape his siblings either. 

They relished in the iron grip they had over the city. They revelled in the generated fear. They savoured their long talks—talks which Veritas was now privy to, talks in which he did his best not to heave up the fruit in his stomach and the bilious film that now perpetually dwelled on his tongue. He was reviled, but they indulged in their craving for petrification with a particular sapidity that broke him down—over and over and over until he could no longer smell anything that didn’t carry the stench of copper. 

That was perhaps the month in which the seventh prince grew the most ill. 

Elaphebolion trailed its ghostly fingers around his neck like a noose. He grew careless in his haste to put his family before trial: left too many loose ends, made too many connections, and drew the attention of far too many eyes. 

It didn’t take long for his tower to truly become the cage of his metaphor. 

No, it took less than three days from his last meeting with an informant to find the door to his tower securely locked. Overnight, while the seventh prince restlessly slumbered, wrought bars enclosed his windows in one final trap. 

Thus, the prince was prince no longer, but a bird with its wings clipped forevermore. 

But that was not the end of it—for if it was, his life-thread would not have been seeped with the bloodiest of carmines. 

Mounichion was when Aha finally came to visit THEIR wayward son. 

Join me, THEY offered—though Veritas knew THEIR proffered hand was no salvation, but puppet strings that would attach to his own. For the ceaseless entertainment of the Elation, this was perhaps the greatest mercy Aha could extend: to become a dull marionette in this gilded cage until only his bones were strung up for all to ridicule. 

And when THEIR son’s incensed gaze did not waver, THEY sighed. 

Maddened with grief, boy? THEY mocked the look in his irises—once as bright and sweet as cherries, now dulled to the hue of dried blood. 

Kill me, those numbed eyes seemed to respond—but futilely, the youth wanted to live. 

“I’ve something much better, son.”

Mounichion was thus the month of confinement, where Aha planted a short-lived weed of hope that sprung up in the cracks of the prince’s heart—and withered just as quickly. 

Thar-gelion was when Veritas avoided death, but lost many things in return. 

It had started off small. His vision began to blur somewhat, but he chalked it to confinement in his tower. Even when he crafted himself ocular lenses and fitfully forced himself to sleep in the topmost room, there were moments in which the edges of his sight faded and greyed with a frequency that slowly increased. 

He browsed anatomical manuscripts. When the light from the twin Suns was particularly dim, he struck the oil-lamps with crude enchantments and perused their words as though they held the key to his answers—yet the lack of solutions was not enough to alarm him.

It should’ve been. 

His sense of smell was next to mute, though this was a far more subtle difference than his sight. Being confined to a particular area would obviously force one to grow accustomed to its ins and outs—including the odours and various scents of it. It wasn’t a problem, until one day Veritas Ratio noticed he could no longer quite smell the papery fragrance of his scrolls, nor the rich tang of his ink. 

Yet still, he ignored the warning signs. After all, he was preparing for his eventual execution. 

Naturally, his taste palate, too, had dulled due to his weakening olfactory sense. Although, this loss was far less profound than one might have anticipated—but it made all too much sense if one took into consideration his status as a prince awaiting judgement. Feed him enough so he survives. A few pieces of flatbread, some cheese, and one or two bruised handfuls of dried fruits were dropped through the bars daily—along with a skin of sour wine—much like feeding a wild bird when it had not yet been tamed enough for the door to open. These various foodstuffs were bland enough that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he could taste either way. 

Thus, the prince simply did not notice this sense fading.

The next sense to take leave was his hearing, and this time he did feel the difference. His balance was affected, though he surmised that was due to the lack of nutrients his body received. But when the fragile rustle of paper against his fingers stopped registering; when the tell-tale thump of his heart in the silence of his room grew silent; when he could no longer hear his own neurotic waves of breathing—this was when the seventh prince realised something was dreadfully wrong. 

He’d screamed himself hoarse, tearing at his skin with his nails to wake from this forsaken dream—only to no longer feel his crescent nails digging into flesh. 

No. No.

Air came shallow to the prince as his fading eyes desperately fixated on the blood welled on his arms. He could not feel the wounds. He could not smell the metallic crimson dripping in rivulets. He could not hear the hasty, panicked breaths and his racing pulse. And finally, when he put his mouth to staunch the flow, he could not taste the acrid tang on his palate either. 

And so, the prince spent the month of Thar-gelion slowly losing his mind. 

Skirophorion was when it came to a bitter end. 

In those days, His Highness barely left his bed. Sleep was now the only respite; he could no longer read his books, he could no longer pore over his beloved tools, and he could no longer support his weakening body. Any meals were now delivered far more sporadically; alas, the prince rarely ever ate. 

Death was imminent. 

His mind had long since given up, and his body was sure to follow. 

Any day now. Veritas could only count the seconds, the minutes and the hours—no longer could the youth cross the days off, not when his joints and limbs had petrified. 

Death was a mercy the prince would not receive. 

It was when Aha next visited THEIR son at the tower that Veritas truly learnt of the state he was in. 

No, he was no longer at his tower. That was a lie—a last comfort afforded to the prince. 

Poor child, all of this suffering could have been avoided, Aha’s message burst bright in his dulled mind. He thought he felt his index finger twitch. 

Would you like to see what you look like? The golden impression faded, as though Aha was waiting for the prince to answer. Well, I suppose you can’t answer either way. 

A sort of horrified fascination lingered in the scholar’s mind. Had his flesh, too, been transmuted to an aureate statue?

Did you think you’d join your people as one of MY sculptures? The question shook sympathetically, or maybe it was a dry laugh as the king looked on at THEIR pitiful son. 

No, child, you deserve a tragic end befitting MY line. 

And thus, the youth blindly awaited his judgement. 

Death shall never end thee, for madness will be thy salvation. 

No longer did he sense Aha’s presence. 

Rather, one last image was transmitted through the king’s enchantment—a cliffside, in which Veritas could faintly see his own features carved into the rock. Then, nothing. 

The stone smoothed out, and his image was struck from history forevermore. 

. 　⁺ ✦ 

When the next Day of Silence came and went, the prince was truly mute. He had no mouth, after all—so not a scream left him. 

The only thing he had left were his thoughts: one last, final burden. 

Is this the cost YOU foresaw, Nous? 

Veritas Ratio’s arrogance was no more. And so, the prince’s story came to a swift, acrimonious end. No, not end, for that implied that he was not shackled to limbo.  Bound to neither gold nor a statue, he would spend the rest of time waiting to be purified of his sins—for gold was finality. Gold was the most sacrosanct form of death he had not been afforded. 

And as the prince continued to count away the seconds, the minutes, the hours and eventually the years which trickled past in the hourglass, only insanity awaited him. 

This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history. 

Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly:

A strangely warm vein of ore. 

Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince. 

Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai. 

Three sentences were how his tragedy was retold. 

Three sentences, a final insult to the most pitiful of princes. 

. 　⁺ ✦

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-03

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Dr. Stephen Strange stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥��� ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Between the Shelves￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by unrefinedmusings • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: You never expect the one-and-only Dr. Strange to walk into your bookstore looking for a birthday gift, nor did you expect what came next.

✑ 3:1 Ratio by parkerbliss • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Three times Dr. Strange saved you, and the one time you saved him."

✑ A Touch of Jealousy by brunchable • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♥︎ • 🚫 •

Summary: "[After the events of 'Poisonous Touch,'] Stephen reminds you, who your husband is."

✑ All Tied Up by lipstickmarks • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You and Stephen try bondage."

✑ Annoying by spookyspecterino • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: "During an argument you let slip that you may have once had a crush on Stephen Strange, but Stephen doesn't reject you and some interesting things are revealed..."

✑ Be Alright by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 •

Description: Y/N and Stephen run into one another for the first time in years at Christine’s wedding. She’d thought her crush for the man had faded over the years, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

✑ Breaking Codes of Conduct... by strangelure • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Poor Wong [walks in on you] and Stephen getting steamy in the Sanctum library."

✑ Candies and Stickers by annesthaeticc • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "In one of the many multiversal travels with America Chavez and you, Stephen finds himself in another universe and meets a version of himself. A meeting he didn't quite expect."

✑ Caught in a Web￨Prt. II by strangelockd • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You find the Master of the Mystic arts in a very compramising position... " then "Stephen finally gets his long awaited payback for what you put him through."

✑ Dancing with Myself by just-the-hiddles • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Stephen goes out with Wong for some groceries and comes back to find his cloak and [you getting] up to some shenanigans."

✑ Face Your Fears by lightmeuplivly • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: "After coming back from the multiverse he writes you a letter telling you everything you need to know..."

✑ Falling in Love by maria4444 • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: "[During a drunken game of truth or dare, you're] dared to sit in Stephen's lap for… the night."

✑ Family Bliss by eviesarusrex • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "Stephen and [you] —world famous Avengers (but kinda retired) —are picking up [your] kids from school."

✑ Get Ready with Me by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Happiness Looks Good on You by classickook • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Attending Christine's wedding with Stephen has you feeling a little insecure about your relationship, however, the truth is that he could not be more in love with you.

✑ Hypothermia by gaitwae • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "After Stephen comes back from a mission in the mountains, he's contracted hypothermia."

✑ I'm Not in Love by ro-is-struggling • 〔E᜶A〕 •

Summary: "You are not in love with Stephen Strange, he is insufferable and does nothing but get on your nerves... So why do you feel some type of way every time he mentions Christine's name?"

✑ In Good Care by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: After being hurt at work due to a mishap, you learn what happens when the girlfriend of the Sorcerer Supreme is harmed.

✑ Jealous Girl by strrvnge • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You've been invited to Christine's wedding as Stephen's plus one and while you're worried about getting late Stephen doesn't mind."

✑ Karaoke Night by annesthaeticc • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "The sorcerer supreme, the master of the mystic arts, and the disciple walk in to a karaoke bar on a Saturday night, fun ensues."

✑ Key to My Heart, the by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Stephen returns to the Sanctum and discovers you waiting for him for the first time since he gave you a key.

✑ Kicker of Mystical A** by generallynerdy • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Mornings in the Strange household are... quiet, despite what people might think... Well, usually. Sometimes your husband's friends barge in... all comes with the job, you suppose. However, the first time they come knocking they are oddly quiet around you..."

✑ Let's Fall in Love by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "[You and Stephen] join the Avengers at Stark Tower. A friendly competition ensues where the sorcerers' musical knowledge is put to the test. Yes, [you're] friends, but [you can't deny you feel] something more for [your] mentor. Will hidden affections finally come to light through a bit of music?"

✑ Mrs. Strange by eviesarusrex • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You and Stephen enjoy a moment alone at your wedding reception.

✑ My Heart is Yours by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 〔F᜶C〕 •

Summary: "Months after breaking up with your ex, your friendship with Stephen Strange has quickly blossomed. But how much more will it grow when a long-held secret comes out?"

✑ Not Going Anywhere by lykaonimagines • 〔F᜶C〕 •

Summary: After years of being Hydra's guinea pig, you believed there was nothing you couldn't handle. However, taking care of a sick Stephen Strange might prove to be beyond your capabilities, especially when he won't stop flirting with you!

✑ Not So Bad￨Prt. II by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[When the Avengers need to 'borrow a wizard'] for a mission,… Stephen isn't too happy [to have you] spending the night away from him, [leading] him to take matters into his own hands."

✑ Rain by ultralightpoe • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Stephen hates rain, and he also hates fighting with you."

✑ Reminders and Regrets by takemehomeplz • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "You and Stephen both have different ideas of what it means to be safe, especially when it comes to your four-year-old daughter… and even more so when the activity in question involves messing around on the ice in the sanctum."

✑ Return to Me￨Prt. II by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "Returning home after being blipped Stephen comes back to the Sanctum and discovers that the Sanctum now has new occupants, you and his daughter Aurora."

✑ Sacrificial Love by omgstarks • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♡ •

Summary: "He told you he loved you. He told you he'd protect you. Then why would he sacrifice you?" 

✑ Save It til the Morning After by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: Your relationship with Stephen has evolved from colleagues to friends to more than friends. Now that it has been brought up by a third party, you must navigate through feelings you can no longer ignore.

✑ Secret Behind the Smile￨Prt. II by eviesarusrex • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You and Stephen have been covertly seeing each other for about a year, so far you haven't had an issue keeping your relationship a secret. However, it seems like your luck is starting to run out. How will everyone react when they discover your in a relationship with the sorcerer?

✑ Somebody to Love by lykaonimagines • 〔A᜶F〕 • ♡ •

Summary: Stephen has purposely avoided you since the blip, not ready to fully accept that you moved on while he was gone. But after being guilted into attending a Stark party, he’s forced to face situation and far from ready to do that.

✑ Toddler Troubles by vi-trying-to-survive • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Thousand Possibilities by curseofaphrodite • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Stephen visits the Stark Enterprises and stumbles upon you, but why did it seem like he already knew you?"

✑ Two of You by lykaonimagines • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: Convinced you and Stephen are planning to send her away, America begins "helping" around the sanctum to convince you to let her stay, resulting in chaos and a long-overdue family conversation.

✑ Wall of Text by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "[Your] unspoken feelings for Stephen are driving [you mad] and making it impossibly hard to focus on [your responsibilities in the Sanctum. You've] got to let [them] go... but not without telling him. Sending a message when he's out in the cosmos and unable to receive it has to be the best solution, right?"

✑ When a Man Annoys a Woman by eviesarusrex • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: "...What happens when Wong decides to set [you and Stephen] up on a blind date to confess your feelings to each other and give everyone at Kamar-taj a break from your and the doctor's constant bickering]."

✑ Where You're Going by spilledkauffie • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: After an argument with Stephen you find yourself in the Rotunda of Getaways

✑ A Bit of Comfort by dino-fart • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ After Care by mostly-marvel-musings • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ An Absolutely Point in Time by bxsotted • 〔F〕 •

✑ Another Reality by multific • 〔F〕 • 𑁍 •

✑ Are You Flirting with Me? by dino-fart •

✑ Balance by thepokyone • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Between the Lines by bxsotted • 〔A〕 •

✑ Build-a-Bear Conversation by sorceress-marie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Butterflies by dino-fart • 〔F〕 •

✑ Cloak, the by justauthoring • 〔F〕 •

✑ Come to Bed by newtsniffles • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dirty Dishes by vi-trying-to-survive • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Family Picnic by dino-fart • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Favourite Avenger by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Finally￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by whirlybirbs • 〔F〕 •

✑ Good Girl by omgstarks • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Happier Than Ever by sbnslver • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Holding Hands by dino-fart • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Husband & Wife by dino-fart • 〔F〕 •

✑ Kisses by iamnotoriginalphil • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Late Night Confessions by bxsotted • 〔F〕 •

✑ Lesson Learned by sassenach-on-the-rocks • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Library Tickles by dino-fart • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Mellow Morning by itsactuallywhitewolf • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Mid-Day Nap by curseofaphrodite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Missing You by dino-fart • 16+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Please Don't Hide Things From Me by dino-fart • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Safe Space by vi-trying-to-survive • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Say It Ain't So by sbnslver • 〔F᜶M〕 •

✑ Serious by multific • 〔F〕 •

✑ Shared Blanket by vi-trying-to-survive •

✑ Sick Day Soup by vi-trying-to-survive • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sleep Tight Strange by minnie-marvel • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sleepy Morning by vi-trying-to-survive • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Stephen's Surprise by worldofheros • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Tea and Cuddles by high-functioning-lokipath • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Teach Me by coppercatwrites • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Terribly Stubborn by delicrieux • 〔F〕 •

✑ What's in It for Me? by whirlybirbs • 〔F〕 •

✑ Your My Happy Place by dino-fart • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Stephen Falling for You, His Nemesis… by myriadimagines • 〔F〕 •

See Also: Navigation || Stephen Strange Master Index

Authors: @annesthaeticc || @brunchable || @bxsotted || @classickook || @coppercatwrites || @curseofaphrodite || @delicrieux || @dino-fart || @eviesaurusrex || @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds || @gaitwae || @generallynerdy || @high-functioning-lokipath || @iamnotoriginalphil || @itsactuallywhitewolf || @just-the-hiddles || @justauthoring || @lightmeuplivly || @lipstickmarks || @lykaonimagines || @maria4444 || @minnie-marvel || @mostly-marvel-musings || @multific || @myriadimagines || @newtsniffles || @omgstarks || @parkersbliss || @ro-is-struggling || @sassenach-on-the-rocks || @sbnslver || @sorceress-marie || @spilledkauffie || @spookyspecterino || @strangelockd || @strangelure || @strrvnge || @takemehomeplz || @thepokyone || @ultralightpoe || @unrefinedmusings || @vi-trying-to-survive || @whirlybirbs || @worldofheroes || @writings-of-a-british-fangirl ||

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Four

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! School is now back in full swing for me, and it's been hella stressful, but I wanted y'all to know I'll be updating every two weeks now. I wanted to thank you for the continuous support you have shown me, even those who haven't commented and such. I see you! Things are starting to heat up now, so stay with me as the story progresses! <3

Chapter Warnings: Minor x Minor sexual situations, Aegon and you being absolute heathens. 

A snore woke the eldest Prince up, eyelids fluttering at the noise below him. 

His sweet girl was fast asleep, tired from a long day exploring the many things King's Landing had to offer. Aegon ordered the guests in the private room to leave some time ago, wanting personal time with his dragon.

He had wanted to go farther with you but thought better of it. He knew you would leave him at the drop of a needle if he did anything that displeased you. 

You were a more outspoken and self-assured young woman than many of the so-called "Lords" in the royal court. Aegon admired you for that.

Gods. His life could have been so different if Daemon had known about you. If that bitch Madam had not hidden you away from him for so long. He wanted to make up for that lost time, knowing what it could have been like now.

Ser Erryk Cargyll had finally decided to find the crowned Prince. He knew Aegon would have his fun and eventually head back to the Red Keep, but it had been nearly a day and a half, and Aegon still had yet to return. He soon found out why seeing an unconscious girl on top of him. Ser Erryk did not question it, only looking at the child with pity. He could only imagine what Aegon had subjected her to. Erryk shoved the girl off him, her still heavily drunk body flopping onto the floor.

Aegon had tasted the forbidden fruit; he realized as he drifted off into a slumber similar to your own, falling asleep within seconds.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you pried your eyes open. The different concoctions of alcohol still coursed through your veins, your vision only slight blobs of color in the dim light. It was a rude awaking. Your annoyance at whoever threw you off the bed and onto the tile floor was intense. You had thought, how dare they wake you up as you raised into a seated position. Sitting upright did not help your need for rest, feeling as if gravity was pushing you into the floor.

Erryk touched Prince Aegon's shoulder, attempting to spare him some dignity of respect for the crown. Of course, Aegon didn't budge, sound asleep to dreams of soft, nimble fingers running through his short hair, nails scraping his scalp.

"My Prince." Erryk tried again to wake Aegon, but he was far too gone, the endless cups taking their toll.

You tilted your head at the man and saw a blurry outline of what looked like a shiny rectangle, sparkles dotting your vision. 

What was a rectangle doing waking up the crowned Prince? You couldn't help but giggle as you saw them move Aegon again, he ignoring the intruder and rolling on his side. Aegon could handle his alcohol during the process, but Gods help anyone who tried to mess with him after.

"Your grace, you must wake up," he asked, louder this time. Aegon groaned, smacking the man's hands away as he flopped down into his pillow. 

You laughed again, your heavy body thumping on the floor as you continued your drunken fit. The man glared down at you, annoyed that you found his current predicament amusing. You would be of little help in your state, even if you wanted to.

Ser Erryk was beginning to feel a familiar disdain bubble up inside him. He didn't know why Prince Aegon continually sullied the Targaryen's name. 

After years of being chastised and embarrassed, drug back to the Red Keep day in and day out, having his Mother scream at him for the coffers he slowly drained, he ought to have learned. But he did not. Eyrrk felt that he never would, having been raised as an uncollared dog. He waited patiently for Aegon to be put on a leash-- put in his proper place. Whether it be by Rhaenyra taking her spot as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, or a tampered glass of wine, he did not care.

"Aegon, I think he wants you to wake up," you teased from your spot on the ground, rolling slightly from the tingles in your limbs.

You were a drunken, uncontrollable giggling mess watching the man move about the room, finding a filled pitcher and pouring it onto the Prince's head. A muffled "No" sounded from the feather-tick pillow Aegon was smothering his face in. Your stomach hurt, your sides stitching as he shot up, gasping from the cold liquid as his shirt stained a pinkish color.

"I am glad you find my suffering amusing, little one," he jested, although glaring daggers at the man.

"Come, my Prince, it is midday, and your Father wishes your family to sup in honor of your Uncle's arrival." The man hoisted him up, his armor clinking as he wrapped his arm around Aegon's shoulder.

"My Uncle has dined with us many times before, Ser Erryk. I do not see the importance of this one," he protested, slumping over.

"Your King commands it, my Prince. It was not a suggestion," the man you have come to know as Ser Erryk said.

"The King demands it, or does my Mother? Do not lie to me. You know that man has not spoken coherently since he was put on The Poppy." Erryk pursed his lips, not dignifying the boy with a response.

You watched them with a slowly falling smile as he led Aegon to the exit, nearly tripping over the uneven floor. The terrifying thought of walking alone on the streets of Kings Landing caused you to let out a loud sob, quickly covering your mouth so no one could hear. You didn't know where to go, a hopeless feeling drowning you in your vulnerable state.

Aegon turned and saw your crumbled figure on the floor, your dark hair a mess from last night's sweating, dancing, and drinking. His little dragon, alone without a rider to claim her. He would have to remedy that.

"She comes with me." Aegon pointed to you, his words firm and no hint of second guesses. Ser Erryk scowled, questioning the Prince he served.

"The whore?" He asked bluntly, making you mirror his sour expression. But before you could speak, Aegon did it for you.

"She is not a whore," he defended you, and your heart melted. It felt different than how Madam would. Instead of the usual threats and yelling, he stood up for you. He said no great show of ruffled feathers and loud barking only, "she will return with us to the Red Keep and dine with my family."

Ser Cargyll wanted to protest and explain to the Prince how improper-- how insulting this would be to his Mother. To have a lowly whore dine with the royal family was... fitting for Aegon, he had to admit. You attempted to stand but fell back down onto the tile, heel catching on your dress. Heat covered your cheeks and ears from the embarrassment.

"Your grace, she cannot even stand," he said, a protest hidden behind the concern for your well-being.

"Then you will carry her," Aegon retorted as if it was apparent. He freed himself from the knight's grip, stumbling slightly as he regained his balance. "I can walk myself, Ser Erryk. Tend to the lady," he nodded in your direction.

Erryk did not challenge him anymore, understanding that refusing his request further could cost him his knighthood or possibly his life. He stomped with his white-plated armor, clinking with each step as he threw you over his shoulder. You squealed, kicking your legs on instinct as his cold metal breastplate jabbed into your stomach, but after a few steps and a sudden wave of nausea, you began to forget.

Balling your fists, you willed yourself not to vomit. A combination of pride and solely not wanting to hurl your entire belly gave you strength as you swayed over Ser Erryk's back.

Aegon was immensely annoyed at his Mother for cutting his enjoyable sleep short, but he found the whole ordeal amusing as the three of you left the brothel and smiled to himself. He knew tonight's dinner would change everything as he trailed behind on the path to the Red Keep, watching your face turn different shades of green. He was sure it would change for good, at least for him. Daemon wanted you for some reason or another, and Aegon was willing to bet that Rhaenyra had something to do with it. Daemon had no paternal bone in his body for girls, having been raised in a society that let men do as they please.

Though Aegon was drunk most of the time when the Valaryian girls visited the palace, he could still see how Daemon was disconnected from them. He could not train the pair in the art of the sword or take them to war, let alone have them attend the revelries he frequented. He still loved his children, but an arm's length was where he kept them. A blind man could see that.

Frankly, you had no idea where you were going at this point. Something about the Red Keep mentioned earlier was all you could remember, but you couldn't trust your memories yet. You could see flashes of black leather boots when you dared open your eyes, your head thumping in time with the steps. The soft rumble of male voices conversing in the background eased your discomfort, but you could not discern what they were saying. You faintly recognized the smooth timber of one of them, enough for you to calm.

Shouting soon clouded your senses instead, the sound of words being relayed to multiple people as a loud thud boomed in the air. You attempted to cover your ears, but the movement put all your weight on your stomach, and you let out a loud belch. You tried to hold your laughter back, hiding your face in Ser Erryk's armor. Another person joined your immaturity, which only served to foil any attempt at holding your composure.

The land between sleep and consciousness rocked you in its embrace the entirety of the day, or, at least, what you assumed it was. You hadn't strictly kept track of how much time had passed. Was it today, or was it the morrow? Or, somehow, in a wicked twist of karmic retribution, was it years from now?

Erryk stiffened at your childishness, unimpressed with how unladylike you were being. You were just as much of an embarrassment as him. He now understood why Aegon brought you along. The Queen would surely die from shame tonight. He mentally prepared for it, sending a silent prayer to The Seven as the three of you entered the Red Keep.

You would never drink again.

Sweat clung to your skin, a blanket of sticky fluids wrapped snuggly around your body as you tugged at your dress. Everything was too tight-- too hot. The woolen fabric trapped in all your heat as you wriggled like a babe attempting to escape its swaddle.

"What's wrong, little one," Aegon asked, his voice gravelly with sleep. You hadn't a clue where you were or how he got here, but you didn't care.

"Get this Gods forsaken dress off me," you demanded, still struggling in vain with the unforgiving fabric.

Aegon blinked at you, his hair in greasy white tangles and dark circles contrasting his pale skin. Surely you did not ask him to undress you. The Green Fairy must still be playing tricks on him.

"Aegon, help me," you whined. You managed to get your skirt stuck over your head, making the already troublesome task even more difficult. He sighed through his nose, playfully annoyed. He could never be cross with you.

He sat up and slid closer, flipping the outer layer of your dress back down before positioning you on your side. Aegon knew you could not keep yourself upright, electing to loosen the strings on your back before shimmying the fabric down.

He paused at the sight of your exposed shoulder. The dark hair of your scalp ran down the sides of your neck, fading into a fine fuzz that stood at his touch. He moved the long strands from your back, trailing his fingers down your bones like raindrops sliding on your flushed skin. You hummed in delight, rolling until your shoulder blades touched his cold chest. While you felt like a wood stove, he radiated a chill that swept the streets of Kings Landing during winter nights.

"That feels nice," you sighed absentmindedly, pulling on your sleeve to pop your arm out. "Gods, this is the worst," you mumbled. 

The other sleeve refused to budge, cutting into the base of your neck as you flopped like a hooked fish trying to rip it off. He helped you again, sitting up and exposing your thin chemise.

Sweat stains covered the delicate fabric, the originally white coloring now a tan-yellowish color from days of skipped washing. Aegon didn't mind. He was well aware that he did not look much better after a night of drinking and fucking. It was one of the many reasons everyone within the castle walls turned their nose away from him.

He did not train his violet eyes on the dirty cloth but on what lay underneath. The protrusion of your shoulder blades, the outline of your back, and your shape. He felt himself stop breathing, gulping down a lump that formed in his throat at the personal view of your figure. To all others who glanced, you were a plain-looking girl, the only remarkable thing about you being the white streak in your hair. If only they took a moment more to look at you, they would see you for what you indeed are—a God amongst men.

"Still too hot," you groaned, moving your arms to take your underdress off. Aegon quickly grabbed your hand, stopping you from exposing yourself utterly bare in front of him.

"You must keep your modesty, sweetling," he said. The words almost sounded like a plead, an exemplary sentence to one's child.

He did not know where a sudden urge to protect your honor came from.

Aegon was never much for caring about his pride, let alone a woman's. He was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his debauchery, yet a bastard maiden from Flea Bottom brought out his conscience.

"I do not care, my Prince." Even with the words slurred out, he could still hear the condescension that came with his title. He pursed his lips, racking his brain for a way to redirect your attention from trying to unclothe yourself.

"How about some wine? To cool you off," he offered, but you shook your head vehemently, causing it to spin.

"No! No more wine Aegon; I cannot think straight." You looked as if you were about to vomit. The heat mixing with your upset stomach was a potent concoction that spelled disaster.

"Water then," he said, opening his chamber doors and barking the order to someone you couldn't see.

Aegon released a gasp when he turned back around, seeing you had ignored his warnings and attempted to take the chemise off yourself, your head somehow stuck in the armhole and your arms poking through the neck. His pupils dilated at the curve of your thighs, an almost invisible line of dark hair trailing down your stomach to a sparse tuft between your legs. All the blood in his body rushed to his cock, a jolt of arousal at seeing such indecent parts of you.

He wanted to pounce. He wanted to rip that damnable piece of clothing off your body and stuff it in your mouth as he claimed your maidenhood.

Hearing and touch were the only two senses left that weren't wholly distorted by the copious amount of alcohol you drank the night prior. Touch: the fabric of your smock strangling your limbs and rubbing your skin raw. Hearing: the floorboards creaking with someone's weight as they stepped closer to you.

A hand subconsciously slid down his side and hooked its thumb in the hemline of his trousers, relieving some of the pressure.

You felt your bondage loosen as the final piece of clothing left your body. It was like the first breath of spring, the golden sun bathing your skin with its comforting rays for the first time in months. You sighed, smiling and lying back on the bed with your freedom.

"Much better," you hummed, shutting your eyes and stretching your exerted muscles with a loud groan. The mattress dipped next to you, not the total weight of someone's body, as if they were kneeling, looking down upon your naked form.

A shuttering breath next to you opened your eyes, seeing Aegon leaning over you. He didn't seem like himself, his eyes black, the dim light from the troches reflecting in them. It was as if something had possessed him as he stared at your breasts, wetting his lips and bending closer to you. His hand reached out at speed almost too slow for one to notice, and his blunt fingertips trailed down the expanse of your chest, down to your sternum, and circled the underside of your bubby. Gooseflesh rose in his wake, your toes curled, and your nipples hardened as Aegon's finger slid over it. You moaned as a chill went through your body, finally cooling off.

His touch lit a fire within you, the same feeling from the pleasure house, but you weren't in a drunken haze this time. You were beginning to sober, all your senses finally returning. Your vision was apparent again as you saw Aegon shift himself over top of you, using his other hand as support on your shoulder. He bent down, his once violet eyes still black as he scanned your face, a taught expression on it. Jolts of pleasure went straight to your core as he pinched your budded nipple, capturing your lips with his in a mess of tongue and teeth.

The lack of inhibitions between the both of you back at the brothel served in favor of Aegon. You let him defile you without reservations, but the alcohol was nearly gone from your system, and you realized something was wrong with this. Your mind screamed it. But how could you stop? You didn't want to stop. You wanted to extend the sensations he was giving you; it was what your body wanted, what it needed.

He broke for air, trailing a line of open-mouth kisses down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin as he reached your chest. He continued groping at one breast, kneading the flesh with his hand as he latched on to the other, his lips sucking the perked bud. Aegon's grip on your body hurt, the skin tender from growth, but the pain surfaced something... primal. A deep moan came from your throat as your hands went into his hair, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, moving on their own accord against him.

"Oh, Aegon," you whimpered, pulling on his hair until he released your tit with a pop. His chest heaved, grinding himself into your heat as his mouth returned to yours. His fingers tangled in your damp hair, cranking your head back to expose your neck, sucking harshly as you whimpered again.

"Your sounds are divine," he growled into your skin, "I must hear more."

Aegon bit onto a pulse point, causing you to cry out and your hands to yank the hair attached to his scalp. A muffled chuckle was all you heard from him as he let go and kissed down your body once more, not stopping past your chest or navel, creating small puddles of saliva.

Anticipation tightened in your stomach when he reached the top of your mound. The desire to move your hips, his lips on the buzzing spot, was all you could think about. Any hesitant thoughts from before were gone, your mind only chanting one thing.

"Please, Aegon."

He grinned, more than happy to oblige your pleas.

Aegon opened his mouth and used his flattened tongue to lick a stripe up your slit. He wrapped his lips around that sensitive button, sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body and making your thighs trap his head there. Your hips bucked, chasing his movements and moaning every time he hit that particular little bud. Your body became hot, your cheeks undoubtedly generating enough heat to warm even the coldest souls in the winter months.

You could feel sweat collect on your hairline and drip behind your ears as your hips moved in time with his ministrations, your insides wanting to clench around something. Aegon kissed your maidenhood as he did with your lips, creating the same building sensation as last night.

You felt his tongue dip inside you, using his thumb to continue the same focus he had with his mouth on your bud. His tongue felt terrific, hitting a specific spot inside you that made your nerves go wild, but you wanted more. You might not be able to reach the same peak as before if you did not. You needed something to hold on to, something deep within your body to keep you in place as you rode out your high.

"Aegon, I-I need..." You couldn't form a coherent sentence, every attempt foiled by a new wave of pleasure. "I need-Oh Gods-I need you..."

Despite hedonism, Aegon felt a deep emotion he had never experienced, feeling wanted. Since the day he was born, the first true-born Prince spent every moment of his life with those pushing him away in place of someone more fitting.

Rhaenyra has already taken his place as heir to the Iron Throne and received all his father's praise and attention. Aemond, his ever-dutiful brother taking the spot as their Mothers favorite, and Helaena, the spot of their Grandfather's darling grandchild. He was left with no place in his family besides as a pawn to be put on the throne, but with you, oh, with you, he felt like he belonged.

A girl he had hardly known for a day made him feel like he was needed solely for himself and not the potential of what he could be.

Something twisted inside him then, a feeling of dark, unhealthy obsession blooming in his mind.

Mine, was all he could think, only mine. Only my darling girl. No one-- nothing can take her from me. She is mine, only mine, mine, mine.

"What do you need, my little dragon?" Aegon asked sweetly, vastly differing from his possessive thoughts.

Mine, mine, mine.

"I-I need something inside of me. I do not think I can reach my peak without it. Without you." He could see the tears leaking from your eyes, your face flushed with frustrated pleasure. Seeing you in such a weakened state only fueled his darkened mind, unable to deny you of your request.

Of course, Aegon wanted to take your maidenhead, he would not let the idea of anyone else cross his mind, but this couldn't be the time. You were not his wholly. You were just a young girl, intoxicated by the newfound pleasures a man could give. He couldn't fault you for that; he remembers feeling the same at your age. He still had a small amount of decency within him and knew that you would live to regret having him take your virtue in the future. He wanted you in your entirety—mind, body, and soul.

He parted from your mound, his thumb still rubbing your button as he traced a finger around your hole. "I shall not deny you, sweetling," he plainly said as a singular digit entered you.

It provided much repreave, yet still not deep enough. Your disappointment soon overshadowed as he stuck his mouth to your button and curled his finger inside you.

Your high mounted, quick, wild horses ran through your hollow bones as he pulled your release from you. He did not stop until your legs went limp around his head, and your body went slack, small whimpers coming from your lips. Your hands went to his hair, pushing his face deeper into your wet core as you let pure ecstasy run through you, singing Aegon's praises.

Finally, he pulled away, his chin glistening from the juices inside your heat as he brought the finger he used inside his waiting mouth. You still saw stars as he flopped down next to you, catching his breath as if he had just finished sprinting. Aegon wore a smile you mirrored as you scooted closer to him, placing your head on his shoulder.

He had given you many opportunities to explore new things, and you did not know how to thank him. Words could not convert your gratefulness properly. You moved your hand across his chest, creating a pattern similar to the one he made on your breasts as he closed his eyes and sighed contentiously, pulling you closer.

Your fingers trailed down the expanse of his soft stomach, following the line of blonde hair down to his trousers. He didn't open his eyes as you traced the outline of his rigid member, only quirking a brow.

"What are you doing, little one," he questioned with a look. You could feel his cock twitch underneath your fingers.

"You have shown me so many things I had no idea of, exposed me to the pleasures of man, and I am eternally grateful for that. Should I not do the same?" You rubbed your palm against him, and you saw his stomach tense. "You will help me, won't you? I am still not entirely experienced yet," you said sheepishly.

"Of course I will," he agreed and kissed the knuckles of your other hand.

A knock interrupted your moment. Aegon groaned in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "Go away," he commanded as he grabbed your hand to move again.

"Your Grace, I have brought the water you requested," a weak female voice sounded through the thick wooden doors.

Your mouth suddenly felt parched, remembering how thirsty you had been earlier. Aegon looked down at you, questioning if you still wanted it, then sighed, telling the servant to bring it in. 

You had completely forgotten you were still naked, your palm over Aegon's cock as she entered, releasing a short gasp at the sight. He rolled his eyes again, signaling her to put the pitcher and cups on a table across the room as he kept your hand in place.

Aegon had not let you stop your movements on his prick, maintaining eye contact the entire time the servant scurried around his rooms. You knew you should have felt disgusted with the shame of displaying something so sexual and vulgar in front of a poor serving girl, but you didn't. The impropriety of it was what you loved, sending a pleasant warmth throughout your body.

The girl stood silently, hands clasped in front of her red uniform dress and gaze downcast.

"You may go," Aegon said pointedly, annoyed that she couldn't read that her task was finished.

"Yes," she nodded, curtsying out of respect for his position, "thank you, your grace." And she left his chambers in a flurry of skirts and crimson.

You could see that Aegon wanted to continue as if you hadn't been sorely interrupted, but your thirst was unimaginable, and you pouted your lip. He sighed, moving slightly to let you get a drink. It felt as if the ground was vibrating as you walked over, needing to move from chair to table to chair again to stay upright. You had seen men walk out of rooms like this at Madam's brothel, snickering to yourself in the shadows away from their eyes. It was ironic you did the same.

You could feel Aegon's stare on your back as you poured yourself a glass, not thinking to offer him some. Not moments later, another knock on his door sounded, a more mature female voice coming through it.

"My Prince," she began, pausing for a moment longer than reasonable, "I believe I may have found a dress befitting your guest." You looked at Aegon, perplexed as to why you needed another set of clothes. A flurry of questions arose in your mind, reality finally catching you as you took in your surroundings.

You were in His Majesty, Prince Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Son of Viserys, the Peaceful, bed chambers. How had you gotten to this moment? The last memory you had was of Ma yelling at you, kicking you out of the only home you had ever known, and then Aegon. It was all Aegon. His smiling face dragged you across Kings Landing, stuffing your face with foods Ma could never afford. His laugh echoed in your mind as he threw back drink after drink. His sweet words whispered in your ear as he made you feel the greatest pleasures of man.

"Your Grace, I am feeling quite ill. I wish to be taken home." You had acted too immaturely and rashly after what happened with Ma. She was the only true mother you had known, and you were her only daughter. She loved you-- loves you.

"What are you going on about, my sweet? You are home," Aegon dismissed, shifting himself in the blankets.

"No, Aegon." You placed the water on the table and gave him your full attention. "This is the Red Keep. Your home," you replied pointedly.

"This is your home now; I thought you realized this." He was starting to get annoyed with explaining the obvious to someone he thought was clever.

"Why on the Seven's green Earth would this ever be my home," you asked sarcastically, curling your lip incredulity and crossing your arms. "If you are attempting to make you your whore, you are sorely mistaken."

He groaned, rolling the blankets and shifting the pillows as he failed to get comfortable. "You are not my whore. I did not expect you to be."

You stormed over to the resting Prince, forgetting that you were still naked as the day you were born.

"How dare you think you can keep me here! I may not have the power to order people around as you do, but I have authority over my own life!" He scoffed and rolled over, refusing to meet your angry gaze.

"Not anymore," he mumbled more to himself than you.

"I do not care what you believe. I am leaving this place." You stormed around the room, a blaze of fury in your steps as you pulled your smock on and tied your outer dress just enough to cover your modesty.

He didn't try to stop you, only watching as you took one last swig of water before shoving his chamber room doors open. You had been a fool. The stupid young, naive girl you had tried so hard not to be. It was ignorant to think that Aegon wouldn't be like the men you heard the working girls complain about when he was most likely the one they spoke of the most. He was a disgusting, vile creature, and you never wanted to see him again.

The guard stationed outside his room looked at you with an unreadable expression, his armor a polished white as he stood tall. He seemed familiar, but his garb was different from the City Watch. You supposed he must have been far on the hierarchy of knights never to have seen him.

"I apologize, my lady, but I cannot allow you to leave," he said gravely, stepping in front of you.

You spun to face Aegon, the man still not having moved from his spot on the bed.

"Tell him to let me leave," you nearly shouted, but he ignored you. "Aegon, tell your guard to let me leave. Now!" This time, you did yell, done with all the games the eldest Prince played. They were no longer fun.

"Lead the woman to the Guest Wing," he flicked his wrist as if he was swatting a fly. "See to it she is fed and made to rest until called upon. We have had a long night."

You felt as if smoke was pouring from your ears, marching over to Aegon as his guard caught you by the shoulder, nearly causing you to fall back.

"Yes, my Prince." He nodded stiffly, pulling you to where you assumed the Guest Wing was.

"Oh, and Ser Eyrrk?" The knight stopped his movements abruptly, turning to face the boy he was sworn to protect. "Be sure to show me the dress the servant choose." Aegon paused, looking over your lust-stained clothes. "She is an honored guest of House Targaryen; she deserves to be robed as such."

Master List of Series

Ser Erryk nodded once more and continued to lead you down the dark and barren halls of the Red Keep.

The song called The Fruits by Paris Paloma heavily inspired this chapter. Link here! I also have a playlist I listen to when I write. Link here! If you have any questions about the story regarding the ages of characters, descriptions, etc... don't hesitate to ask me! Thank you so much for your patience. I hope the chapter lived up to your expectations. *.*

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd

[hyeahgaku]

Compilation of Movie References in SAKAMOTO DAYS manga (pt.1)

(1) 🎬 Léon: The Professional

Boiled and Obiguro seem to have been inspired by the characters Léon and Mathilda from the film.

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(2) 🎬 Drunken Master series

Lu Shaotang's drunken fist style pose in chapter 11 is paying homage to Jackie Chan's fighting stance in the Drunken Master II film. Lu drinking alcohol & activating her Drunken Fist mode is also inspired by Jackie's character in the film series.

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(3) 🔫 Metal Gear Solid 3 (not a movie but video game)

Heisuke Mashimo's pet bird, Piisuke, acts as his spotter. This is most likely inspired by The End, a character in MGS3, who is also a sniper & even owns a pet bird which acts as his spotter too.

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(4) 🎬 John Wick series

Sakamoto's retirement & how he's feared by those in the underworld is also similar to John Wick's story.

Sakamoto imagines killing the dude in chapter 1 using a pen/pencil, which is an actual scene from John Wick 2.

The JAA building shown in chapter 50 is a nod to the Continental Hotel in the John Wick movies.

The "Floaters" clean-up crew in Sakadays is the series' own version of John Wick's "Cleaners" unit.

Sakamoto VS Kanaguri in the library is probably inspired by John Wick: Chapter 3 library fight.

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(5) 🎬 Casino / Grosse Pointe Blank / The Bourne Identity / Red Eye

Death by the pen/pencil is not only exclusive to John Wick series, in fact there are many other films in which somebody meets their demise via this formidable weapon. Therefore, in instances where Sakamoto uses a ballpoint pen as a weapon could also be a homage to some of the movies listed above, other than John Wick.

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(6) 🎬 Funny Games

When Kanaguri appeared in chapter 59, he mentioned Funny Games movie as there was so much despair going on -just like the victims who were suffering in the film. It appears that Kanaguri's character design may, after all, have been inspired by Paul, the film's primary antagonist.

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(7) 🎬 Stand by Me

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(8) 🎬 Roman Holiday

In chapter 102, young Kanaguri was watching Roman Holiday and the scene portrayed on the television was an exact scene from the film.

(9) 🎬 Star Wars, Child's Play, Friday the 13th, Scream

Figurines of characters from these popular movies were seen among Kanaguri's collection on his display shelf in chapter 102.

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(10) 🔫 Resident Evil 4 (not a movie but video game)

(11) 🎬 Johnny Mnemonic

Can't help but notice that Gaku's VR gear may just be inspired off Keanu Reeves' character from the Johnny Mnemonic film.

continue to pt.2 》

[akane171]

Things about Ron Speirs that live rent free in my head - PART II

-We can see 4 soldiers running to the Eagle’s Nest, but no Speirs with them at that moment. I’m headcanoning he was already waiting for them at the door, smoking his third cigarette and impatiently tapping his foot.

-He smoked so much, because he didn’t know what to do with his hands in social situations, don’t change my mind.

-That instant regret, when he tried to socialize in Carentan and told the soldiers they were moving soon. That last look he threw them always make me cackle. He was SO DONE. And probably didn’t even try to socialize for the next month at least.

-Him being: clean shaven with hair slicked back, with his helmet on and with ruffled hair falling on his forehead - are three different demons and they all hit you differently.

-It’s super adorable that he was the most soft-spoken and sweetest when he was or dead tired or drunk.

-And you know, in all the moments when he forced his facial muscles to smile - every time, somewhere in the universe an unicorn has died (Forced, not genuine. When he smiled genuinely every time an unicorn shat a granade).

-“Lieutenant Lipton! :DDDDD” *gross sobbing*

-All the scenes, with his side profiles, when he stood with his arms folded on his chest and silently judged the universe.

-His relationship with Janovec. Like. I can’t even imagine how hilarious it had to be in general xD

-The moment when Harry didn’t allow him to steal and he looked at Winters, like he wanted help from dad (someone else on tumblr mentioned it and it’s a perfect catch).

-It's almost canon (some deleted or not filmed scene?) that Speirs (and Jones) dragged drunken Lipton to his quarter. I guess, he would have done that after all the "officers chilling and drinking time". Dick would have done that with Nixon. (And they would just have left Harry behind, duh).

-“Hey, Liebgott, you wanna sit this out?” master troll strikes again :’) (also it’s quite funny, because real Webster really admired Speirs and said he was one of the very few officers he really liked).

-The pure admiration in his eyes for his commander, when Dick cancelled the another patrol.

-It’s quite interesting how fast he has learnt about the abilities of all of his sergeants and knew who could do the job.

-The way he taped Lipton’s chest with his knuckles, after Lip was promoted and that soft smile :’)

-All the pouts.

-The fact he had no nervous system in combat situations and then he was all meow, meow with people he liked and felt comfortable with.

-“This war is not about fighting anymore. It’s about who gets what.” On the funny note, it’s hilarious when we consider his sticky fingers here. On the serious note, knowing what happened next aka the cold war – he was totally right.  

-The scene in ep 7, when Lip talks about him and he emerged from the fog like a ghost and then scared the shit out of Christenson and other poor souls. Poetic cinema xD

-The moment when he called God, because Lipton was liptoning and refusing to lie down, while being sick. (And yes, in real life he told Lip to take the ONLY bed. Lip, because he was Lip, refused, but then he was ordered, so he agreed… I don’t know what to do with this information, seriously….).

-That hand tremble while he was pointing the gun at the asshole that shot Grant. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, it was that thick.

-Also the line “When you talk to the officer, you say sir.” is so damned corny when you think about it, but because it was Speirs and the way he delivered it, it ended simply great. Also, A+ acting again.

-There is a lot to unpack in this scene, because why the ruthless killer, who was nicknamed “Bloody”, didn’t shot the bastard? He has had enough of killing? The prisoner was defenceless? He calculated the consequences, because he already knew he was staying in the army? All of this? Who knows.

-The fact we again, didn’t see his face for a moment, when he holstered his gun and said Grant was going to be ok - damn, I would want to see it.

(On the real side note, I think I’ve read somewhere (probably it was the Fierce Valour), that real Speirs said to Winters, that he didn’t really know, but there had to be some kind of doubt in his mind, that’s why he didn’t pull the trigger.)

Ok, the END.

It’s quite embarrassing how much time I’ve spent thinking about this asshole, but whatever.

Part one (x)

[waiting4inspiration]

Valyrian Blood II: Heart (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: After an unfortunate incident at the brothel, a knight comes to save you and take you to the palace where Aemond is waiting for you, offering you the life he promised he would give you. All you have to say is yes.

Warnings: +18 content, strong language, mentions of sex work, use of the word whore, violence against women, smut, oral sex (f receiving), first time writing smut in a long time

Word Count: +4k

Valyrian Blood Masterlist II House of the Dragon Masterlist

You know that when you wake in the mornings alone after a night in Aemond’s presence that he had to leave early to get back to the Keep before sunrise. You know that you should not miss him because he will be back and that all you can do while you wait is what you do best; please men. 

But as you wake in the morning, one side of your bed empty, the smell of blue sage and slight hints of dragon now gone from the sheets and air, you reach out to touch the space and wish silently to yourself for his quick return after days of his absence. His words to you that night a few nights ago have changed something inside you. You were not supposed to form any attraction or connection to your visitors. But Aemond Targaryen has scorned your heart with a yearning for no one but him now and the life he so passionately offered to you. 

All you have to do is accept his offer. 

It’s stupid to think that things could change for you, you think to yourself as you push yourself out of bed to get ready for the day. You couldn’t pass for a lady of the court. And even if you could, people would think you are Targaryen and they would quickly see past your lies and find out that you are not of the House of the Dragon. The Targaryen’s are all connected to each other, they would quickly find out that you do not belong and it does not bode well for either you are Aemond. 

But a life away from all of this seems like a dream to you. Perhaps it is because you long for something different, for meaning in your life other than pleasing men and playing into their fantasies so they can go back to their wives and families and act as the decent lord they portray themselves to be. 

You imagine Aemond fighting for your dignity if someone dared lay a hand on you. If you were a lady instead of a whore, you wouldn’t need to warm beds if you didn’t want to. And those that try to force you would suffer at the hands of your lover.

A hand touches your wrist, breaking you out of your daydreams as you stare out the window of the Pleasure House to the Red Keep. Your head snaps to the side and up to the man that now holds your wrist. “A pretty thing you are. Could be a Targaryen,” he says, slurring his words and indicating his drunkenness. 

Normally, you would take drunk men up to your room because they are easy money. You don’t have to do much to make them cum and they don’t last long. But today, you only long for the company of one man. You shouldn’t have come down from your room today. 

You pry his hand off your wrist as you stand from your seat. “Find another girl to fuck. I’m not interested,” you say.

As you start to walk off, he grabs your arm to pull you back, making your heart leap into your throat. “I paid for you, whore. So you will do as I say,” he sneers, pulling you towards him as you fight back. 

“I said no,” you say loudly, drawing the attention of other patrons and prostitutes, hoping that they will help you. 

But before anyone can move or say a word, the lord raises his hand and a slap echoes around the room. 

Of course, there is a price to pay for raising a hand to a whore in the common area of the Pleasure House. If a lord were to slap you in private there would be no consequences. But because it happened in public, the Master of the house steps forward to stop things, especially since you are valuable to the Prince. No one but the Master knows this and since Aemond pays a good prince to have you for an entire night, the Master doesn’t want anything to happen to you that would upset the rider of the largest dragon.  

As the Master tries to calm the drunken lord, you manage to sneak out of the situation and back to the comfort of the room. You hold your cheek in your hand, still feeling the sting in the flesh as you bite back the tears forming in your eyes. Even though you wished to see Aemond tonight, you don’t think it would be the best idea because of the mark you feel forming on your cheek. You do not wish for him to see you like this. 

A gasp falls from your lips when you enter your room to see a cloaked figure standing in the middle. You think it’s Aemond for a second, your heart hoping it is so you can confide in his safety. But he does not come here while the sun is still high in the sky. 

Unless something is wrong…

The man turns around, revealing an unfamiliar face to you. You step back, cautiously staring at him as your hand drops from your still-aching cheek. Your confusion grows to see the man holding another cloak in his hands. 

“The Prince has requested your presence,” the man says in a whisper. “I am to lead you safely to the castle.”

The way he speaks and the way he stands tells you that he is a knight. Knights are never seen in a Pleasure House as it would go against their vows. Which is probably why the man in front of you wears common clothing now. 

“Who are you?” you ask, keeping your voice low just as he does. 

He simply gives you a smile. A friendly smile. A kind of smile you have not received from a man in a long time. As he gently steps forward, silently asking you if he can place the cloak on your shoulders, you can tell that he is not here with bad intentions. “A friend.”

“Whose?” 

The knight’s eyes snap over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps approaching and he quickly turns you around so that he stands in front of you, blocking you as well as his face from the door. But as he moves, his hold on you is gentle, as if he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to touch you. “Hopefully yours in time,” he whispers, lifting the hood of the cloak over your head as the footsteps fade in the distance. 

You have never felt so safe in a man’s presence within the first few seconds of meeting him. With Aemond, it took a while for you to feel like he wouldn’t kill you if you said something or did something wrong. Now you know he won’t, but that’s because you’ve gotten to know him over time. However, this knight in front of you doesn’t even know his name and yet you feel as if you could trust him with your life. Perhaps it is because of the fact that he is a knight, maybe it’s the prospect that Aemond has sent him. Or perhaps it’s the way he gently starts to lead you out of the brothel, ensuring you are not seen by anyone, while his hand barely touches your back.

You’ve walked the Street of Silk a hundred times before to stretch your legs and get out of the Pleasure House. Every time you do, you pull the stares of people passing by. You know that is how you got Aemond interested in you in the first place. Now, it feels different to be ignored as you walk through the people crowding the street. It’s almost a relief to look up and not meet the stares of people taking in your Targaryen-like appearance. It’s enough to put a smile on your face at the feeling of being almost invisible. 

The Red Keep gets closer and closer as you walk, the knight staying close by your side as he leads you to the destination. You wonder how he plans on getting in, what lie he is going to tell the guards at the gates, or if he’s going to tell them the truth. 

You’ve never been inside the keep, unlike some of the other girls that have gone to entertain the lords inside, namely Prince Aegon. Your heart pounds in excitement at the prospect that you will finally see the inside of the majestic capital building, the home of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. 

But the knight does not lead you to the front gates. Instead, he leads you around the back, to an unguarded door that he struggles to open. It seems to be a secret passageway from the darkness spilling out and a single torch on the wall to be used to navigate through the darkness. He takes the torch and holds the door open for you to enter. 

You follow him in silence, even though so many questions start popping up in your mind. If he is of the Kingsguard, why is he doing this for the Prince? What was promised to him to keep this a secret and why must he sneak you in? What if the prince that sent him is actually Prince Aegon who has found out about you? 

You wish to ask these questions, but you fear that breaking the silence will ruin things. It’s so quiet in the passageway that you fear that speaking will awaken something lurking in the shadows. 

Coming to another door pressed into the wall, the knight stops for a moment, pressing his ear against the stone as if to listen for voices on the other side. Then, he places the torch in the holder on the wall and presses against the door to open it, allowing you to enter the room first even though you don’t know what is waiting for you inside. 

But seeing Aemond waiting by the window of the room makes your heart leap with joy. You almost run to him, but stop yourself at the sound of the knight closing the hidden door behind him, drawing Aemond’s attention to the both of you. 

He pushes himself upright, briskly walking toward you and the knight, but never looking at you. Not yet. “I trust you were not seen by anyone,” he says, your eyes never leaving his face as you marvel at the authority in his face and voice. 

“No one saw us, your highness,” the knight says, earning a pleased nod from Aemond. 

He hands the knight a bag that you know from the clattering inside if filled with gold coins. “And I trust you will not tell anyone about this.”

The knight takes the bag and shakes his head. “Not a soul.”

With a nod from the prince, the knight turns to leave. And you realize who the knight now is when he leaves through the main doors. He must be Aemond’s kingsguard, therefore making him a confidant. 

As the doors close, Aemond looks over at you with a smile on his face and he walks closer to you. “I’m happy you came,” he says, his hands reaching up to remove the cloak around your shoulders.

When he removes it, his eyes snap down to your cheek and his smile fades at the sight of the darkened mark on your skin. His fingers softly touch your bruised cheek, making your head drop in shame as you step closer to him. “What happened?”

You shake your head, your hands resting on his chest as you breathe out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter-”

“Who did this to you?” he harshly questions, and your stomach wrenches when you see the murderous look in his eye that you’ve heard people talk about. Yet, it warms your heart to think that it is directed at the man who had hit you. 

And the thought of what happened brings tears to your eyes again along with the feeling that you are in Aemond’s arms again which is what you wanted since waking up. Your heart gleams in happiness that only makes your tears well up faster. And you break in front of him. 

Aemond has never seen you cry. He has never even thought of it. In all the days he’s known you, seen you be so strong and act as if nothing bothered you, he has never thought that he would see you break down in front of him, in his arms. He doesn’t know how to respond. 

“I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it anymore,” you cry, covering your face in your hands as you wipe the tears away. “All I want to do with my days is spend them with you. I can’t take another man and fuck him because all I want is you.” 

The words leave your mouth without you thinking about them. You speak from the heart, knowing that it is true and that you can’t hide it anymore. It will ruin you if you try to push the feelings down more. And as you say those words, you realize exactly what they mean. 

“You make me feel like I’m more than just a whore.”

Aemond takes your face in his hands, holding you close to him as he leans in closer, pressing his lips to yours. Your shoulders come up to your ears, his kiss telling you that he understands. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the passion in his kiss almost making your hands tremble. It is as if you haven’t been a prostitute your entire life. 

The kiss ends, allowing you both to take a breath but your lips never go far from each other. “Say you’ll stay then,” he whispers, pecking your lips as he starts to walk you backward. “Not just for the night. But forever. It is all sorted. All you have to do is say yes.” He kisses you again. “Say yes.”

You can feel the desperation in his kiss, in his words. It reminds you of the first time you showed him what real pleasure feels like. After that, he was so eager and so desperate to recreate those feelings. 

But this goes deeper. This is stronger. In his kiss, you can feel that he wants nothing but you, just as you want nothing but him. He could buy your freedom and allow you to go anywhere you wish but you would still choose to stay with him. He could spend a fortune on lavish silk dresses and jewels for you, but you won’t care about that. You would rather be naked with him by your side than dress like the queen. 

And Aemond would kill everyone in the world to be with you. He would burn cities and armies down if he must, just as long as you are there for him to claim as his own. You can feel that as his hands rest on the lacing of your dress, waiting for you to give yourself to him, just as you do every time.

But he’s not waiting for your approval to undress you. He’s waiting for your agreement to become his lady, not his whore. 

“Issa, ñuha jorrāelagon.”

Yes, my love. 

The moment your words leave your lips, his fingers pull on the laces of your sheer dress, undoing them and making the dress go loose on your body. He keeps walking you backward until your legs hit a bed, making you realize that the knight has brought you to Aemond’s room. 

It’s quieter here than in the brothel. For one, you can’t hear moans like you would in the Pleasure House or the drunken shouting of men from outside. The quietness allows you to remain in the moment with Aemond, to be aware of everything, and not get distracted by other thoughts. 

Your fingers work on removing his tunic, knowing what it feels like to have his skin pressed up against yours and wishing to feel it now. As he pushes the dress off your shoulders, his hands run down the side of your body, and he draws in a deep breath through his nose when he feels your body reacting to his touch. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, the desire burning in his veins as he lays you down on the bed.

“You’ll be a handmaid for my sister, Helaena,” Aemond whispers as he quickly discards his top. “You’ll live here, in the Keep, so that you may be there to help her whenever she needs you. I’ve arranged for it all,” he adds, kneeling between your legs so he can hover above you with his hands beside your head. 

“And how did you manage to do that?” you ask, your hands running over his shoulders as his lips find home on your collarbone. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his hand coming between your legs and lightly touching the inside of your thighs. 

You breathe out a pleased sigh as his hand travels up, remembering how you taught him how to please a woman with his hands and not his cock. To think that all he knows about sex is because of you…

“And where do you intend for me to sleep each night?”

That question makes his hand snap up to grab your hips roughly, his body moving quickly so his face hovers inches away from yours, his leather-clad hips pressing against yours as he stares deeply into your eyes. “You sleep here and nowhere else. Unless you prefer to go back to that whore house. Do you understand?” he asks, speaking in Valyrian to emphasize his seriousness. 

You smile up at him, wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer as you press your lips against his. “Perfectly, my prince,” you whisper against his lips. 

He kisses you deeply, pushing your head into the bed as his hand returns to the space between your legs. “Iksā ñuhon,” he growls against your lips as his fingers dip into your folds. “Se ñuhon mērī.”

There’s something about when he speaks in his mother tongue that riles you up more. Perhaps it is because you feel more comfortable speaking Valyrian than the common tongue, it being the first language you learned to speak. Perhaps it makes it feels like you two were meant to find each other because of the Valyrian blood you both possess. 

All you know is that when he whispers to you in Valyrian, telling you that you are his and his only, it teases the fire growing inside you, making it roar louder and fiercer than before. 

You moan against his lips as his fingers sink into you, his thumb finding that spot that he knows makes your body tremble, and his tongue claiming your mouth as your hands run down his back. You try to work on getting his pants off, but his hand pushes yours away as he pulls away from you. “You are not in control here,” he says, slipping off the bed to kneel on the ground at the edge of the bed. “I am your Prince.”

His hands pull your hips closer to the edge of the bed and move your legs to drape over his shoulders. He kisses and nips the inside of your thighs, but his gaze never leaves yours as his lips move closer to your aching core. 

A breath catches in your chest as he dips his tongue into you, your head lulling back, and a cuss leaves your lips as your hands grip the sheets beneath you. What amuses Aemond is that whenever he fucks you, you always revert to Valyrian when cursing in pleasure. He wonders if the same thing happens when other men fuck you. Used to fuck you. Now, he’s going to be the only one to make these Valyrian words leave your tongue. 

His fingers sink into you as he laps up your sweetness, his tongue finding your clit making your hips lift off the bed and a moan tossed into the air. “Aemond, please,” you beg, wanting him to stop teasing and just ravish you. 

He knows this. He can feel the want burning off your body. He can smell it. Little did you know that when you were teaching him how to please a woman, you were teaching him about your body and what breaks you. 

“Soon,” he growls against your thigh, sending a vibration through your entire body as you moan out again. 

His fingers curl inside you as he kisses and sucks at your clit, stimulating both sensitive spots he knows all too well. He’ll make you come at least once with his tongue and fingers so that you can enjoy this one before he fucks you till you’re mindless, drunk on his cock, only able to say his name.

His free hand grabs the meat of your outer thigh as he shifts closer, almost burying his face into you as he licks up the slick dripping from your cunt. He keeps his eye on your face, watching your face unravel in pleasure as he moves his fingers in and out of you, finding his own pleasure in the sound of your wetness. 

He swirls his tongue around your clit, adding another finger and burying them knuckle-deep in you when he feels your walls tightening around them. Your chest heaves your hand moving to try and find something of him you can touch. His hand catches yours and he presses it against the bed again, a silent order to keep your hands at bay and that you will get your chance to touch him soon. 

“Please,” you beg, but Aemond can barely hear it as another moan leaves your lips. You raise your leg, your foot coming to rest on his shoulder as you raise your hips to press against his face. You can feel your release building, your mind floating at the euphoric pressure building up inside you. 

His thumb replaces his tongue as he moves up to capture your lips before you shout out his name as you cum. He doesn’t want the castle to know of you just yet. And as he rolls his thumb on your clit, his fingers fucking in deep inside of you, you clench around him as cum around his digits as you moan against his lips that taste like you. Your arms wrap around his neck as your hips buckle against his hand, your body trembling as his thumb continues to assault your clit, his fingers still moving inside you, fucking you through your climax. 

As he allows you to catch your breath between his kisses, he removes his pants, his cock hard from hearing you moan his name. He feels the ache to be buried inside of you, to feel your wall squeezing around his cock rather than his finger. The desire burns in him like dragon fire. It makes his hands grab onto your hips roughly, his teeth nipping on the skin of your neck as he moves you into the position he wants you to be in. 

He wraps your legs around his hips, and slides a hand under your hips to lift them off the bed as he leers over your body. “Ñuha gevie Valyrīha dārilaros,” he mutters, leaning down to attach his lips to your body. “My beautiful Valyrian Princess.”

Your hands find their way to his hair, minding the strap of his eye patch so as to not accidentally push it off. Still, you pull his head up so his lips can kiss yours inside of other parts of your body. It’s also a way of telling him to fuck you already and stop teasing you with the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

He smiles to himself, thinking that you don’t really know what you’re asking of him. And without a warning, he thrusts his cock into you, latching his lips over yours to catch your moan again. Whenever you moan in his mouth, it spurs him on. But the feeling of your walls around him makes him moan in return, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He could cum right there, but that would make him feel like he did the first time you fucked him. And he’s not the man he was back then. He has plans for you now. And none of them end with him finishing first. 

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[usoud-tournament]

Who would win in a fight to the death?

Info:

Optimus Prime: The 2010-2013 version from "Transformers Prime" Did a sick tire-kicking attack once according to Reddit. Strengths include hand cannons and hand blades, hand miniguns, a jetpack. Skilled in swordsmanship. Great strength, resilience, and agility. Great speed and jumping ability. Skilled tactician and leader. Able to disguise himself as a truck. Weaknesses include getting blown up by some sort of energy bomb?? Stubborn and willing to sacrifice himself for his friends.

Jackie Chan: The 1994 version from "Drunken Master II". Strengths include martial arts mastery and street-smart intelligence allowing him to think outside of the box in fights. Weaknesses include alcoholism.

[elegantsplendour]

Dance of the Empire

Chapter 6 Rules and Secrets

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Lannister! ofc x Aegon II Targaryen

Summary: On the feast of Prince Aegon's tenth name day, a dark-haired Lannister girl enchanted both Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra.

Ever since Lucerys Velaryon got away with taking Aemond's eye six years ago, it pained Queen Alicent every single day witnessing her drifting from her and the whole world, finding an escape in relentless studies and training. Lucerys Velaryon ripped way something more profound from his son that night. Is it possible that a woman could cast a light in the darkness in his life? Even after years imprisoned in the cold walls of Red Keep and familial duty, Alicent still had a shatter of hope that love had the power to heal even the deepest wounds. Or so she thought.

Sometimes, love can be just as destructive as hate.

Especially when her first-born son's suppressed feelings start to emerge; especially the politics of the realm rip away an all-consuming love; especially when demons of her second-son are unleashed by thirst of vengeance.

masterlist

Warnings: mild depiction of violence in this chapter.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @buglyberry @theroyaldixon @aemondx @heavenly1927 @apollonshootafar

Welcome to the Red Keep, a place where rulers decide the fate of millions, where the servants work at a relentless pace to satisfy the fast-paced demands of their masters, and where noble ladies engage in overwhelmingly stimulating conversations that revolve around the art of weaving while tasting culinary exuberance, where whispered tales travel like both poisonous smoke and intoxicating fragrance.

"Have you seen the dark-haired Lannister lady with Prince Aemond?

"It would be impossible not to. It seems like the Queen has made a successful match. I wager it must have been difficult finding a lady of Katherine Lannister's beauty and status for the prince. Given... his condition. Though I must say, Prince Aemond's courtship of Lady Katherine is quite passionate. My sister overheard from a maid that they have been spotted on Vhagar three times this moon. I, myself, have found them holding their hands in the library."

"Oh dear Lady Meera. That was nothing compared to what I have witnessed in the garden."

"Spill the tea, Alayne!"

"I saw Prince Aemond placing a cherry in her mouth and his fingers lingering on her lips."

"Gods be good. Many would deem such an act improper."

"You know what they say, the blood of the dragon runs hot. However, I do sympathize with Lady Katherine. It used to be an honour to marry a Targaryen, yet it seems that she has bound her life with a deformed."

"Don't be. She might carry the Lannister name, but her beauty is not of the House of the Lion. Her earthly features are a constant reminder of that disastrous marriage. Perhaps. Perhaps, she is the product of her late mother's indiscretion."

"That is a vile and dangerous speculation, my friend. But I have to admit, the idea of it: the Broken Prince and the Bastard Beauty. They do make a lovely match."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Unlike her usual attire, Katherine was dressed in a humble dark dress with a black cloak covering her head before exiting the gate of the Red Keep.

As she ventured into the maze-like warren of narrow streets of King's Landing, four men in shadows followed and observed her and those around's every move.

Four Red Cloaks disguised as peasants ensured her safety. After all, she was not foolish to navigate the most dangerous, like a lamb to the slaughter.

Although Katherine's features remained expressionless, her heart contorted in disgust at the sight unfolding before her.

Against one of the many decaying structures barely holding together against the weight of destitution, a drunken man was brutally coupling with a woman she was unsure of willing or not. Puddles of murky water gather in the uneven cobblestones while the foul stink of unrecognizable origins pervades her senses. Vile insults filled the air while pickpockets terrorized the streets.

Suddenly, a wave of cheering grappled her attention. The screams consisted of screams of cheering, disappointment and whimpers of excruciating pain. She gave a signal to her closest bodyguard and entered the chaotic building.

Hidden under her cloak, she weaved her way through the putrid stench and rowdy drunks, squeezing between leering men and scantily clad harlots, desperately trying to suppress her gag reflex from the noxious blend of sweat and stink of their mouths. At last, she reached the epicenter of the raucous uproar, only to witness a chilling sight that sent shivers down her spine. Malnourished children, barely reaching her waist, their skeletal frames exposed, their teeth and nails sharpened to grotesque points, engaged in a brutal battle like savage beasts. With each sickening blow, they toppled one another, painting the scene in a gruesome mosaic of flesh and blood.

While her eyes lingered on the brutal scene, her mind wandered elsewhere.

Greens.

Blacks.

With King Viserys' deteriorating health, the unspoken tension in court and across the realm continued to aggravate.

Who will inherit the Iron Throne? She questioned.

Rhaenyra, the King's named heir?

Or Aegon, the heir by the "order of things."

To Katherine, it made no difference. Both orders would lead to one path, the one that forged the obscenity in front of her.

It had been two moons since she arrived in King's Landing, and she had seen Prince Aegon three times.

The first was their first encounter, during which he goaded his brother into bedding her.

The second was her witnessing him, drunken and mumbling profanities, dragged to his chamber by Ser Errek.

The third was, Aemond striking him down in the training yard in word-for-word 10 blows.

As for Princess Rhaenyra, while discontent about her accepting Aemond's courtship, their correspondence remained consistent and intimate.

As grateful as Katherine was for her somewhat motherly presence in her life, she could not help but to sigh regretfully at her decision to reside in Dragonstone for six whole years, distancing from the ever-changing political landscaping of King's Landing. Doing so has given the lords and ladies who once swore fealty to her switch allegiance.

Rhaenyra once told her that once she becomes Queen, she would create a new order. Back then, Katherine felt a fierce admiration for her aspiration. Looking back now, she sees both entitlements and oaths were nothing but hollow promises: one has to earn and fight for the right to create their own rules, man or woman, especially a woman.

If only someone worthy could claim the Iron Throne.

Someone with an unstoppable strength, with a strategic mind, unapologetic and unafraid to turn over the table if they deem the latter being a mess.

Someone

Someone

Someone like Aemond.

Her hands squeezed the fabric of her robe as his name echoed in her mind. The sweetness of the memory of that afternoon in the garden and the raw scent of blood in the arena composed a perplexing mishmash in her head.

"Duty, honour and family are my motto," Aemond had declared, his voice calm, his gaze still fixed on the pages of "The Fires of the Freehold."

Duty to a family that treats me like a broodmare, enslaved by an illusion called honour. Never.

A sly curve tugged at her lips,

"I knew you wouldn't have it any other way, Aemond, yet I wager many could question tricking your opponent by feigning your defeat is the most honourable way to win a duel, especially the opponent being your uncle Gwayne."

"In a battle, there is no deceit," he lifted his head, "All is fair."

"I say you prefer to win regardless of the rules."

Aemond chuckled," Says the lady who believes her only duty is to herself."

She asked carefully, "Do you ever wish to make your own rules?"

A long silence ruled between them.

Katherine wished to unravel his carefully wrapped facade of faith, composure and duty. She wished him to say yes. Her heart pleaded to say yes.

"I follow the rules to make my own. So yes, I do," Aemond finally broke the silence, his tone soft yet unwavering and his one violet eye unreadable, transmitting a steadfast resolution that quickened her heartbeat.

Aemond furrowed his brow, a chuckle tumbled free from his lips as he leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears, "But you already know that, don't you? Little lioness? "

Taken back and slightly flushed, she swallowed and met his eye, ready to retort. But before she could say anything, his long fingers rested on her lips, "Close your eyes," his voice at once commanding and assuring.

She did.

For a fleeting moment, she expected him to kiss her and damn codes of propriety.

She gasped in surprise at the sensation of his large hands hovering over the back of her neck, gently closing the distance between them, "Open your mouth."

Her lips trembled as she hesitantly obliged. With her eyes closed, all she could feel was the radiating heat of his breath.

Her tongue detected a small, spherical object, tenderly placed upon it. She savoured the taste, instantly recognizing the sweet tang of a perfectly ripened cherry. In that moment, conflicting desires surged within her. One part yearned to prolong the exquisite vulnerability, surrendering entirely to his touch in the obscurity of darkness. Yet, another part longed to seize control, turning the tables and leaving him at her mercy.

Aemond x Katherine (generated by AI)

Just a sudden, a loud, deafening cheering and the forceful jostling of the nearby hulking man brought her back to reality. A youthful roar reverberated in the arena: a bold boy had just knocked his scrawny opponent unconscious, whom had been carried out by a man.

"We should leave at once, my lady," one of the guards suggested.

Katherine swallowed, "We shall," she slowly retreated from the centre of the mob and whispered, "in the days to come, disguise yourself as peasants and find out about who are the beneficiaries of this arena and report everything back to me. Spare the poor children some food and clothing. But do not leave any trace of House Lannister's involvement."

While she exhaled in relaxation while withdrawing from the horrifying spectacle, her eyes widened her figure exiting from the door of the building on the other side of the street.

Prince Aegon.

Prince Aegon Fucking Targaryen, eyes red and bleary, though body stumbling yet still mumbling explicit profanity to the giggling half-naked women.

Momentarily, they stayed frozen before Katherine enclosed her features in her cloak, but it was too late.

"Lady Katherine Lannister," Aegon immediately chased after her and burst into a grin, "The Exquisitely Odd Lannister," he continued, leaning to her earlobe, "My brother's precious little jewel, venturing alone in Flea Bottom. Who knew?"

Katherine pushed his head in annoyance, "You stink of ale and wine, my prince. And please, I am not stupid, four Red Cloaks are observing my every move as we speak," she covered her nose in a mixture of distaste and amusement, "You look like you have been through Seven Hells and back."

"More like Seven Heavens, my lady," Aegon smirked, "The women here possess more, let's say, exoticism, than the ones on the Street of Silk. What were you looking for? Some forbidden adventures, or pleasure?

Katherine rolled her eyes, "Spare me the details, Aegon," she fastened her pace and mumbled, "The people of this city are living like dogs, perhaps even worse."

Aegon's face contorted in amused confusion, "Why do you care? You are a lion. I am the prince of the blood."

She raised her brows, "Haven't you heard the saying? The water can drown the fleet just as much as it can carry it."

"You sound like my mother," Aegon halted his words, his playful tone imperceptibly turned grave, "I was never the one who built the fleet you speak of, nor did I choose to be born in it.

Taking a corner where a stone dragon on the wall breathed flame, he murmured, "If watching it drown means to be free of its grasp, then be it."

Katherine's eyes widened at his statement. She opened her mouth to speak but could not find the right words.

Being free of the grasp of her family, it sounded like a dream. "You have a dragon, Aegon. Don't you tell me that you haven't thought about escaping the chains of your life," she swatted his arm teasingly, "It's a privilege I do not share, yet here you are, bedding the most beautiful whores and drinking the finest wines. Maybe, you enjoy the privileges of this fleet a little bit too much."

Aegon laughed at her comment. "And what privileges are you searching for in the most dangerous and dirtiest parts of the city?" He leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell me it's pleasure," he frowned, "You know, if that is what you desire, all you have to do is ask."

"In your wildest dreams, you incorrigible wastrel," she chuckled, pushing him away playfully.

"But in all seriousness," she locked eyes with him, "The small folk, they may not be as glamorous as dragons and thrones, but they're the ones who will ultimately decide our fate. And I prefer to be the master of my own."

"So this is what all your little adventure was about? Surveying public sentiment?" Aegon said sarcastically, shaking his head in disappointment.

"And figuring out ways to improve their livelihood," she nodded, "The greatest stronghold lies within the hearts of the people. No matter how many fortresses you possess, they offer no protection if you're despised by the masses."

Out of the blue, a wagon full of fruit slipped down Rhaenys Hill while a merchant shrieked out for help. Aegon gripped Katherine's arm instinctively from the path of the racing cart.

"Wow, that was something," she caught her breath, "Thank you."

"That," he teased, "Katherine, is what happens when poor ladies busy themselves lecturing a prince and do not even notice a speeding wagon coming at them."

"I guess you're right. I guess we are even now. I saved you from a horse. You saved me from a wagon," she chuckled.

The way to the gate of the Red Keep was rather silent. Both of them are immersed in their turbulent thoughts,

"Aegon, I don't want Aemond to know my whereabouts today," Katherine turned to face him as they were about to part ways.

Aegon tried to read her expression but at no avail, "If that's what you want, Katherine. It will be our little secret."

But why? Katherine? I thought you told each other everything?

[perpetual-canon]

Perpetual Canon Chapter 1. Light in The End of The Rabbit Hole

before / 2. “we go way back” II - 2/2 / next where it started / navigation / about the story

Russ turned to Noodle.

“So that's your friend?”  

“Yeah,” she said. “‘Ts ma bestie. Great guy.” 

Russ raised his eyebrows.

“We go way back,” she added defensively.

Ace blinked. Alrighty then.

(ABOUT) THREE WEEKS AGO

To be honest, no person in their right mind would go to the club to listen to a solo bass performance.

Ace tried to master acoustic guitar back when he was a kid, but apart from bringing some skills and some change on the streets, it made him bored outta his mind. Besides, Ace couldn’t even mask his mediocre skills with singing. He was no Ed Sheeran, that much he knew.

But bass was another story. Ace was leaning mainly on intuition while learning to play, and all jokes about bass players aside, it proved to be possible to reach a somewhat decent level just by lots and lots of improvising, and some solid pointers from Grubber.

So one thing led to another, and Ace landed this part-time gig downtown. He was hired by a fairly successful local cover band for a set of services, which included:

1. Playing before said band in bars, to make up for them being constantly late due to various “mystical coincidences”. (Ace suspected the lead guitarist's drug addiction. It was quite mystical how she fell from the stage a couple times already in the past week Ace has been working with them.)

2. Watching over the band and being their designated driver in case something goes wrong. (Things did go wrong for them pretty often.)

Unfortunately, considering the quality of bars the band was performing in, unless you were Jaco Pastorius, there was always a slight risk of being shot on stage. So Ace’s act usually was brief and involved a lot of guitar-slapping.

Apart from that, it was nothing special – worse than it could’ve been, but better than the jobless void Ace was stewing in for a whole year. To be honest, it was hard. When he and the boys were living in a leaking bus on a literal dump, Ace was a proper leader, capable and (allegedly) even fearless. Now, when they finally were able to afford renting a flat, everybody proved to be more capable than him. Everyone managed to find decent jobs, and they even started a fund for Lil Arturo’s college. Sure, for now it was just a jar in a closet. But a big, promising jar. Full of wonders yet to come, as Big Billy used to say.

And then there was Ace. 20-something, good for nothing. He has been doing odd jobs, but couldn’t settle anywhere for long. Maybe he looked too much like a street rat to catch the eye of proper employers. And, in all honesty, he was one, no avoiding it. Wasn’t looking good in a resume tho.

So no, Ace was not complaining about the gig. He was just observing, making notes. Wasn’t his fault notes came out to be sorta greasy.

--

After Ace finished his routine, he sat down at the bar.

He watched the band perform, and let the familiar numbness blur the uncomfortable pangs in his chest. As a cover band, they accepted requests. Sometimes they were hilariously bad. Right now someone ordered Nickelback and it was a jab at the vocalist’s pride, so instead of singing properly, he was hissing like bacon on fire.

Ace swirled on a bar stool and heaved a deep sigh in hopes that the bartender would take pity on him. The bartender wasn’t impressed, but rewarded him with a glass of water.

The night was still young and people just started to gather, so the bar was not very busy.

Ace was wearing his dark shades again, and so could stare at people busying around without drawing attention. Some might say that only douchebags wear shades in the building, but Ace was ready to accept any label as long as it came handy.   

Aside from a couple of obvious regulars, there was also a tiny woman in a sickeningly bright hoodie. She looked quite out of place, like a teen who wandered in to take home her drunken father.

She sipped whiskey on rocks.

Maybe she was the drunken father.

Even with the hood covering her bangs, Ace couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her. He vaguely hoped that it wasn’t because she was Asian and he had sight problems. He didn’t want to be That Guy.

In the meantime the band had finally finished torturing people with their take on Nickelback and got to another request.

“Somebody is feeling nostalgic!” the vocalist yelled in the mike. “Here is “Feel Good Inc”! Without the rap part tho, sorry”.

Ace felt a tingle of warmth rise up from under the dull blanket of boredom. To be honest, that was him who left this request. He figured that if he is going to sit here at the bar with only water in his system, he might as well try to enjoy it. And he knew for sure that this was the only Gorillaz song the band was capable of playing.

Humming under his breath, Ace glanced at the girl again.

She looked sorta tense now. She finished her whiskey in one gulp and called the bartender.

From the corner of the eye Ace saw her showing something to him. It looked like some piece of paper. Whatever it was, the bartender shook his head with a blank expression.

The girl was visibly disappointed by that and slided down from the stool, clearly about to leave. But then she looked up – straight at Ace.

He quickly darted his eyes back to the stage, burning with sudden embarrassment. The girl’s look was pretty intense.

By the time the vocalist reached the second windmill, she was already gone.

Only way later, when Ace was driving drunken band members home at night, it suddenly hit him. The reason why she seemed so familiar.

But it couldn’t be true. His vision must’ve been playing tricks on him.

It couldn't have been muthafuckin’ Noodle from muthafuckin’ Gorillaz.

--

The club was way more sleazy than the one they played at before. Ace half-expected that someone would throw a bottle at his head at some point during the performance. The band climbing on the stage was still hungover and slightly high, so for them the possibility was still on the table. Ace was already bracing himself for driving them all to the hospital instead of their houses.

Unfortunately it meant that, once again, he couldn’t get even a fucking Margarita.

Ace quickly slided between people and furniture, trying to find the least grease stained place for himself and his bass. He was pretty sure at least three couples were already fucking in darker corners of the bar.

That’s when he saw her again.

Same hoodie, same complexion. It was the girl.

She was diving through the crowd like a little koi fish, with a joint in her fingers and a hood on her head. Heart-shaped glasses sparkled dully under the dim lights.

Now Ace could say that he was quite intrigued.

Hypothetically, yes, it could’ve been Noodle. He was aware that The Band was staying in Detroit. But what could’ve prompted her to visit such smelly places? Aren’t stars supposed to club at the tops of skyscrapers with Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart making brownies, of something?

How dangerous exactly was it to get mixed in this?

--

So far things have been pretty intense. The guitarist ended up in ER two times in the last week, and the drummer caught some STD that didn’t allow him to sit properly.

But all this meant nothing to Ace. His thoughts were completely occupied by the hoodie girl.

For the last five clubs and bars they’ve been playing in, she was always there. She usually arrived well after the band started to play and there was a decent crowd in the venue already. She was always covered up in some way, took something to drink and chatted with the bartender. Then she disappeared.

By this point Ace was pretty sure that she was, in fact, the Noodle from Gorillaz herself. He’s made a point to google paparazzi photos just to compare how she would have looked without makeup and photoshop, and it was a match.

This time Ace was expecting her. The curiosity was bothering him like fleas (And he knew the feeling, the metaphor was quite literal here).

Would he get a chance to talk to her, to learn about why she keeps visiting all these places? Would it be better to ask her directly? Wasn’t she a direct person? What were the odds she’d hit him directly in the face?

As always, Ace sat down at the bar. Watching the drummer suffer on stage was quite entertaining, but he couldn’t stop looking around, waiting for a glimpse of the pink hoodie.

“Hey,” the bartender snapped his fingers, to get Ace’s attention. “You can’t sit here”.

Ace stared at him blankly, trying to remember if he did something to piss the guy off in the past. He appeared quite generic.

“Unless you buy a drink, you can’t take up the space. I don’t make the rules”.

Ace looked at the plaque behind the bartender. It said “My Bar – My Rules”. Right.

“Sorry chef. Ain’t got no money tonight. But you see, I need to watch those fuckas on stage. I’m, how do you put it… their nanny”.

“I don’t care, mate. Unless ya skinny ass ‘bout to order somethin’, Imma callin’ the security. We’ve got a hit up ‘bout ya folk, that stuff disappears here and there after ya’all performance. And from what I’m lookin’ at, you better leave the premises and wait for your friends outside”.

Ace clicked his tongue.

Fuckin’ band had a chance or even a plan to throw him under the bus for whatever junk they’ve smuggled from those shitholes? Not cool.

“That’s a shitty team to be on, that’s for sure,” chimed the voice from behind Ace.

He turned around.

The one and only Noodle from Gorillaz plopped on a stool beside him.

“I’m buying, man,” she said to the bartender. “Long Island for my friend here. And make it longer.”

She saluted Ace with her drink.

Bartender shot them a weary glance, but obliged.

Ace stared at Noodle, desperately trying to find some words to say that would not sound completely and utterly dumb.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she repeated. “Wassup?”

“Drummer got an STD and can’t sit properly,” blurted Ace. His cheeks burned. By the end of the sentence he was already accepting his imminent death.

Noodle raised an eyebrow and shot a quick glance on stage.

“Shit,” she chuckled. “I thought he was just energetic.”

“Gettin’ a solo in the middle of the chorus? Yeah, you can say so.”

Noodle snorted in her drink, splattering whiskey all over Ace’s shirt.

Great.

PRESENT TIME

“Music,” stated Noodle with a strainingly wide smile. “That’s how we know each other! Ha-hah”.

Russel was observing her quietly, with some sort of underlying intensity. Sure, it seemed that he was doing everything intensely, but Ace still panicked – just in case.

“Look, he’s got a guitar! So yeah. We jam sometimes. Don’t we?” She slapped Ace’s shoulder, probably dislocating it forever.

“We sure jam,” croaked Ace through the pain. “We jam very much”.

--

before / next where it started / navigation / about the story

[prestigious-subclasses]

Prestige Classes

In D&D 3.5, there are almost 300 prestige classes. Shouldn't they all be converted to D&D 5e subclasses? No. No they should not. And yet, here we are. Some prestige classes are ... weird and so might be converted to something other than a subclass, if at all.

A breakdown is below the cut.

Core Subclasses

Arcane Archer

Arcane Trickster

Archmage

Assassin

Blackguard

Dragon Disciple

Duelist

Dwarven Defender

Eldritch Knight

Hierophant

Horizon Walker

Loremaster

Mystic Theurge

Red Wizard

Shadowdancer

Thaumaturgist

Psionic

Cerebremancer

Elocater

Fist of Zuoken

Illithid Slayer

Metamind

Psion Uncarnate

Pyrokineticist

Thrallherd

War Mind

Complete Champion

Fist of the Forest

Forest Reeve

Holt Warden

Mythic Exemplar

Ordained Champion

Paragnostic Apostle

Paragnostic Initiate

Sanctified One

Shadowspy

Shadowstriker

Squire of Legend

Complete Mage

Abjurant Champion

Eldritch Disciple

Eldritch Theurge

Enlightened Spirit

Holy Scourge

Lyric Thaumaturge

Master Specialist

Nightmare Spinner

Ultimate Magus

Unseen Seer

Wild Soul

Complete Psionic

Anarchic Initiate

Ebon Saint

Ectopic Adept

Flayerspawn Psychic

Illumine Soul

Soulbow

Storm Disciple

Zerth Cenobite

Complete Scoundrel

Avenging Executioner

Battle Trickster

Cloaked Dancer

Combat Trapsmith

Fortune's Friend

Gray Guard

Magical Trickster

Malconvoker

Master of Masks

Mountebank

Psibond Agent

Spellwarp Sniper

Uncanny Trickster

Complete Warrior

Bear Warrior

Bladesinger

Cavalier

Dark Hunter

Darkwood Stalker

Dervish

Drunken Master

Exotic Weapon Master

Eye of Gruumsh

Frenzied Berserker

Gnome Giant-Slayer

Halfling Outrider

Hulking Hurler

Hunter of the Dead

Invisible Blade

Justiciar

Kensai

Knight of the Chalice

Knight Protector

Master of the Unseen Hand

Master Thrower

Mindspy

Nature’s Warrior

Occult Slayer

Order of the Bow Initiate

Purple Dragon Knight

Rage Mage

Ravager

Reaping Mauler

Ronin

Spellsword

Stonelord

Tattooed Monk

Thayan Knight

War Chanter

Warshaper

Cityscape

Ebonmar Infiltrator

Crimson Scourge

Urban Savant

Dungeonscape

Beast Heart Adept

Dungeon Lord

Trapsmith

Sandstorm

Ashworm Dragoon

Lord of Tides

Sand Shaper

Scion of Tem-Et-Nu

Scorpion Heritor

Walker in the Waste

Drow of the Underdark

Arachnomancer

Cavestalker

Demonbinder

Dread Fang of Lolth

Eye of Lolth

Insidious Corrupter

Kinslayer

Fiendish Codex II

Hellbreaker

Hellfire Warlock

Hellreaver

Soulguard

Book of Exalted Deeds

Anointed Knight

Apostle of Peace

Beloved of Valarian

Celestial Mystic

Champion of Gwynharwyf

Defender of Sealtiel

Emissary of Barachiel

Exalted Arcanist

Fist of Raziel

Initiate of Pistis Sophia

Lion of Talisid

Prophet of Erathaol

Risen Martyr

Sentinel of Bharrai

Skylord

Slayer of Domiel

Stalker of Kharash

Swanmay

Sword of Righteousness

Troubadour of Stars

Vassal of Bahamut

Wonderworker

Dragon Magic

Diamond Dragon

Dragon Descendant

Dragon Lord

Hand of the Winged Masters

Pact-bound Adept

Swift Wing

Wyrm Wizard

Miniatures Handbook

Bonded Summoner

Dragon Samurai

Havoc Mage

Skullclan Hunter

Tactical Soldier

War Hulk

Warchief

Tome of Battle

Bloodclaw Master

Bloodstorm Blade

Deepstone Sentinel

Eternal Blade

Jade Phoenix Mage

Master of Nine

Ruby Knight Vindicator

Shadow Sun Ninja

Underdark

Arachnomancer

Cavelord

Deep Diviner

Drow Judicator

Illithid Body Tamer

Imaskari Vengeance Taker

Inquisitor of the Drowning Goddess

Prime Underdark Guide

Sea Mother Whip

Shadowcrafter

Vermin Keeper

Yathchol Webrider

Epic

Agent Retriever

Cosmic Descryer

Divine Emissary

Epic Infiltrator

Guardian Paramount

High Proselytizer

Legendary Dreadnought

Perfect Wight

Union Sentinel

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Fearless Hyena (Chan, 1979)

Like many classic kung fu movies and certainly some of the others Jackie Chan directed, the plot can be described as a transparent clothesline for action scenes, all of which are very entertaining. But this does give its hero something of an arc. Jackie (and yes, I’m gonna call him by first name) initially is forbidden by his grandfather to reveal his kung fu skills, but not taking this warning seriously, decides to use it for profit as part of a martial arts school scam. His displays attract the attention of the villain (whose brutal handiwork is seen at the very beginning), who then kills his grandfather. Jackie, facing personal tragedy, learns to take matters of kung fu seriously and trains with a friend of his grandfather until he can defeat the villain and avenge his grandfather. Kung fu goes from fun and games to a matter of personal honour, of life and death. On the surface, its a pretty straightforward arc of personal growth to line up with the overarching conflict, but it does lend itself to interesting reads in light of the state of the genre and Jackie’s career at the time.

I think the very broad significance attributed to Jackie’s rise as a martial arts star is the introduction of comedy to the genre. More specifically, I think there’s an irreverence in his view of martial arts that distinguishes him from the respect that someone like Lau Kar-Leung treats them even in comedic efforts. (Differing philosophies on the subject led the two men to butt heads during the production of Drunken Master II.) In Lau’s movies, particularly The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, you can see how each training sequence helps the hero work on a specific skill and translates to personal growth. Here, the training sequences are impressive physical feats, but also seem parodically, sadistically difficult, like when Jackie’s grandfather leaves him maintaining a difficult position while he runs off to use the bathroom, or pure goofs, like Jackie turning the tables on his grandfather by saddling him with all sorts of pots and bowls.

And there’s the fact that Jackie is forced to hide his abilities, and that using them invites threatening elements, and it isn’t until the end that he’s able to have full agency over his abilities. Jackie at this time was under the thumb of Lo Wei, a producer and director who had mostly been forcing Jackie into roles that were awkward fits for his specific charisma, and wielded over him a restrictive contract and probably mob affiliations to enforce it, and it wasn’t until Jimmy Wang Yu got involved until Jackie was freed from his contract. (You can see the results of the split a few years later in Fearless Hyena 2, which had to be cobbled together from recycled footage and a Jackie impersonator with a red nose disguise after Jackie left during the production, as well as Jackie’s cameos in Fantasy Mission Force and The Prisoner, which he did to repay Jimmy.) So it isn’t hard to find parallels in the movie, Jackie’s grandfather evoking Lo Wei’s control over his him, the villain representing the threat of the mob. The movie ends on a note of uncertainty, suggesting the possibilities open to Jackie should he be able to take control of his own career. (I also think the lingering threat of the villain represents a strain of handover anxiety, although I babble on about that in every other review I’ve ever written about Hong Kong films, so I’ll leave it at that.)

There is also an interesting element of deception that runs through the whole movie. Jackie has to pretend not to know kung fu. Jackie looks for work with a coffin seller who seeks to rip off his customers. Jackie gets work helping the owner of a kung fu school run a scam, even disguising himself as a woman to fight an unsuspecting challenger. (The guy keeps trying to grope Jackie and gets his ass thoroughly kicked, meaning that it’s a substantially easier watch than the interminable groping scenes in the Lucky Stars movies.) This foregrounding of deception as a means of getting ahead would feature again in Miracles, where the cynicism of the material mixes interestingly with the light comedic touch of the direction.

And as for the fight scenes, like I said, they’re extremely entertaining. To an extent that’s a given when watching classic Hong Kong action movies, as things like amazing stuntwork, clean camerawork and coherent editing were pretty much standard even in flimsier efforts. But what you can see in these fight scenes early in Jackie’s career as a director and performer is a synthesis of the palpably rhythmic, back-and-forth choreography by Yuen Woo-Ping in Drunken Master and the “all props are fair game” style that would largely define many of Jackie’s later fight scenes. And it isn’t just throwaway objects that he uses in the action. He’ll use their own bodies against them, weaponizing the size and weight of his larger opponents against them, or even weaponize his own body, hitting them with unexpected parts of his body, sometimes to comedic effect (a gong sound plays when he butts an opponent with his… butt), sometimes less so. Jackie in his later movies is usually covered up by outfits that mask his physique, but here the camera gazes lovingly at his impressive musculature.

The re-entry of the villain late into the movie fundamentally changes the overall energy from goofy fun to brutal and harrowing, and the final fight scene, which acts as a culmination of several of these ideas, gets an added charge. Jackie’s gimmick here is to psych out his opponent by leaning into the full range of human emotion, with shifts in fighting style to match: happiness, sadness, anger and joy (okay, two of those are kind of the same, but they have different moves). It keeps the scene nice and spontaneous, the fight choreography as malleable as the hero’s emotions, and offers a concise expression of the tonal whiplash you sometimes get in classic Hong Kong cinema. And maybe it’s also a message to Lo Wei: if you stop restricting Jackie and let him break out of the box you’ve kept him in, this is what he can do. In any case, it’s a great fight scene and a terrific capper to a very fun movie.